Daddy Is A State Of Mind

You purr contentedly. “Your fingers are magic.”

“Oh yeah?” Frankie responds, and you can hear the smirk in his voice. His hands slide down the curve of your ass. 

“Fuck, Frankie, please,” you beg. He hums, then the sound of the soap squelching in his wet hands echoes around the tiles. 

“So pretty when you beg,” he murmurs, massaging the globes of your ass. You let loose another moan, tipping your head back in search of his mouth. Your glute muscles relax at the same time your cunt starts to throb and clench on nothing. Frankie meets your lips with his own, tongues tangling and sliding in a familiar dance. When his sudsed fingers reach your folds, he swallows the gasp you let out.

“Tell me you need me,” he commands gently.

“God, Francisco,” you moan, “need you to touch me.” You cant your hips back to expose yourself more to him, and his cock kicks against you once again. Thick fingers stroke slowly between your thighs to tease you and clean you simultaneously. The intimacy is diaphanous yet strong, a spider’s web of emotions. 

“You need me here?” Frankie asks, moving his fingers to the tight ring of your ass. Your gasp this time is loud, surprised, tinged with a growl. He chuckles when you nod your head rapidly.

You

You hear them as you walk up the newly refurbished porch steps, a comic book wrapped in brown paper tucked under your arm. Joel and Ellie; her voice angry, his deep and calm. You can’t make out their words, just mumbled tones.

I should turn around, you think to yourself. But you know Joel has always tried to make birthdays a big thing for Ellie. Plus, it’s not like you’re popping by unannounced. You’re their neighbour, have been since the day they got back from whatever little excursion they went on and Ellie invited you for cake this afternoon. Her exact words were “once you get done dealing with the freak show that is pregnant women, come have some cake. Even though I’m not sure how you eat anything after seeing all of that”. 

You and Joel had laughed, shaking your head at her perversions around pregnancy and childbirth. As an OBGYN pre-outbreak, and now in Jackson, it’s never bothered you.

You stop on the third step, one hand around the railing that you painted an eggshell white last weekend while Joel started replacing the railing on the raised back deck. Their voices grow louder, they're close enough now that you can make out their words. 

“Ellie, stop. Just listen for one second -“ Joel’s voice is almost pleading.

“I said it’s not mine, Joel! Give it back, I will take it to whoever gave it to me.” You hear Joel sigh in response. Ever the firecracker, Ellie continues. “See! You don’t believe me. You’re accusing me. And what’s the big fucking deal anyway? Everyone around here does it!”

“Listen, it’s your birthday. This ain’t…” he sighs again and you can almost picture him; one hand on his hip, the other rubbing at his beard, a habit you’ve noticed when he’s stressed or flustered. “Look, it’s my job to look after you. Impart some sort of wisdom. We don’t know how this shit will affect you long term.”

Ellie’s laugh is cold. “Long term. It’s a fucking apocalypse, man. We could all be gone tomorrow. We could all be gone in the next ten fucking minutes.”

“That’s enough,” Joel starts, his tone firm. You decide to turn around, one of them will come get you if the original plan is still a go. Just as you’re about to head back down the steps, the metal and mesh screen door flies open and Ellie storms out.

“I, ummm, I can come back,” you stammer, taking in the angry teenage flush of Ellie’s cheeks. She’s gotten taller over the winter, her hair longer than you’ve ever seen it. She’d hate that you can’t help but think how adorable she looks when she gets angry, little pieces of hair flying loose around her temples.

“Just go in. He’s on his fucking high horse today,” she says in a grumble as she barrels down the stairs.

“Well, wait. Take this,” you hold your gift out and the scowl softens a little, an almost smile tugging at her cheek. “Happy Birthday, Ellie. I’ll talk to him.”

“Thank you,” she replies, running a hand over your wrap job. “Hey, think you can get my pot back?” She asks, her still childlike innocence burning on the surface.

You laugh softly, “I thought it belonged to a friend.”

She groans, throwing her head back as she takes the last few steps, mumbling to herself, “Having a dad is a pain in my ass. Worse than a FEDRA camp.”

“It’s because he cares,” you call after her, not accusatory, just a fact like the grass is green. Ellie stops, and in the most Joel-like fashion tilts her head back and pinches the bridge of her nose. Her eyes fall shut, her head slumping forward as she shakes it from side to side. Then she makes a statement that almost makes your heart break.

“That’s what makes it worse than a FEDRA camp. The caring. I don’t want to disappoint him, but I am.”

“Oh, Ellie,” you say reassuringly. “You aren’t. This is part of being a teenage girl. Trust me, you are not disappointing him, or anyone else. Go, I’ll talk to him.” 

As Ellie walks off, tearing the brown paper from her gift, you turn back toward the house. You and Joel have been friends since the day after he got back. You were fixing the shared backyard fence, and he came out and helped. The residents of Jackson weren’t thrilled when they first arrived, even less so when they got back. But it’s been a few months now, Ellie is settling in, Joel has been an active member of the community, and you know Maria put him next door to you - the well-loved town doctor who delivers all the babies - for a reason; if you were friends with Joel, others would follow. So that’s what you are. Friends.

You pull open the screen door, the old metal rubbing against itself. You make a mental note, another thing for the two of you to fix in the old home that sat abandoned for years.

“Heard there’s a big mean drug confiscator in here,” you joke, toeing off your shoes at the front door. You’re met with silence. You peek your head around into the family room, empty. As you wander into the kitchen you see the back of Joel sitting on the edge of the still unfinished deck, his legs dangling off the drop. The sliding screen is quieter as you exit. You pad barefoot, the wooden boards warm under your feet from the spring sun. You sit beside Joel, the full length skirt of your strapless sundress blowing wistfully in the breeze.

“Hey,” he rasps, and you both look over at each other, his coffee and bourbon eyes shifting from lost to content when he sees you. 

The single or widowed women of Jackson have asked you about Joel, saying how handsome he is. Truthfully, a few years ago you probably would have thought the same thing, but this world is too uncertain, too harsh and cruel. All it does is take, so you keep your heart to yourself now. You cherish the friends you have and that’s where it ends. Loving someone only to lose them is something you can’t do…again.

“Hey. That was a joke, just by the way.” You give him a thin-lipped smile.

“Huh?” He asks, kicking his shoes off, watching them fall the few feet to the slowly greening grass before leaning back onto his elbows. You turn to face him, tucking one leg under the other.

“What I said when I came in. It was a joke.”

“Oh,” his voice is sad, face lined with defeat. “I didn’t hear it.”

You pat his denim-clad thigh and joke, “Getting old.”

He snorts, lightly shoving your hand away. “Careful, Doc. You ain’t that much younger than me.”

“Still younger,” you say with a laugh. “So, you wanna talk about it? I wasn’t trying to listen in, just…timing.”

“No, I know,” Joel reassures and then takes a shaky breath. “Honestly, I just feel like I’m lettin’ her down. Ya know? Bickering all the time. Tellin’ her no.”

“Joel,” it’s a soft whisper, full of compassion. His brown eyes find yours again, glossy and wide now, back to being lost.

“She just deserves a life away from all this. It’s not fair. FEDRA camp then gettin’ stuck with my cantankerous ass.” He shakes his head.

“Hey, listen. This is part of being a…well, dad-like figure to a teenage girl. Trust me, you are not letting her down.” Joel lies flat on his deck, staring up at the clouds with one hand behind his head and the other resting on his stomach. You follow suit as you continue. “Just talk to her. Don’t parent her, just talk. She probably feels the same way you do. You’ve both been through horrible things. Together and separate. She’s going to make mistakes, she needs to know she can go to you for support. Just be there.”

For a few seconds, it’s just the leaves rustling in the warm breeze, the smell of grass and damp soil wrapping around you. Spring is slowly erasing any remaining remnants of a particularly harsh winter. Life almost feels back to normal as the two of you lay here, not this new normal of fungus and death, but the before normal.

“Ain’t so good with words,” he murmurs beside you, his breath warming your neck so you roll your head to face him.

“You just used the word cantankerous, so don’t give me that,” you say with a light laugh, your knee knocking his gently.

“You called me that one of the first times we met,” a smile tugs at the corner of his mouth when he says it and your stomach does a weird flip thing. That must be what he does to the other women here to get them all…bothered.

You look back up at the sky, protecting yourself from feeling any sort of way aside from friendly towards this man. “I remember, you were being cantankerous. Just tell Ellie you’re sorry, that you don’t want to fight and you want to be there for her.”

“You sure you aren’t older than me? Wisdom beyond your years,” he praises and your heart now joins your stomach in its weird stutter-and-shutter era.

“I’m sure,” you breathe. “I was a teenager once too. Oh, that reminds me. Give Ellie back her pot.”

Joel sits up straight, no grunt or effort, for fifty something that seems impressive, and you shouldn’t wonder if he has abs under that heather grey cotton t-shirt, but you do. He spins to face you, eyes wide and lips parted in shock.

“What?” You ask, coming up onto your elbows and looking around like you missed something.

“Doc! Were you a bit of a rebel in your youth?” The teasing disbelief of his voice causes you to blush.

“No!” You reply quickly, fast enough that his eyes narrow as he tries to decipher if you’re telling the truth or a lie. He clearly settles on the second option when he responds.

“Don’t worry. It’s just us back here. I won’t alert the town that the goody goody Doc was a bad girl nearly forty years ago.” He pokes jovially at your ribs, electricity jolting from where his finger met your dress to your belly button.

“Gah! That tickles!” You laugh, shifting your body away as you sit up. “I’m being serious, Joel. I’ve never done it.”

“Never?” He questions in disbelief. “We were teens of the nineties grunge era. You never got high off your tree and listened to Pearl Jam or Nirvana in someone’s basement?”

“Joel Angus Miller!” You feign shock. “You little hypocrite!”

“Angus?” He scoffs, rolling his eyes at yet another failure attempt to win your ongoing game to guess his middle name.

“I’m gonna get it one day!” You proclaim before continuing. “You took away a sixteen-year-old's pot, meanwhile you were smoking it at sixteen yourself!”

“Well, Angus is the furthest away you’ve ever been. But okay, I get it. It’s just, I was young and dumb and in a world that’s not as…” he waves his hands around, “well, as fucked up as all this. What if something happens and she’s high and impaired? It’s not like we have phones anymore, she can’t just call me if she needs me.”

You reach out and rest your hand on his shoulder, squeezing gently. Both of you look where you’re connected before locking eyes.

“You’re scared,” you say simply and he nods once. “Tell her that, but you’ve got to relax a bit. I know you don’t want to admit it, but she’s right too. None of us is guaranteed a tomorrow and this is the safest place we can be in this, as you said, fucked up world.”

He nods again and sighs, leaning back to reach into his pocket. He pulls out a clear packet of what looks like crushed dried green leaves, little flecks of silvery purple mixed throughout. He moves the marijuana around through the plastic then laughs softly looking over at you while wiggling the bag.

“So…never done it, hey?” His smile is devious yet playful.

“No. My father was a cop -“

“Same.” He cuts you off.

“Rebel,” you quip. “My mom was a nurse.”

You pause, waiting for Joel to maybe open up about his mom. When he doesn’t, you continue. “Anyway, I always wanted to be a physician. Deliver babies into the world. So I was focused. Studying. Pushing. Learning. We were also incredibly religious. Neither of my parents even drank.”

“Huh, not nearly the same then,” he rasps. You glance over at him, his fingers still playing with the bag, he seems sad. You know enough about him not to push, so you keep talking.

“So yeah. Just wasn’t something in my circle, I guess. And then once I was a doctor and had finished my specialty training and had established myself in a clinic and could finally relax the outbreak happened.”

He glances towards you, “Got anywhere to be today?”

You squint at him suspiciously. “No, why?”

Joel doesn’t answer, just stands up, this time with a grunt because of his knees. You watch as he goes into the house, you hear the slide of drawer or two opening before he comes back outside.

“Hold out your hand,” he whispers, an edge of conspiracy and mischief in his voice. You listen though, turning your palm up for him. He places a lighter and a pack of Zig-Zags in your hand, his calloused fingertips brushing against the soft skin of your palm. “Wanna try it?”

You gasp dramatically, your empty hand coming to your chest as you look up at Joel. “I cannot believe that Joel Bartholomew Miller is going to smoke pot he confiscated from a teenager.”

“Onto the B’s now?” You nod, humming a yes. “Still wrong. More wrong than Angus. And I ain’t smokin’ nothin’. You are…if you want.” 

You bite your bottom lip, contemplating and not missing the quick dip of Joel’s gaze to your mouth and then back to your eyes.

“I’m not doing it unless you do,” you whisper.

“Alright,” he breathes, sitting down beside you, legs dangling over the edge of the deck again. He takes the papers from you and you watch as his thick fingers work deftly to roll a joint. Something deep in your core flexes when his tongue peeks out to lick a careful line along the paper. He smiles over at you, his handiwork pinched between his thumb and forefinger. “Ready for everything to get a little funnier?”

“Hopefully Maria doesn’t go into early labour,” you joke with a nod.

He brings the rolled paper to his lips, cupping his hand around the bottom of his face. The unmistakable click of a lighter sounds and he sucks, holding in the smoke then blowing it out.

“You, umm, you might wanna go easy on that one. Little bits at a time.” He turns the joint to you. It feels weird and foreign in your hand. You want to chicken out but he only did it because you wanted him to. Plus, you have been curious, so you bring it to your lips. Sucking just a bit, holding the smoke in your mouth then blowing it out.

You raise an eyebrow at Joel. “Nothing happened.”

He laughs, taking another hit. “Give it a minute, and try to actually inhale some.” He blows the smoke out, coughing a little.

As you take your second attempt the gate to the yard clicks open. “Shit,” Joel huffs, grabbing the joint and putting it out the edge of the deck. His reaction startles you, and you sharply inhale a large drag of the smoke before he rips it away. Immediately you begin to cough as Ellie comes into view.

“Smells an awful lot like pot back here,” she huffs. You cough again, smoke passing your lips. The expression on Ellie’s face is one you’ve never seen before, shocked and smug, “Doc!!!”

“I swear,” you rasp, throat hoarse from the smoke, “it’s my first time.”

“Same,” Joel quickly adds. 

Her wide eyes swing to his. “Her, I believe. But you, not so much.”

You try to hold it in, you really do, but you’re now slightly high, and even if you weren’t the situation is pretty fucking funny. You burst out into laughter, covering your face and lying back onto the deck.

“Joel! What if someone goes into labour? She’s so fucking high.”

You can’t see him through your hands but you can picture the cocky shoulder shrug he often does. “No one is goin’ into labour. Here…catch.”

The unmistakable sound of a plastic bag being caught by Ellie fills your ears. “Really?”

“Yeah. Just be smart and careful. And if anything goes wrong, come right back home. Okay?”

“You won’t be mad?” Her voice is quiet, so unlike the vivacious girl you know.

“Ellie, I’m never mad. I’m jus’…” his voice trails off. When you peek through your fingers, he’s looking right at you. You twirl a finger in the air, urging him to say it. “I was scared, okay?”

“Ya big softie,” she teases. “I’ll be careful. Can I go with Jesse and Dina for a bit?”

“Home by ten,” Joel warns, his voice dad-like.

Ellie huffs, “Eleven? I’m sixteen now.”

“Eleven, but not a second later because we gotta be up early for that birthday hike. Big surprise, remember?”

“Deal,” she says, her voice further away as if she’s running for the gate already. As soon as the latch clicks closed you break out into laughter again and this time, Joel joins you. His laugh is light and warm, and it might be the single greatest sound you’ve heard in a long time. The weed has made every muscle in your body feel light as air.

“Well, fuck. Guess we got caught,” Joel says through his laughter, standing and extending his hands to you. His large palms swallow yours as he takes them, pulling you to your feet.

You stumble into his chest, one of his hands steadying you at the waist. Not too low, not too high. The perfect and respectable place for two friends to touch. “Whoops. Might be high now.”

“You don’t fucking say,” he laughs. “You inhaled almost the entire thing.” 

Once he’s sure you’re steady, he brings the rest of the joint back to his lips, lighting it again. As he’s lost in the haze of his hit you keep your hands on Joel. Mostly because you feel like you have new legs. However, you realize that you’ve never touched Joel like this, so you let yourself linger, deciding you can blame it on him and pot, and not the fact that he is made of warmth and stone. Hard chest and abdomen lined with defined muscle, smelling like thunder and granite.

As your hands trail down his sides he looks at you, his hand coming to your chin, pulling gently to part your lips. Every touch sends sparks along your skin. Sparks you’ve never felt before. Sparks that could gather, fester, grow into something bigger.

Friends, you remind yourself as he tilts his head down and blows the smoke into your mouth. You remember this from a movie that was popular in your post-college years. Shotgunning.

Joel pushes at your jaw, closing your lips and you hold the second hand smoke in your mouth. You’re sure it’s the high, but it tastes sweeter coming from him. Sweeter, yet dangerous.

As you blow out he winks at you, “You okay?”

“Mmmm, yes. Very okay.” You hum, eyes fluttering shut as he pulls you towards the swing at the end of the deck.

“Let’s get you away from the edge,” he sits, his strong legs keeping the swing steady as your muscles move languidly to lie on the three-person seat, your head on his lap. A gust of wind blows your skirt down, the fabric pooling at your hips. But you don’t care, you let it land where it wants. Between the sun and the breeze every inch of your skin feels alive. Joel clears his throat nervously and you peel your eyes open to see him studying you.

“What?” You breathe.

“Nothin’. Never seen you like this before. All free and relaxed. It’s nice. You deserve it.” He smiles at you, the same smile he gets every time he sees you. The only difference between then and now is the way his fingers twirl around the loose strands of hair near your face.

“Sadly, I think the last time I was this relaxed was when I went to Cuba after graduating med school.” Your arms feel heavy, the left one falling off the edge of the seat, the right one tucked between you and the backrest. Your barefeet are planted; knees bent, swaying in time with Joel’s push and pull of the swing.

“Want me to make ocean sounds?” Joel jokes, laughing to himself but keeping his eyes on yours. Your breath catches in your throat at the crinkling skin around his eyes. There must be something wrong with that pot, because while Joel isn’t unattractive you’ve never been drawn to him like this.

“Yes, actually,” you say, calling his bluff. “I’m gonna close my eyes, you make ocean sounds.”

Everything goes dark as your lashes meet your cheeks, and then he starts, soft, staticky noises passing his lips. It’s sweet really, him trying to imitate such a core memory from before the apocalypse. You fight the smile.

“Don’t laugh,” he whispers. His breath feels like it’s skittering over your skin. “I’m tryin’ here.”

“Sorry,” you say back, the hushed tones of your voice matching his.

“Jus’ keep your eyes closed and relax. Feel the sun, there’s a margarita on the way for you.” He continues the soft whooshing sounds.

Any thoughts of hospital supply shortages, of the woman who didn’t make it through childbirth a few months ago, of the real and imminent danger outside of these walls fade away. You’re wholly and utterly relaxed.

“There you go,” Joel hums softly right before the heat of his palm meets your knee. Regardless of the fact that the patella is not considered an erogenous zone, the feeling of his rough finger tips along your smooth skin sends a rush of heat up your inner thigh, burning even hotter as it settles at your clit. You can’t stop the way your body reacts. Back arching off the recently sanded and stained wood, lips parting, a mix of a gasp and moan - sounds friends aren’t supposed to share - leaving your throat.

Both of you freeze, embarrassment overtaking you. You do what you do best, you decide to run. Run and hide, and protect what little peace you have. But your limbs are heavy, and you refuse to open your eyes to see what you’re sure is going to be a horror-stricken look on Joel’s face. It’s clumsy and awkward as you try to navigate your high, the swaying of the swing, and Joel’s hand still clamped to your leg, and the other one now guiding you to lie back down. 

“Shh,” he hushes. “Jus’ take a breath. You’re gonna fall.”

As if someone with strings controls your hands they fly up haphazardly and land on your face. “I’m horrified. I’m so sorry. I need to go.”

Your name is a firm whisper on Joel’s lips, lips that you now wonder how they'd feel on your skin, “Look at me, please.”

You shake your head, “No, I’m so sorry Joel.”

You can feel the tremble in his finger, still frozen around your knee. His voice is rougher as he repeats himself, “Look at me, please.”

Unwillingly, you lower your hands, biting the inside of your cheek to stop from making this worse. Not that you think that’s even possible.

“You have nothing to be sorry or embarrassed about,” his voice is soft and kind, but his expression is not one you’ve ever seen before, because much like the sound you made earlier, this too isn’t an expression friends share.

“You said getting high would make things funnier but…” You trail off, you’re a doctor, you shouldn’t be embarrassed to say that you’re overwhelmingly turned on right now.

“Lemme guess. All your muscles feel heavy, every touch feels heightened?” As he says it, his finger traces down the cartilage of your ear.

“Yes,” you breathe, turning your face towards him, exposing your neck in hopes he’ll continue his caress. He pauses at your lobe, pinching it gently. You mumble an airy ‘Joel’ into his t-shirt.

“We can ask each other for anything, remember?” He murmurs, his fingers meeting your neck, eliciting the same response as before; an arch of the back, a throb of your clit, a hum of pleasure. 

“Don’t stop,” you groan. His cock hardens along your cheek.

Joel’s rough fingertips dance along your neck and shoulder, each scratch feeling like heaven. Your brain can’t seem to catch up to the pleasure and you melt further into the solid mass of a man and his earthy, damp rock scent.

You can feel him looking down at you, so you peel your eyes open to see a soft smile and dark eyes. His voice matches his innate Joel-like musk - jagged and unpolished - you can tell he has asked this next question before, but probably not for a long time, “Is this still okay?” 

“Mmhmmm,” you nod your head, soft cheek scraping against the ever-growing bulge behind his rough denim. “You smell nice.”

His cheeks pink, a small dimple indenting his beard. “So do you.”

“I do?” You question. “What do I smell like?”

Joel's smile goes from serene to downright devious. “Tell me what you need and I’ll tell you how you smell.”

You slip your bottom lip between your teeth, his nearly obsidian eyes tracking the pinch immediately. You study his face. Any time you mentioned an eligible and interested woman to him he’d say she wasn’t his type or that he’s not looking for anything. You’ve seen him talking to women around Jackson, in the dining hall or at the stables, but he never looked at them as he’s looking at you now. He’s also never hauled his toolbox over to their houses after a long patrol to fix a light socket, or brought them the last slice of apple pie to their workplace. It dawns on you now that you’ve always been the one to say you’re friends, and he’s always been the one that agrees.

Joel

“Aren’t we just friends?” Her voice waivers, almost as if she’s finally putting it all together. 

I never had the chance to go to the ocean before the outbreak, yet I tried to imitate the crash of waves on rock for her. I have never baked pies, but when she got called away to the hospital on Thanksgiving I took over, watching them carefully and making sure that she got to taste the fruits of her labour.

I clear the recurring lump she causes in my throat. “We can be just friends if you want. But friends help each other.”

The high is making me feel emboldened, so I drag my fingers from her knee, drawing a swirling, irregular line down her impossibly soft thigh. I keep my gaze locked on hers. In my periphery, I can see the rapid rise and fall of her breasts under the stretchy white cotton of her sundress. I know she’s not wearing a bra, and it fucking kills me.

When my fingers get closer to the apex of her thighs her hips buck forward, gifting me with a glimpse of the baby blue cotton panties she has on. My cock presses painfully against the zipper of my jeans and I will it to soften. She doesn’t need to do anything for me. I just want to care for her. However, when she gasps needily all hope of my erection going down is lost.

“No pressure,” I reassure, “but if you want, or need, to come…all you have to do is ask.”

You

Joel’s fingers continue their abstract patterns on your inner thigh. You know he’s seen your baby blue panties, probably has noticed the darker hues of the soaked-through gusset.

Friends help each other.

His echoed words feel as good as his hands. You haven’t let a man please you since shortly after settling in at Jackson. As the single years passed so did the urge for touch.

“Joel Bradley,” you tease, the hand you’ve since re-tucked along the bench reaching up and finding purchase at the nape of his neck. “Tell me what I smell like while making me come.”

“You got a long way to go in that alphabet, sweetheart.” He guides your left leg, pulling your foot so the sole meets the back of the bench then pushing your knee down. Next, he guides the other leg up and over the back of the swing. You’re squirming with anticipation. If the innocent touches feel this good you can’t even begin to imagine how the not-so-innocent ones will feel. “Fuck me, you’re already so wet.”

“You were touching me,” you state, blinking up at him.

Joel’s tongue peeks out, wetting his lips and you wonder how he’d taste. “I love that you’re drippin’ for me. Like I said, you deserve to be relaxed. Deserve someone to care for you. ‘Specially since all you do is care for others.”

He shifts his body slightly, his hand now massaging your left inner thigh, kneading the muscles gently. Fire practically explodes up your leg, and you’re almost convinced you could come without him even touching you. Joel moves his hand in a calculated and methodical rhythm. You gasp and sink further into the feeling.

“How are you feeling?” His voice is tender, yet another side of him you’ve never seen. Unfortunately, in your languid state, your brain can’t seem to think of words.

“Melty,” you sigh, nuzzling into his covered dick. He laughs silently through his nose.

“Good. You’re stunning like this. All soft and free,” his firm but soothing caresses finally meet the crease of your thigh.

“God, that feels so good.”

“Jus’ Joel will do,” he teases, his thumb pressing deeper into your hip, immediately causing you to pant and your hips to flex forward. “If you change your mind, you can tell me to stop.”

You nod again, closing your eyes, fully unable to form words at this point. His cock gets harder - and somehow bigger - with the friction. Then you finally feel a light brush along the seam of your pussy through your panties. You cry out, your left leg coming up to the backrest as pleasure ignites through you.

“I got you,” Joel murmurs. “Open your legs. You’re okay.”

“Just keep talking,” you ask, leg going boneless and falling open for him. 

He plays with you again, one finger running up and down again and again. You can feel yourself getting wetter.

“I’ve noticed that you have two scents,” he begins, keeping his part of the deal to tell you how you smell while making you come. “The first is when you’re at work. The hospital smells sterile, but you smell like winter. Icy, but not cold. Fresh. Like a change is coming, and what’s going to bloom after the snow is going to be more beautiful than you could ever imagine.”

He swirls your clit now. Tight little circles with the pads of two of his fingers. “Oh fuck, Joel.”

“Look at me,” he rasps. When you peel your eyes open he continues, “Tell me how it feels.”

“So good,” you mumble, eyes hooded with pleasure. The sun is lower in the sky now, no longer hot on your skin and instead just a golden warmth. “Just a little harder.”

Joel listens, keeping the pace the same but pressing down and you swear you see stars. “Just like that - hnnng, Joel, fuck. Don’t stop. Please don’t stop.”

“I know, baby. I won’t. Not until you tell me to.”

Baby. No one has called you a pet name like that in years and it causes your eyes to roll back into your skull. He’s consistent, steady and assertive, in the way he plays with you. Those are the things you like about him and your friendship.

“J-Joel, I-ohmygod -“ the pleasure is building low in your stomach, spreading around your back and down your legs. Even though the two of you live away from the bustling Main Street of the commune, you worry that you will not be able to keep quiet when an orgasm finally takes you. Your muscles clench, your hand that’s still on his neck cards through his soft hair, tugging gently. Your other hand finds his corded, muscular forearm connected to his hand that’s still gingerly stroking your neck.

“Jus’ relax.”

“I…I can’t,” you bury your face into his stomach, he hisses at the friction along his cock.

“Yes you can, just let go. Then I’ll push these little panties to the side and give you another one. Explain what you smell like when it’s just the two of us.” His voice is encouraging, praising almost. “Take a breath, sweetheart. Jus’ relax.”

You suck a trembling breath in through your nose, exhaling slowly through your parted lips, sinking back into Joel. He said he’s got you. If anything, Joel Miller is a man of his word. He’s proven it time and time again. 

“That’s my girl,” he whispers gruffly, then speeds up his delicious assault of your clit. Before you have time to overanalyze it again a quick, yet intense, orgasm slams through your body. You gasp into Joel’s shirt, legs trembling. “There she goes. Let me make you feel good.”

“Holy fuck,” you exclaim, rolling your head back to look up at him. He slows his ministrations, keeping the pressure while your hips cant back and forth. Joel smiles down at you, the late afternoon sun glinting off the greys along his temples and beard. The amber glow gives you a preview of the tan you know he’ll have soon. “I want to take care of you now.”

Joel chuckles under his breath. “I made you a promise. Or were you too engulfed in the feeling of my fingers on your clit that you didn’t hear me?”

Your cheeks flush. In your experience, men say things in the heat of the moment that are erased more easily than a whiteboard the second they’re offered a turn. Your bottom lip slips between your teeth before you hum, “I heard.”

After carefully tucking the loose strands of hair he’s been playing with behind your ear, he twists at the waist, reaching down, fingers playing with the edge of your panties. “These are soaked through, sweetheart.”

His rough fingertips pull your panties to the side. “You know I woulda taken care of this for you a long time ago if you had asked. Been waitin’ for a while now.”

“I didn’t know,” you gasp, a mixture of the breeze hitting your soaked cunt and the whimper that leaves his lips when he sees you bare for him.

“So damn pretty,” he says quietly, as if it were just for him.

He holds your panties to the side, the other hand prodding gently at your entrance, then sliding along your pussy. He touches you everywhere, testing all the areas that make you whimper or squirm while coating his fingers in your arousal.

“Please, Joel. I’m so wet for you.” You're panting. The buildup and anticipation are almost too much.

“Say please again.”

Even though you can’t see his face now that he’s turned his upper body for better access, you know he’s smirking. That little tug of the side of his mouth that didn’t seem to have any effect on you until today. Now, you don’t want anyone else to get that smirk.

Joel pulls his fingers away, using his thumbs to spread you further. He murmurs to himself again, but you’re too lost in the feeling of him to hear it.

“Please, Joel,” a stream of cool air hits your clit and your pussy throbs and clenches around nothing. Everything melts away, you feel like you’re floating. “Please!”

“All you had to do was ask,” he hums and in one slippery push, two of his fingers are buried to the hilt inside of you.

You can’t breathe, unsure if you ever want to breathe again. Especially if it means you get to feel like this for eternity.

Joel

I can’t remember the last time I had my fingers inside of someone I had a connection with. Sure, there was an occasional hook-up here or there. And Tess was willing when I was in Boston. But this is different. Bigger. This woman cares so deeply for others. Deep enough that she befriended my stubborn ass and then went around Jackson singing my praises. Even though I don’t believe there’s a god anymore, so help me god that this woman will be paid back in my praises for as long as she’ll let me.

I move my thumb to her clit, rubbing it back and forth gently as she adjusts to the intrusion of my fingers. She writhes beautifully at my touch as she relaxes around my digits, short little puffs of air passing her perfect lips. I should have kissed her, slowly stripped her of every piece of clothing before doing this. If she lets me have access to her like this again, I’ll be sure to take my time; be sure to make her feel as special as she makes everyone else feel. 

You

“S’too much,” I mumble.

“Do you want me to stop?”

I roll my head from side to side rushing out a no and he responds with that quiet little chuckle that sets my skin on fire. “Talk to me.”

His thumb dances lightly along my clit, the walls of my pussy relaxing at his reverence, the pinch of his finger filling me turning into euphoria. I can’t even remember how long it’s been since someone else has touched me, but I know that no one has ever touched me this…completely.

You feel the fingers holding back your panties tremble as he takes a breath. He’s not hesitating, just preparing; though you aren’t sure what for until he starts to speak. 

“Moments when it’s just the two of us you smell like freshly ground coffee beans and sugar-crusted banana bread. Both of which seem impossible since we don’t have coffee or bananas,” he curls his fingers forward just a touch. More fire, more electricity, more being floaty and melty all at once. “You’re the coffee shop I used to go to every morning before I went to work. Before weekend soccer practices or dance recitals. You even somehow manage to drown out all the noise, turning it to comfortable background coffee shop chatter.”

His words hang in the air, heady and welcome. You remind him of before. Of a place he went every day. His routine. He once told you he’d do horrible things for a good cup of coffee. You’re his cup, his coffee, his lifeline.

Joel pumps his hand up, keeping the tips of his strong fingers firmly pressed to your G-spot. His hand moves with expert precision, thumb moving along your swollen clit with the motion. Once, twice. Again and again, wholly focused on you. While you know it’s the high making you feel him this intensely, you also think that Joel just might be that good at all of this.

You whimper, burying your face into his side. “Fuck, fuck. Please don’t stop, baby.”

“Never,” he whispers, just as unfazed as you were for being called by anything but your first name. Soft lips ghost along the inner knee that’s over the back of the swing; his beard both tickles and scratches, and you wonder what it would feel like along the rest of your body.

‘All you had to do was ask.’ His words from earlier trickle along your spinal cord.

His pace picks up, pressure behind your belly button becoming almost unbearable. The fire building from his touches evolves; you feel like you’re being dunked in lava. Your hips try to buck forward but you’re trapped by his strong body.

“Joel,” you breathe, your desperation carried away by the breeze.

“I can’t believe how pretty this pussy is. My hand is drippin’. So soft. So tight.” Even with the rough gravel of his voice his words are light and full of praise.

“I’m gonna come soon,” you moan, your hands scrambling to reach for him, desperate to feel his skin under your palms to ground yourself. It feels like an orgasm might rip you in two, singe every nerve ending, leaving you in a heap of trembling nothingness. A husk that only exists for this. For Joel.

“I know, baby, I know. Squeezin’ me so tight, bein’ s’good for me. Relax again. Relax and let it take you.”

As he speaks, a chill runs from the back of your neck to your tailbone, temporarily cooling your overheating flesh before the taunt muscles behind your navel and snap. You muffle your pleasure filled sob into his side. 

“That’s my girl,” he says over his shoulder, his dark brown eyes meeting yours as you fall apart for him. “So beautiful.”

Your hands ball into tight fists, holding onto his t-shirt as you moan and gasp, sucking in oxygen in hopes you won’t pass out from how fucking good Joel is making you feel. He adjusts himself, pressing the heel of his palm to your clit and giving your body the room it needs to take over. You fuck yourself into his hand, moving in time with him. The pleasure starts to ebb, and as if he can read your mind he stops his movements, letting you ride it out without pushing you into a state of overstimulation.

He smiles at you, “It’s all you, baby. All you.”

Your hips slow as your orgasm starts to subside. “Oh my god.”

His smile grows, big and beautiful, all dimples and teeth. He looks at you with a benevolent glow, like you single-handedly found a way to end the apocalypse and then hung all the stars in the sky just for him. 

You melt back into the swing, sated yet craving more. With his fingers still inside of you he says, “Are you okay? You’re trembling.”

You bob your head and hum an agreeable sound. His fingers slip free easily, coated in your slick. After putting your panties back in place he cups your pussy with his large, warm hand then sits up straight again. His eyes dance around your face and you laugh low and shy. 

“Stunning,” he whispers, pushing some hair away from forehead.

“All I had to do was ask, hey?” You tease, chewing on your cheek.

“I’m just following your lead, baby.” The new nickname said not in the heat of the moment makes you blush. “You want to be friends, I’ll be friends. You want to be more, I’ll be more. You want to never speak to me again, I’ll move.”

You gasp, “No! Not the last one.”

“It’s whatever you want, sweetheart.”

You shake your head, “I prefer baby.”

He pulls you to sit up, “Why’s that?”

Joel stands in front of you, grasping your hands as you answer, “Because you call everyone sweetheart…baby is just between us.”

His cheeks pink a little as he pulls you to stand. Your high has lessened a little but the exertion of your orgasm has your legs feeling like jelly. 

“Whatever you want…baby.” He says the last word with a wink before pulling you into his chest. He continues, “Anything else you want?”

You smile into his shirt, taking in the stony, earthy scent of him. “Your middle name, and for you to take me to your bed and fuck me.”

His thumb and forefinger grip your chin, tilting your gaze up to his. He dips his head, nose running down yours before he kisses you softly. A lingering press of his lips to yours. He kisses the side of your mouth next, your jaw, your cheekbone, the soft spot below your lobe, then whispers a name into your ear.

“It would have taken me years to get that,” you murmur and he chuckles.

“I was hoping that would be the case,” his fingers link with yours before he guides you into his house and up to his bedroom. 

Part Two

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Using long, lazy strokes, he jerks off in time with your movements onscreen, watching the bright pink dildo disappearing between your fat pussy lips, swallowing it whole. He imagines it’s his own cock buried deep inside you, making you moan like that, making your legs shake.

“Fuck,” you sigh. “So big.. you like this, don’t you? You stroking that big cock, daddy? Let me see.”

He positions the camera down, his hand wrapped around his cock as he continues with upward strokes. From your bedroom over two thousand miles and three time zones away, you salivate as you watch your best customer jerk himself off with you.

“I’m coming, daddy,” you whine, the dildo disappearing into your wet and willing hole. Dave's eyes are glued to the screen, his mouth filling with saliva, thrusting up into his hand and pretending it’s you.

“Come for me, pumpkin, you can do it,” he voice is deep, rocking through you, and you envision those words murmured against your throat as he works you. The image alone catapults you into bliss, your pussy walls gripping the toy like a vise. Dave comes with you, spilling into his hand, a few errant drops landing on his bare chest.

“If I was there, I’d lick it off,” you murmur, laying back on your bed, exhausted yet satisfied, watching him through the screen.

Something dark clicks in Dave’s brain. Within forty-eight hours he emails you a plane ticket to DC.

He uses the excuse of work to be away for the weekend, opting to meet you at the motel as opposed to picking you up at the airport. He needs to cover his tracks, as he does in all things. The secrecy makes it sweeter when he steps into the seedy motel room and finds you deliciously laid out on the bed, naked, fingering yourself and playing with your nipple piercings. He’s on you in an instant, and for the rest of the night. All talk of safety discussed beforehand (he had a vasectomy after his younger daughter’s birth, and you had a clean test) you make the most of your first in-person assignation.

You weren’t sure what to think when Dave first started messaging you on the site. Customers paid a pretty penny to be able to reach out to their favorite content creators, and you vetted them carefully. Many had to be blocked. But Dave was different. He had a smooth way about him, as if he was aware of the fine line he walked in gaining access to your good favor. When you finally agreed to do one-on-one sessions with him, you realized how handsome he was, a strikingly good looking man wrapped in the package of a typical suburban family man.

That was, quite honestly, part of the appeal.

You weren’t faking getting off while you fucked yourself on camera with your favorite seven inch dildo - the very size of Dave’s own cock, though his own was thicker, a slight curve towards the head.

Plus he’s handsome, drives a nice SUV, and takes you to places to show you off. Granted, they’re a couple hours out of the way from where he lives.

Where you live as well now. Not necessarily to be close to him, but for work. The job you’ve been preparing for your whole life. Something more than just filming content. Even though you love it, you have a passion for something more, and are able to pursue it by moving to DC. At the very least it brings you and Dave together more often, even if you have to go out of your way to find places where people who know him are less likely to be.

Tonight he brings you to a club that smells like sweat, cigarette smoke, and spilled liquor.The bass is low and industrial, rattling your bones. You’re brazen on the dance floor, grinding on him, kissing, the only thing between you is the clothing you’re wearing.

Drinks in hand, you secure a booth partially hidden in a shadowy alcove. Emboldened by the alcohol and the music reverberating through you, you palm him through his pants as his hand finds its way up your short skirt, both of you gasping and sighing into each other’s mouths, splitting the taste of the boozy cocktails on your breath, getting so caught up in each other that you get on his lap without a care for anyone who can see.

“I want to devour you,” he rasps in your ear. You respond with a breathless sigh, grinding down on him.

“I didn’t think you were the rule-breaking type,” you whisper, the bass even more prevalent in the tiny booth. “They’ll kick us out if we get caught.”

“Fuck the rules,” Dave grunts. “Need that pussy wrapped around my cock right now.”

You glance around quickly, seeing only people interested in their own doings. “Hurry,” you whisper, helping him with his pants. You try to be discreet as he slides down his pants just enough, his cock jutting out from the fly of his boxers. Straddling him, you lift your skirt just enough, your thong already parted to the side. A rough groan slips past his lips just as a gasp leaves yours. For a moment all coherent thought leaves both of you.

“Move, baby,” he growls in your ear, “or I’ll fuck this tight little ass instead, right in front of everyone.”

You bite your lip on a broken cry as you writhe on top of him, hips moving seductively. Dave’s head tips back against the vinyl booth, gripping your hips as if he controls every movement. “Jesus Christ.. That’s it..” he grunts out between sharp breaths, his restraint unraveling with every slide of your wet heat. “Just like that..”

His fingers dig into the soft flesh of your hips as he pulls you down harder against him with each roll of your body. The booth is too small for this kind of thing, too risky, but god damn if it’s not the most exhilarating thing he’s done in years.

You grind down on him, deep and hard, the tip of him bumping close to your cervix, some pain mixed with the pleasure, as only Dave can give. His hands slide up under your top where you’ve gone without a bra, toying with your nipple piercings, lightly pulling and twisting. He leans in, tongue flicking the metal studs, teasing the tip of your nipple.

“Fuck!” you gasp as softly as you can, even though nobody would hear you over the music. “Dave..”

“Yeah?” he murmurs, big brown eyes peering up at you while one hand finds its way to your clit. “Keep moving, baby. Wanna feel you choking my cock.”

Your walls are squeezing him, his release threatening to spill over if you keep it up. “Good girl,” he growls against your ear. “Making me feel so damn good..”

His thumb flicks over your clit, tracing hard circles over the greedy little flesh, generating a sweet little mewl from you, your cunt clenching even harder. “Keep doing that,” you say in between gasps. “I’m gonna come..”

“Yeah?” You close, baby?” He teases your lips with his tongue. You’re not even trying to be inconspicuous anymore, bouncing on his lap, his fingers leaving bruising marks on your hips. Dave keeps up the steady rhythm, focusing on bringing you over the edge. Each roll of your body sends a shockwave of pleasure straight through him, but he holds back, wanting you to get there first.

“Come for me,” he rumbles, smirking when you start to fall apart seemingly on command. His own release coils tight in his gut as your own takes over, your cunt gripping and milking his cock. He makes sure you’re at the peak before he loses himself, burying himself to the hilt as he fills you up, his come jetting inside the deepest part of you.

He’s still inside you when you’re caught by security, a big beefy guy with a face tattoo and a backwards cap, telling you to get dressed and leave.

You park in an alleyway a quarter of a mile away. As soon as the car is parked in the shadows Dave wastes no time getting in the backseat after you. His hands are already on you, pulling your clothes off and his own. “I fucking love how eager you are for me,” he growls against your skin before sinking his teeth into the swell of your breast. You cry out as he pushes into you, already setting a punishing pace. His hands grip the backs of your thighs as he drives into you with deep, relentless strokes. The car rocks with the motion, the windows fogging up with your breath, the air around you thick with the smell of sex.

“Baby! Don’t stop!” you moan as your thighs shake in his grip. “I’m coming!” you moan, crying out his name as you finally go over the edge. His hips stutter before burying himself deep inside you one last time, spilling into the heat of your body with rough pulses, as if you hadn’t already drained him moments ago in the club.

You lay there as one, panting, sweaty, sated. Making a face, you frown at something digging into your lower back and lift your hips, pulling out a Barbie doll accessory. Laughing, you flick it under the seat. “Kids?” you ask breathlessly.

“Yeah.. always ruining the moment,” he mutters, reluctantly pulling out of you.

“Married too, I suppose?” You sit up, grabbing a tissue from your purse to clean up.

“Yeah. Though I take it that’s not a problem for you.”

You shrug, tossing the tissue out the door. “Does she not fuck you anymore?”

“It’s complicated,” is Dave’s clipped answer. “And none of your business.”

“Jeez. Sorry,” you mutter.

He lets out a long breath. “It’s fine. Didn’t mean to snap.”

Despite this flare-up, you invite him inside when he drops you at your place.

Your apartment is small but done in bold colors and prints. A small cat sleeps in its fur bed by the TV. Dave scans the place, noting how different it is from his own sterile, controlled environments. Fairy lights cast a warm glow over everything.

“Cute place,” he remarks, closing the door behind you both. “And that little demon?” He nods to the orange tabby cat.

“His name is Waffles.” You smile and give Waffles an affectionate rub on his head and he purrs in response. “What do you want to drink?” She asks Dave, going behind the bar. “Whiskey?”

“Whiskey sounds good,” he answers, strolling over to take a seat on a barstool. He notes your apartment is nicer than he anticipated. You must be doing pretty well for yourself with your revenue from webcamming. He watches you, gaze roving over your curves as you pour two drinks. “What kind of a name is Waffles?”

“He likes to eat Eggos every morning,” you explain, hiding a smirk.

Dave hmphs. “That’s one spoiled pussy.”

“Not as spoiled as mine,” you tease.

He rounds the bar, hands on your waist. “Yeah? Prove it.”

Your lips are on his immediately, savoring the taste of the whiskey on his tongue. He lifts you onto the counter.

“You ever fuck your wife in the kitchen?” you ask, briefly breaking the kiss.

“No,” he admits, “but I’m thinking about fucking you in yours.”

Skirt pulled up, panties shifted to the side, his jeans and boxers pulled down, cock free, he rocks into you again. You’re still soaked from earlier – the club and then his SUV. Small traces of his cum are still slipping out of you as he pushes in, raw and needy for you.

“You gonna scream my name for me again?” he rasps, thrusting harder and deeper.

“Yes,” you whimper. “So fucking good! Oh Dave!” His fingers dig into the soft flesh of your thighs, holding you tight against him while his hips piston with a rhythm that leaves you both panting and desperate.

“That’s it,” he grits out between clenched teeth. “Let the neighbors know who owns this pretty pussy.”

You moan his name over and over as you come, putty in his hands. Dave follows you over the edge with a rough groan, his release spilling hot into your warmth as he buries himself deep with the final thrust. “Damn right,” he mutters hoarsely. “You’re mine.”

Your core pulses around him one more time, your hands snaking around to grab his butt. “You’re insatiable..”

“Only when it comes to you. Now.. bedroom?”

Later, sweaty and sated, tangled in your sheets, you try to catch your breath in unison.

“Jesus,” Dave mutters. “You really are hell on a man.”

“Complaining already?” you smirk.

He presses a brief kiss to your temple. “Hell no. I’d be more than happy to keep going. I’m just not as young as I used to be. I might need a few minutes to recover.”

“You fuck better than any guy my age.”

A grin. “Experience counts for something.”

You sigh, letting him rest his head on your chest as you lazily stroke his hair with your fingers. “You should be home,” you murmur sleepily, “with your wife.”

Dave snorts. “Tell that to my dick. He seems to have a mind of his own when it comes to you.”

“Mmm.. I love this dick.. wanna spoil him..” You nuzzle his neck, gently cupping his still-spent cock. “Biggest cock I’ve ever had. Makes me feel like a virgin all over again.”

He’s half-hard at the thought of you as a shivering, curious virgin. It’s a thought that doesn’t stay long in his head – he’s so used to you as fantasy material, a three-holed wonder that belongs to him alone.

You look up at him. “You gonna stay, or..?”

He falls silent. He knows he should leave. No good can come from staying. He’s a married man, after all. He’s supposed to be better than this.

But he isn’t.

“I’ll stay,” he murmurs against your neck.

The routine becomes too easy, too comfortable. It worries him because he’s not supposed to care about you. He can’t. He’s a married man. But he still comes back each time. He gives you pieces of his time when he can: movie dates at theaters more than an hour’s drive away; late night diner escapades; but the majority of the time he’s at your apartment, bending you over the bathroom sink or slipping between your legs in the shower.

It’s not an ideal relationship – you wouldn’t dare to call it that anyway

On a random Monday in the office he’s chatting with the other agents, trading weekend stories. He wishes he could tell them about you, brag about his little slut. He’d be the envy of the whole office. But his work life and private life have to keep a respectful distance from each other.

Something pulls his attention away from Carl’s fishing trip story and he glances up, his gaze landing on you.

A knee length dress and blazer, sensible heels, your hair pulled back away from your face, minimal makeup.. he almost wouldn’t recognize you. He blinks hard to make sure he isn’t dreaming.

And this is the kind of dream he’d have.. you, showing up to his workplace, pulling him by the tie with that mischievous little smirk on your hot pink lips as you pull him into his office.. He’s thought about it more times than he’ll ever admit.

But by the looks of it you’re here on business. He mutters some excuse to his cohorts and makes his way over to you, weaving through the crowd that has accumulated until he’s standing right in front of you. On instinct he nearly reaches out, but he stops himself in time.

“Dave.” Your eyes dart around, willing yourself to maintain normalcy in your new surroundings. “I didn’t know you work here.”

That’s because I never wanted you to find out, he thinks. “Yeah,” he says, a little self-consciously, hoping this won’t turn into some ridiculous rom-come type of misunderstanding. “And I didn’t know you’d be working here too.”

Your agreed-upon terms of nondisclosure kept you from getting to know each other’s personal lives, the details of which you both remained blissfully unaware. You didn’t care where he took his family on vacations and he didn’t ask about your family or your friends. In hindsight, perhaps some honesty would have been helpful.

“I didn’t think you were interested in that part of my life,” you retort. Is that a hint of pain in your voice?

“Of course I’m interested,” he whispers, his gaze flicking about, checking for eavesdroppers. “But you didn’t exactly give me any indication that you were more than..”

“More than an OnlyFans girl?” You arch a brow.

“Yeah.” Chastised, Dave exhales sharply through his nose, fingers flexing at his sides before he shoves them into his pockets. He glances back at the group of guys and a few of them are watching him. To all appearances it simply looks like he’s chatting up the young, pretty intern on her first day. Nothing out of the ordinary.

“I’ve been assigned to you.. your casework, I mean,” you chew your bottom lip, wondering how he’ll take it.

“Really?” His eyes are like ice but there’s intrigue in his voice.

“Look, if I ask for reassignment now, it’ll look odd. They’ll ask why.”

“So we’re stuck with each other, huh?”

You nod. “For the time being.”

“Great.” Dave crosses his arms over his chest, his gaze never leaving yours. “Just what I need – a pretty little thing stalking me at work every day.”

“I’m going to remain professional and so are you.”

Professional. After he’s had his dick in every one of your holes and left his cum behind in them too. After he’s fucked his fist to every one of your videos.

“Yeah,” he says dryly. “We’ll see about that.”

Neutrality is part of the job. You’ve always been able to compartmentalize. Your secret job has provided you with enough money to never need to depend on anyone, but it’s not what you want to do forever. Working for the DIA has been a dream you’ve treasured for years, and just when it’s in the palm of your hand, your private and public selves are at risk of colliding.

During the week you’re in meetings with upper-level staff and being shown around by other agents who are just being nice and giving you tips on which food carts to avoid in the lobby. Luckily there’s not much face-to-face time with Dave, just forwarded emails and when you are in his presence, others are there. No calls or texts happen after office hours, and you don’t dare let yourself be the first to reach out.

At the end of your first two weeks there’s a meeting and of course you’re running late because of traffic. Dave’s waiting for you, a little smirk on his face but his eyes giving nothing away. He walks after you into the meeting room where the new interns go over a debriefing of their work so far. Dave keeps his expression neutral throughout, his posture relaxed but alert.

He doesn’t look at you, can’t afford to risk it, but he can feel your presence like an electric current. You only look at him when he’s speaking. When the meeting finally, blessedly adjourns, he’s the first to leave.

He waits until you’re at the water cooler before he approaches you. “Come to my office in five minutes,” he mutters. “We need to talk.”

You swallow hard, faking a smile as you meet him in his office, closing the door behind you. Dave is leaning back against the edge of his desk, arms crossed over his chest. “Come here,” he orders quietly, his gaze locking onto yours.

You approach with caution. “What do you want?”

“You know damn well what I want.” He reaches out, fingers curling around your wrist to pull you closer. His grip is firm, just enough to make sure you stay put. “But right now?” his lips brush against your ear. “We need ground rules.”

“Rules?” You’re trying to keep your hips from grinding against his.

“Yeah, pumpkin. And the first one: this–” he grinds his pelvis against yours, just enough to tease, to send a spark through you both, “--stops at the door. No touching at work.”

You stifle your whimper. “Agreed..”

Dave’s eyes darken with a predatory gleam. “Good girl. Rule number two: keep your mouth shut about us.”

You pull away from him, shocked (but not really) that he would even consider that you’d go and blab about fucking the agent you’ve been assigned to shadow. “Dave, really? I thought you knew me better than that.” You rub your wrist where he had a hold on you.

He seems annoyed by your comment, and shoves his hands into his pockets. He’s been doing a lot of that lately, training himself not to reach for you just because you’re there. “Just making sure we’re on the same page, sweetheart. Because I swear to god, if anything about us gets out–”

“I could say the same for you,” you interject passionately. “If anyone else finds out about my second job, I’ll know who to blame.”

His lips twitch with a smile. For a moment it seems ludicrous that anyone would believe he would be fucking around with a camgirl. “Fair enough,” he mutters. “Just remember, I’ve got a hell of a lot more to lose than you do.”

You glare at him and mutter “Asshole,” before turning on your heel and leaving.

You’re determined not to let Dave’s presence put a dent in your internship. You worked hard to get where you are, despite the randomness of starting this affair with Dave. There’s just no place in your life to mix business and pleasure. You’re aware of his eyes on you in the office, the frown etched onto his face when one of his colleagues talks with or flirts with you. It happens more often than you’d like, but you manage to brush it all off with professionalism. Unfortunately your cubicle isn’t far from Dave’s office and he has a pretty good view of your desk. Currently one of the junior analysts is laughing at something you didn’t intend to come off as humorous, and as he’s leaving his hand on your shoulder a second too long, you know Dave’s watching, and what really is humorous is that he can’t do a thing about it without risking exposure of your arrangement.

At the end of the day you give Dave a quick, friendly wave, briefcase in hand as you pass him in the parking garage. He looks up at you, no discernible emotion in his eyes. “See ya tomorrow,” he calls out, watching you get into your car.

Behind the wheel of his own vehicle, he watches in his rear view mirror as you start up the car and leave. On the road now, he starts for home. There will be a lovely dinner spread out on the table, probably a glass of bourbon freshly poured, waiting for him in his wife’s hand as he comes through the door, his kids happy to see him, jumping and clawing at him, showing him their artwork or their dolls or whatever is making them happy this week.

But he finds himself taking the road that leads to your apartment instead. In no time at all he’s outside your door.

“You shouldn’t be here,” you tell him decisively through the crack, only the chain lock between you.

“Yeah? Well, I’m here anyway.” He shifts uncomfortably on the doorstep, all pent up lust and frustration swirling in his veins. “Can I come in or what?”

Knowing he’s persistent, you let him in with a sigh. Dave glances around your apartment. Nothing new. Your heels are off, your blazer is draped over the coat rack, and you’ve poured yourself a glass of wine to kickstart the evening. Your hair is pulled down, framing your face. You’re the picture of post-work relaxation.

“You know, you always look good, but those work outfits don’t suit you at all,” he says casually.

“Oh? Think I look better in pasties and a thong?”

“Damn right you do,” he growls, invading your bubble, hands sliding around your waist as he pulls you flush against him.

“Don’t fuck up this job for me,” you warn him.

“I won’t..” his face is buried in your hair, collecting the last vestiges of your strawberry shampoo and the perfume you didn’t have time to re-spray this afternoon. “I know what I’m doing.”

“Dave. I’m serious.”

He pulls away. “So am I. But right now all I can think about is how bad I want to bend you over that couch and remind you what you’re best at.”

“How dare you!”

He smirks, his grip on you tightening as he backs you up until your legs hit the couch. “You know I’m right, pumpkin.” His cocky expression infuriates you and makes you hot at the same time.

“Dave, I mean it!-” but you’re cut off as he lunges forward, covering your mouth with his before pushing you down onto the sofa. “Fuck you,” you mutter, getting to work at unbuckling his belt, pushing his pants down to free him. His fingers tangle in your hair as he guides your head where he wants it. “Yeah,” he mutters gruffly, “you will.”

Glaring at him you get to work, taking him deep in your throat without any mercy. “Good girl,” he gasps, “you know what to do.” Using suction and a lot of saliva, you bob your head on him before letting him thrust in your mouth. “Fuck,” he mutters. Your mouth is like heaven, all warm and wet around him. “Gonna make a mess down that pretty throat of yours.”

You moan around him, grabbing his ass and pulling him forward until your nose is pressed to his pelvis, your throat bulging with his cock. Dave growls, hips jerking forward uncontrollably. The way your throat squeezes around him has stars bursting behind his eyelids. He’s not going to last much longer. “Shit,” he rasps out. “Get on your hands and knees for me.”

A change of heart, then. But you’re so cock-drunk that you obey without question, getting on all fours on your sofa, your work skirt bunched up around your thighs as Dave shuffles your pantyhose and underwear off in one go, shoving them down to your knees. His cock twitches at the sight of you like this, ass in the air, pussy drenching the insides of your thighs. He doesn’t waste another second before pressing against you, one hand anchored to your hip while he slams in to the hilt.

“Dave!” you scream out, fingers digging into the arm of the sofa.

“Yeah? You like that?” His free hand tangles in your locks, yanking your head up so you’re looking at him over your shoulder. “You feel so goddamn good.” His thrusts become relentless as you gasp and scream his name, asking for more, harder, please, and he slams into you with enough force to knock the very breath from your lungs. “That’s it.. take every inch,” he growls. Your walls spasm around him, your sopping pussy clenching like a vise as you come, screaming out his name, nerves firing in a brilliant storm of light as you barely register the swelling of his cock, the twitching that implies his own climax. He doesn’t last much longer after that, hips stuttering before burying himself deep inside, painting his release within you.

You slump over the sofa arm, wincing as he pulls out. But he’s not done yet.

He watches his spend dribble out of you, the way your cunt pulses, pushing it out. He scoops some with his fingers, using it to trace the rim of your asshole, smirking as you tighten around nothing before he gently shushes you, pressing his middle finger inside, pushing past the tight ring of muscle. You automatically clamp around him, curses spilling from your mouth as he fingers your ass, leaving your empty, greedy pussy to squeeze around nothing. “C’mon,” he grunts out, “you’ve taken something bigger than my fingers before. I know you can give me one this way.”

It’s true, and even now you hate to admit it, but he’s already wrenching the pleasure from you, one hand mercilessly working your clit as you continue to tighten around his fingers. “Come for me,” he grunts, playing your body like he has something to prove. Your every cell is already finely attuned to his actions, and despite how much you try to fight it, your vision whites out as you come again, drenching him, leaving you spent.

“You all right?” he asks gruffly, a hint of concern in his tone despite himself.

“Yeah,” you answer him, pulling your panties back on. “This can never happen at work..”

“Don’t worry,” he says, getting dressed as well. “I know how to keep a secret.”

“No, I mean.. we can’t continue seeing each other like this. It’s going to be harder now. We’re working together.. it’s riskier for us.” You dare a glance at him, finding disappointment clearly etched on his face. “I’m sorry, Dave.”

“You’re sorry?” he repeats, chest heaving. There’s a wild desperation in his tone that he can’t quite squash down. “All this time, everything we’ve been through, and you’re gonna throw it all away like this?”

“It was just sex,” you shoot back.

“Don’t give me that bullshit. We both know it was more than that. No one else can make you come like I can.”

You shiver. “Dave, don’t use that against me.”

“You’re the best piece of ass I’ve ever had. Ever. You can’t tell me it wasn’t the same for you.”

You’re quiet, unwilling to give him the truth at first. “It was the best I’ve ever had,” you admit. “But you don’t even respect me as a serious person with a future. You want me to be onscreen, flashing my tits and letting you fuck me in an alley. You only like me dirty.”

“That’s not true.” Dave’s jaw clenches at your words, a muscle twitching in his cheek, his teeth grinding. “That’s not true,” he grits out. “I respect you..”

But you don’t care to hear anymore. “We both got what we wanted tonight. We’re done. Good night.”

You don’t watch as he leaves, but as soon as you hear the door slam shut an emptiness takes over you. You tell yourself there was no other way. Dave York is a roadblock to your future and had to be dealt with.

You manage to ignore him at work, but not forever. It’s not as if you can transfer. You’ll just have to hope that he finds some other pretty thing to distract him until he forgets about you. It’s hard to imagine it now when you’re still reviewing cases and evidence side-by-side with him.

Only four weeks pass by before you find yourselves alone together again.

Pressing the button for the down elevator, you patiently wait until the ding, and the door slides open to reveal Dave inside, alone. Hesitant, you step in. Dave is stiff next to you, eyes fixed forward. The silence between you is suffocating but neither of you dares to speak first.

The moment stretches on until finally he can’t take it anymore.

“How long are you going to pretend I don’t exist?” he mutters.

“We have no reason to talk beyond work,” you reply, staring straight ahead, mentally willing the elevator to hurry to the ground floor.

“Like hell we don’t,” he grumbles. “You don’t get to just cut me out like that.”

“I can. Because you don’t think I’m good enough to do what you do for a living. You want me to be a camgirl and nothing else.”

“I never looked down on you. Not once,” he fires back.

“Bullshit.”

Dave slams his hand for the stop button, trapping you between him and the elevator door. “Bullshit? Why the hell would I be with you if I thought you were beneath me?”

“Because all I’m good for is fucking, right?”

He shakes his head, frustrated. “If that was all I wanted, I wouldn’t have stayed those nights I did.”

“Quit trying to prove yourself as a great guy. You’re not!”

He goes on as if you hadn’t spoken. “Do you know why I stayed? Because no one – no one – has ever made me feel the way you do. And I don’t want to lose that.”

“You’re selfish. You like being with me because it’s wrong.”

His dark gaze flickers as you hit it right on the mark. He doesn’t deny it, he doesn’t even try.

“So what if I do?” he challenges. “So what if I like the thrill of something secret, something forbidden? It doesn’t change the fact that I have feelings for you.”

“You.. what?”

Dave exhales sharply, stepping away, giving you breathing room. “I said I have feelings for you. Happy now?”

“What good are your feelings to me? You’re married,” you point out. “It’s pointless, Dave. Just let me go.”

“No,” he growls. “I won’t let you go. Not when you’re all I think about every goddamn day and night.”

“Dave.. this is a bad idea.”

He doesn’t answer with words. Instead he crushes his lips to yours in a searing kiss that leaves no room for argument. His hands slide down from your wrists to hold your waist as he pulls you closer. “Then let me be bad,” he murmurs against your lips.

“We shouldn’t be doing this here,” you remind him, but you’re shamelessly rubbing against him like a cat in heat.

“You really think I care?” he grunts. “Tell me what you want, pumpkin.”

“I want you inside me..”

You kiss again, hungrily, clawing at each other as if trying to climb inside one another’s skin. Dave can’t get enough of you, the way your hands grab at him, the desperate little noises you make as he kisses down your neck. “You want me inside?” he whispers. “Don’t say it like a good girl. We both know you’re not one. Say it like a dirty girl.”

“Stuff me with your cock,” you murmur.

He doesn’t waste another second before spinning you around, pressing you to the wall. He rips the pantyhose apart just to get to you, not bothering to slide them down. Panties pushed to the side he extricates himself from the confines of his own pants and pushes into you with one sharp thrust.

You brace yourself against the wall, crying out as he thrusts hard into you, his grip like iron on your hips, pulling you back onto his cock over and over. “Don’t stop,” you beg him.

“Not gonna stop,” he growls out.

You give a strangled cry, coming apart at last, your pussy milking his cock. His lips curl into a sly smile as he leans forward, whispering in your ear, “That’s my good girl. Now get on those damn knees.”

As soon as he pulls out you’re bare-kneed on the cold floor, his cock in your face. He taps your cheeks with his dick, teasing you as you try to put your mouth on him, smearing your own arousal on your face, covering you in your own cum.

He’s saying, I call the shots here.

He’s reminding you that you’re in his world now.

And as soon as he shoves himself inside your wet and willing mouth, he pushes you all the way down, forcing you past your gag reflex, making you take the whole of him without difficulty. Just when you think he’s going to spurt down your throat, he pulls out suddenly, stroking himself until he comes in hot splashes across your face. A few plops fall into your open mouth as you gasp for air. You’re wiping it from your eyes when you finally look up and see what you should've seen all this time: Dave, standing over you, phone in hand, filming you.

“I thought you might need more content,” he murmurs, zooming in on your cum-covered face. “This is what you’re good at, after all.”

“Wait. What do you mean, “his appetite”?” you question, turning back to the madam, but she’s already gone, cooing over someone else playing cards nearby. 

Giving one last glance at the door of the room he went into, you plaster on a smile and make your way towards the crowded tables. 

--

The next time he comes into town, the madam tells him you’ve been asking about him.

The settling of quarries, the payment of services, the collection of flyers among other useful pieces of information – he’s fresh from the sheriff’s office, his sparse patience running even thinner. His replies have become near one word responses while he drops a few coins towards the barkeep, in payment for a hot plate of whatever is available.  

“Is that so,” he asks, tipping his hat in thanks when the plate is set in front of him. A glass of  whiskey is poured next, followed by a tin cup of water. 

“Well,” she asks, leaning on his shoulder. “What do you think of her?”

Spearing a bite of food, he chews while his dark eyes study you from across the bar. Chatting with another girl, your face breaks into a smile at something she says. 

The madam’s head tilted in appraisal, her tone is thick with the sweetness of someone trying to sell their wares. “All the men love how sweet she is.”

“Sweet?” he questions, skeptical. Swallowing his whiskey in one go, he sets his glass down on the bar, giving her a side-long look. “I don’t think sweet –”

“Oh, hush,” the madam replies, swatting his shoulder with a fan. “Besides, the girls you had last time moved on. It’s been a while since you’ve been around.” She nods in your direction. “Give her a try. I think you might like her.”

–

He has a routine, the madam tells you. 

“Always two girls, always a bath first.” Opening the door to your room, she strides in, gesturing to a table in the corner. 

A girl of twelve scurries behind her, a maid. Placing clean towels down and laying a fresh bar of soap on top, she gets to work on filling the copper tub. The madam straightens the blanket on your bed, and you inwardly laugh. Like that thing stays straight. 

“Always the whole night, and the next day,” she continues. 

“The next day?” Gracie asks, her brows raised. “He keeps going?”

You laugh at the impressed look on Gracie’s face, and she gives you a wink.

“Most men only get an hour,” she muses. “He must be really generous if he gets the whole night.”

“The next day isn’t for him,” the madam replies. “It’s for you, so you can rest.”

Scooting the girl out of the room with an affectionate swat on her behind, your face sobers, and it’s Gracie’s turn to laugh. 

“Oh, please,” she rolls her eyes. “They’d all like to think themselves so good.”

The madam gives her a knowing look. “You’ll see.” She starts towards the door, then turns around. “He’s one of our best customers. Make sure you give him what he wants.” With those final words, she shuts the door behind her. 

You immediately turn to Gracie.

“Think we bit off more than we can chew?” you tease, trying to hide the sudden nerves in your stomach. 

She waves your worries away. “We would have heard about him sooner if he was a rough one.”

That’s true. There are rough ones, and they are well known among the girls. 

One of the most popular girls since her start at the brothel, Gracie has been by your side since you started. Up for anything, she wasn’t fool enough to think she had actual agency in this world, but the little she did have, she used to the full extent. She knew she could reduce these men to nothing with the roll of her hips on theirs, with the whisper of her sweet words – and so she did. She didn’t take anything too seriously, and you loved her for it, especially in contrast to your natural inward nature. 

“I’ve only ever seen him that one other time,” you reply, testing the water with your hand. “Have you seen him before?”

“No. I would have remembered one like that. He is a handsome thing,” she replies, fixing her hair in the mirror. “He’s got tall, dark and mysterious written all over him. A bit dirty,” she shrugs, “but do at least he’s asking for a bath. More than most before they crawl into bed.”

Scrunching your nose, you agree. 

“I’m going to get ready,” she says. “Get him in the tub, and I’ll be back. Try not to have all the fun without me.”

Blowing you a kiss, she slips out of the room. 

Without the distraction of others, you fuss with the tub until it’s filled with hot water, steam curling above the surface. Shampoo, pitcher, basin. Towel draped to the side, and a sack for him to put his clothes in. The inn ran a laundry service that overnight visitors took advantage of, and you weren’t sure if he was the type to trust others with the clothes off his back, but you prepared for it just in case. 

Everything ready, you slip into a silk shift that skims your curves, and try to recall the anticipation and bravery you felt when you called dibs. The warning the madam gave has rattled you, and you wish Gracie were here to help distract. She’d help you shake the nerves free, crack jokes to help clear the tension from the room. 

Finding yourself fiddling with the edge of the blanket, you huff a laugh at yourself before a sharp knock has you straightening. 

He enters, and your greeting is automatic. 

“Hey there,” you smile with practiced sweetness. “Come on in.”

He tips his head in acknowledgment, and all bravado you had when you called dibs disappears, slowly replaced with hesitation. 

He’s so much bigger in your small room than he seemed downstairs in the main room, especially with the door closed. So much more intimating, his silence making it even more so. The amount of weapons on him doesn’t help. Hip holsters with two pistols, ammo slung low across his hips and attached to one of his boots. 

He looks dangerous – until he lifts his hat from his head, uncovering rumpled, dark brown curls. Dirty from weeks in the saddle, the sight of them is surprisingly vulnerable and helps take the edge off his appearance. He looks softer with them, even while working his holster open next, placing the heavy weight of his guns over the back of your chair. 

His silence is unusual. Most men are vocal, demanding, crass. They come in and take what they want, knowing full well they only have an hour to get it – though most of them only need about ten minutes. They are full of boasting pride, of rushed lust, or in the worst instances, poorly disguised condescension. They paid for the hour, which means they paid for you. It comes with a natural assumption that your body is theirs to do as they please, and it often brings loud-mouthed attitudes with it.

Piquing your interest, the man in front of you says nothing, continuing to get undressed. 

Maybe he wants seduction. Come on, you scold yourself. Give him what he paid for.

You stand, the thin strap of your shift slipping down off your shoulder. “Want some help?”

Stepping closer, you tilt your chin up to meet his gaze. 

It’s unforgiving, but not unkind. Bold, unashamed, assessing. His eyes are a deep brown, almost black in the dim, romantic light of your room. Fringed with thick lashes, creased at the edges from the sun, showing evidence of living life in the saddle. A strong nose, a pouty mouth, a dark mustache with scruff that covers his cheeks. 

Handsome. Definitely handsome. 

He continues to look, curious, with a slight lift of his chin like he’s testing you. A natural arrogance, you assume, from having to navigate the rough world outside. There is a thrum of tension between your bodies, one you don’t usually feel with customers. Unsure if it’s his quiet confidence, or just his handsomeness you’re drawn to, you use it to bolster your own forwardness. 

Standing on your toes and bracing yourself on his chest, you lean in, whispering just under his ear. “I heard you like to get clean…so you can get me all dirty.”

Pulling back with a mischievous twinkle in your eye, you let your touch slip down the front of his shirt. “That true?” 

He waits a beat before answering, his darkening eyes rovering over your face as his expression relaxes slightly, the corner of his mouth lifting. Like you’ve passed his own silent test. 

“It is,” he answers, in a rough baritone. 

“Well then,” you reply. “Let’s get these clothes off.” 

Keeping your eyes on his, you start with his vest, working the buttons free one at a time.

–

He waits in the bath, watching as you undress. His arms stretch wide along the edge of the tub, his broad chest and shoulders taking up space. Admiring the quiet strength held in the way he holds himself, you smile at the naked hunger clear on his face as you climb into the tub, lowering yourself onto his lap. 

“So,” you make conversation, “What do you do?”

“I’m a bounty hunter.”

Your eyebrows raise. “Sounds dangerous.”

“For some.” The reply reeks of confidence, of the implication that he isn’t one of the people he’s referring to. Relaxing, he sinks lower into the tub, closing his eyes. 

“How long has it been since you’ve had a bath?”

A low sigh of relief slips out of him, his voice low. “Too long.”

Lathering the soap, you start with his hand, slipping your fingers between his. You work each finger, comparing the size of your reach against his. His palms are rough and calloused, worn from handling rope. Massaging as you go, you work your way up – over his thick forearms, up along the muscles in his arms. Your fingers dig into the firm rounds of his shoulders, and he lets out a grunt of appreciation. 

Sneaking a peek at his face, you’re startled to find him openly looking back at you. His dark eyes rake over your face and shoulders, dipping low and sweeping back up. His expressions – lust, blended with curiosity – aren't guarded at all, like he’s not used to hiding them, and you suppose his job has made him this way. The sensation is unfamiliar, and unmooring. Most don’t care enough to look as much as he has. None have ever studied you the way he has, that’s certain.

You swallow, reaching for the soap again. 

“I’m not going to hurt you.”

The bar in your hands, his blunt words make you look up, meeting his eyes. He is earnest, sincere. His statements have been blunt and to the point since he’s walked into the room, with right now being no exception. And somehow, that lets you know he’s telling the truth. 

Your own practiced expression slips before you can catch it, open vulnerability displayed on your face before you quickly reel it back in. 

“I know,” you reply, though you don’t – and he knows it. 

His head tilts to the side, waiting. Patient, letting you come to your own decision. After a beat, you dip your chin in acknowledgement. 

Confirmation at your reassurance, he closes his eyes and leans back, letting you continue. 

The tension broken, you resume. The quiet makes the situation seem so much more intimate than usual; the trickling of water, the soft sweep of your touch over his skin. Your thumbs work the base of his throat, your palms sliding over his firm chest. The sparse collection of hair along his sternum catches suds, and you soap under his arms, and along his ribs; his body releasing tension with every smooth glide of your hands. 

You can feel him harden underneath you, but he does absolutely nothing about it…and for some reason, that makes you relax around him even more. You can feel the evidence of how much he wants it, have heard from the madam how demanding he can be…but yet he waits, savoring this part. You suppose weeks without a bath will do that to a person, and you’re determined to reward him for the wait. 

Pouring shampoo into your palm, you lean forward to start on his hair. Pressing your bare front against his own, the sensation gives you your first real reaction since he’s entered the room – a low hum of appreciation, deep from within his chest. Lifting the corner of your mouth with a smile, you become bolder, and let yourself slide down, dragging the pressed weight of your slick breasts over his skin. 

He lets out a shaky breath, and dropping his hands from the edges of the tub, they find the meat of your hips under the water with a squeeze. Lifting onto your knees, you lean your weight into him again, lining your front with his. Breast to chest, stomach to stomach, hip to hip – the sensation of his firm, warm, wet skin pressed against your own has you distracted for a moment before you slide your fingers up through the curls at his nape, working the shampoo into his hair. Your nails drag across his scalp, your fingers twist in his curls, and he simultaneously melts underneath your touch while tightly bundled tension rises between you. 

“Feel good?”

“Yes.” His answer is immediate, low with desire. His hands squeeze your hips, hard, and he kneads your skin under the surface, his touch becoming bolder. Stretching his arms to reach your ass, he grabs greedy palmfuls, tugging you against his lap. 

The warm weight of desire fills the cradle of your hips, and reaching for a jug to rinse the shampoo from his hair, you yelp when he surprises you by gripping your waist to hold you in place and sliding down to submerge himself underwater. Suds float to the surface as he quickly scrubs the soap from his hair, and when he sits back up, you’re laughing – a sound that brings the first smile you’ve seen on his face. It’s quick, yet no less devastating, with two deep dimples in his cheeks that make you want to press your thumbs into the divots. 

A smile that makes you want to kiss him. 

Wiping the water from his face with a broad sweep of his palm, he slicks his dark strands off his face and the effect is startling. Still handsome – so handsome – but the vulnerability of the rumpled curls is gone, replaced with dominance. The hunger in his hooded eyes darkens, and feeding off the tension gathering between your bodies and greedy for another groan or smile, you grab the soap. 

Arching your back, you put on a show as you reach behind and slide your soapy touch up the length of his legs. Over his shins, behind his knees, up the top of his thighs. Stopping short right before his groin, you straighten again and reach the soap, but he plucks it from your hands. 

“Hey!” you protest, biting a grin. 

Keeping his eyes on your face, you watch as he slowly lathers it between his large hands and lets it drop into the water before splaying his hand across your sternum. Whether it’s the hold itself or the way he’s looking at you, you sense the shift of power in the small space as it transfers to him. Sliding his hand to the side with an appreciative hum, he palms your breasts, covering them with soap. He cups the weight of them, smearing his thumbs over your nipples with a slippery glide until they pucker under the suds, teasing them with exploring, needy touches that have you arching your back, leaning into his touch. 

Desire trickles down from the tight peaks along your spine, settling between your hips. Slick and warm, you begin a slow roll over his lap and dip your hand beneath the water in search of his cock.  When you find it with a firm grip, he sucks in a sharp breath. 

“You ready to get out yet?” you breathe, your hand stroking him root to tip. He’s thick, a heft to his cock that is more than most and your cunt clenches with anticipation. The space between you is filled with steam, with the slick warmth of the water, with the weighty charge of electricity. He swallows hard, the bob of his tanned throat calling for your lips and leaning forward, you press your mouth to his skin. Warm and wet and fragrant under the press of your mouth, you open up wider, your tongue slipping out for a taste.

The sound he lets out is delicious.

A rough scrape of need, a low growl as his touch grows needier, his hands scooping up your breasts with a squeeze. The soap aids in a slide of his touch down to your hip, his other hand curling around the nape of your neck as he guides you back, and your neglected chest heaves; your hand still working under the water. 

You want him. A rare feeling with clients, always fleeting on the rare occasion it happens, you can taste the edge of your arousal, the spark of it burning bright. He’s handsome, but there is also something about his patience and his attentiveness that has you feeling more comfortable than you have in ages. Usually, at this point, you’d be faking your interest just to get the hour over with. Right now, you’re surprised by how much you want it. 

“You just gonna stare at my mouth, or —“ Your words cut off with a gasp when he drags his thumb over your bottom lip, your question finishing in a whisper. “Or are you gonna kiss me?” 

Pulling you in, he does. Fuck, he does. 

The first press of your mouths together is sure and firm, his need leading your mouth. He tastes you like he’s been dying for it, like you’re an oasis in the middle of the desert. Fitting your mouth against his, he devours the whimper that you let out, drinking it down. His hands splay in their hold around your waist, sliding up over the smooth skin of your back and abandoning his cock to scoot closer, you wind your arms around his neck, deepening the kiss. 

Grinding down against his lap, the steamed air above the bath fills with the sound of ragged breath, of low groans, of the gentle lap of water as your mouths taste and part, only to seal again. He meets your need with his own – savoring, full sweeps of his tongue over yours, kisses that are lazy until they’re not. Breaking the kiss to taste your neck, his teeth scrape over the delicate skin before he sucks, groaning against your throat. His tongue smears over your skin, and you reach for the soap, wrapping your arms around him to wash his back. 

“Stop, he groans, his lips brushing against your skin, and you pause.  

“You don’t want me to wash you?”

He growls low in his throat, cupping your jaw with his hand. He slides his thumb over your lips again, pushing against their plush softness and when you suck on the pad, his eyes fixate on the sight. He shakes his head slowly, his tongue sliding over his bottom lip. 

“I want you to get on that bed, girl.”

Girl. 

The word should be demeaning, but it’s not. It slips through your torso, shivers along your spine, the weight of it curling low between your hips. The word is like the man – forcing you to yield. He’s been lying in wait this whole time, letting you believe you have the advantage until you get comfortable, letting you come to him…just like you assume he does with his quarries. You fell for the trap, and you don’t even care. 

Scrambling out of the tub, he follows you — and that’s when Gracie walks in. 

“Oh,” she breathes, openly appreciating the size and breadth of his nude body. Her eyes drag down and back up again, a pleased smile playing at the edge of her lips. “Aren’t you a sight.”

He jerks his head towards the bed. “Get in here.”

“Whose in charge here, mister?” she teases, and he replies without hesitation. 

“I am.” 

“Yes, sir,” she coos with a little shimmy, shutting the door behind her. 

–

That night, you learned who he was. 

Not only his name – Din Djarin – which was exchanged in the middle of the night, with your body draped over his, but who he was, as a man. Blunt, straight forward, used to being in charge. Your bodies sore, spent and sated – he had spent hours putting you through your paces, and your eyelids were as heavy as your limbs as you relaxed into the warmth his bare skin radiated. 

Gracie curled into his other side, the reasoning behind two women became evident after that first night: he was touch-starved, with the desire to be immersed in skin to skin, buried underneath someone or within them. Two women at once allowed him this luxury, while also providing him ample resources to expend his excess...energy. 

You also learned that he seemed to care about your pleasure. Needed it, in fact. Demanded it from you, pulled it from your body even when you thought you couldn’t give him any more. He pushed and pushed and pushed you, and that night, you understood the madam's earlier comments. 

He didn’t seem satisfied until you were just as wrung out as he was, and afterwards, he left you sated and sore, thoroughly used – and thoroughly asleep. 

He had spoken to the madam before he left the next morning. 

“I always want that one. Make sure of it.”

–

Since that first night, he’s shown up a few times. 

Always weeks apart: saddle weary and dusty, worn around the edges and ready for a softness that only you could provide. 

Tonight, when he gets to your room, you’re already in the bath with Gracie perched on the side, soap and rag in hand. You take turns with him: you, washing his body from your seat on his lap, Gracie leaning over to offer her mouth. His kisses are demanding and deep, his hands reaching to hold her in place while his mouth tastes everything she gifts him. When you interrupt to wash his hair, he shifts to you, cupping your breasts to latch that same hungry mouth onto the peaks. The swirl of his skillful tongue is distracting, decadent, and a hum pours from your throat when his nose brushes along the length of your neck, his mouth sampling the hollow under your ear. His hand travels down your back and over your hip, his thick fingers pressing between your legs. 

“I’ve been dreaming of that cunt of yours,” he confesses, his voice like gravel. You can feel how hard he is beneath you, his middle fingers parting you under the water, sliding through the slick wetness he’s pulled from you already. “Let me taste it.” 

It doesn’t take long until he stands, pulling you from the water and guiding you backwards onto your bed with a push. 

“You’re going to get my bed all wet – oh my god,” you moan, arching into the wet heat of his mouth. From the bath to his knees, he’s found his way between your thighs with a rough jerk of your body to the edge of the mattress. His shoulders spread you wide, his mouth devouring your cunt in a wet, decadent kiss. Gripping behind your knee, he shoves it up to open you up wider, and his tongue smears and licks across your spread center as he groans, savoring the taste.

Kneeling on the floor next to him, Gracie wraps her hand around his thick cock with a stroke, an action that has him pressing his face closer. He’s messy, open mouthed and hungry, like he’s starved for it and you roll your hips against his greedy mouth, losing yourself in the sensation.

She strokes him harder, faster and breaking his kiss to your cunt, he circles the nape of her neck, tugging her in for a kiss. You watch, his glistening mouth meeting hers, his other hand still splayed with a grip on the inside of your thigh to hold you in place. Slipping your fingers down across your soft belly, you find your clit and swirl a practiced circle over it – until his hand swats yours away. 

“It’s mine,” he orders. “That cunt belongs to me.”

“Then take care of it like it’s yours,” you challenge. Your tone is sweet and soft, but the lift of your chin tells him it’s an order.

He likes the way you push against him, you’ve come to find out. His need to make you submit is only satisfying if you push back, if you play at fighting against it. It needs to feel hard won for him, but not in a way most men like to win. Not with harsh, demeaning words and cruel orders. No – he needs to overpower with pleasure, needs to make you succumb because you can’t fight it anymore. Begging, pulling against restraints, pushing against the weight of his body as he forces you to take it – those are the ways he likes it. 

Giving you a look that pins you in place, he spreads you wide as his hands grip and pinch. He bends, his mouth sucking and biting at the soft skin of your thighs, soothing it with wide sweeps of his tongue. Your head tips back, a moan pouring out of your throat towards the ceiling and you feel the bed dip beside you as Gracie crawls onto it. Reaching over to you, she tips your chin towards her and pulls you in for a kiss. 

She’s so much softer than the man at your feet: her lips lush and pliant, her breath sweet. Her hand cups your breast with a gentle squeeze, toying with the peak while taut pleasure fills the cradle of your hips. His eyes on your face, you can feel his possessiveness in the way his mouth devours, and the combination of her sweetness mixed with his intensity pushes you closer and closer to the edge. The attention is all consuming, your thighs trembling with the release he’s building deep inside you. Breaking away from Gracie, you beg him for relief. 

“Fuck – Din,” you moan, threading your fingers through his dark curls with a tug. Letting yourself drop back into the plush mattress, you reach for Gracie as he moans into your spread cunt, and she holds your hand while your back arches, your heels digging into the firm muscles of his back. “I’m – you’re going to make me cum.”

Your voice breaks when you do, a bright wave of taut warmth spreading from your core outwards. He licks you through it, sliding his tongue through the gush of wetness, focusing his efforts on your swollen clit. Your hips jerk and you whimper, a sound Gracie hushes with another kiss. 

Focused on her and still floating, you don’t notice he’s stood up until you feel his sure hold slide up over the top of your shins, guiding your knees back against your chest. He steps forward, and you can feel the thickness of his cock pressing against the slick dip of your entrance. 

“You ready, girl?” he asks, grinding his hips into you. His breathing is ragged, pent up, his chin glistening and wet. 

You can feel how soaked you are, his movement smearing your wetness into the curls at his base, over his thick shaft. He positions the weighty, blunt tip of his cock in place, groaning when he feels you clench against it. When he breaks you open, your lips catch against Gracie’s, your hot whine fanning over her mouth. 

He’s so much – so filling, so thick, the slide inside so satisfying it makes you want to cry. He reaches further than most, pushing forward with a grind and though Gracie has your mouth, he leans to focus your attention on him. Pulling out and sliding back in with a firm roll of his hips, he breaks your kiss with a grip of your chin, forcing you to look at him. 

“Look at me,” he commands, another slide out, another grind in. Another, another. Trying to match your rhythm with his, you can’t move your hips with how he has them pinned in place, forcing you to take it. 

“So –,” he hisses, pulling out to slide back in, “So fucking wet. So tight,” he groans, picking up pace. You bounce lightly with the motion; the muscles along his ribs rippling with the action. “Gracie, look at her gorgeous tits. They look neglected to me.”

The smile she gives him is affectionate and sweet, though the situation is anything but. Crawling to you, she bends and licks a wide stripe up the soft underside of your breast, before giving it a lingering kiss. 

“Din –,” you beg, arching into her wet mouth. He’s already building something low in your tummy, ratcheting it higher with every thrust of his hips, even higher with the unrelenting grip he’s using to pin you in place.  

Gracie switches breasts with a wet path from one to the other, nibbling at the stiff peak of your nipple. The two of them work in tandem: her sweet mouth with his unrelenting pace, her softness paired with his strength. 

She pulls back and Din bends forward just enough to give you a rough, hungry kiss, one that has your knees pressing into your chest and then he’s fucking down into you, his hips pounding into your ass, your mouths hovering over each others as you drink down his panting, ragged breaths – 

“Gracie,” he tells her, a soft grunt between each word, “Show me your fingers. That’s right,” he praises her, as she dips them inside herself with a sigh. “Get yourself nice and wet for me – you’re next.”

Out of the corner of your eye, you can see Gracie rolling her hips against her hand, her soft thighs spread wide, the silk nighty she’s wearing twisted around her torso while her eyes glaze over watching him fuck you.

You whine underneath him, earning yourself a quick, breathless kiss. “You can take it, girl. I know you can.” He gives a couple of particularly rough thrusts, groaning over your higher moan. “Go ahead, girl. Tell her how good it feels. Tell her –”

Before he can get the words out, you pull his head down to seal his mouth with yours, breaking again underneath him with a hoarse moan. Stronger and more intense than the last one, your cunt squeezes him so hard you feel him stutter a grunt against your mouth, trapped in place. Everything is so wet: your sore cunt, his lap, the sweat that clings to his lower back and along your hairline, the kiss you share with him, as you come down from your peak. 

Pausing to let you catch your breath, he’s tender with his touches, brushing your sweaty hair back from your face. “You did so good for me girl. So good,” he murmurs between kisses. Giving a final caress to your cheek, he gently eases himself out of you. “You stay there and rest – it’s Gracie's turn.”

So tender and soothing with you, his rigid cock betrays his yet unsatisfied need as he shifts his focus to her. She looks delighted at the sight – a desperate Din, his muscles rigid with tension, his stomach taut with effort. Limp and pliant, you lay still while he gently eases your thighs open with a sweep of his hands to look at your cunt. His expression clearly torn between tasting the sticky, slick mess you’ve made for him and leaving you be, he wets his bottom lip, before sliding two fingers through the mess, feeding it to Gracie. 

Radiating dominance and tightly wound need, he watches as she sucks on his fingers like it’s nourishment, scrambling up on her knees to pull him towards her. He jerks the neckline of her nighty down, palming her bare breasts with a squeeze and her hand reaches for his cock, eager for him to fill her. Pushing her backwards, the bed bounces with the weight of their bodies falling together and bracing himself on his forearm, he reaches down to slide into her in one, brutal stroke. One hand fisting into the bedding over her head and the other roughly massaging her breast, the flesh of it spills out between his fingers as he pounds into her, needing to be rough. 

It’s a lot, even for her — but you can tell she loves it. Worked up and waiting for her turn, her fingers dig into his ass, pulling him into her as her hips grind against his. Reaching for her wrist and pinning it into the mattress above her head, he presses his weight into the hold while his hips shove into hers, over and over. 

Everything about the way he fucks is so filthy and base. Almost feral, frantic with need. He demands so much from both of you, but also of himself. Edging himself until he’s exhausted. Seeing just how long he can go and how many times he can make you come before he allows himself the same pleasure. 

“What do you think, girl?,” he asks, looking over at you. “Can she take it?” 

Gracie moans loudly at a particularly rough thrust and he turns back to her, clamping his hand tight over her mouth while continuing to push her further. Her dazed eyes widen above his broad hand before rolling back, her brow bunching when they slide shut. 

Pressing a kiss over the top of his hand where her lips would be, he shushes her. “Shhh. It’s okay, filthy girl. I thought –” he groans, “ – I thought about making a mess of your pretty little cunt, but I – fuck – I think I want it in your mouth instead.”

At this, Gracie comes – her legs squeezing tight around his waist, her whines still muffled by his palm as her body arches underneath him. Digging her fingers into his bicep, he holds himself still as she sobs underneath him, trembling with her release. 

At the edge himself, he pulls out of her and quickly climbs up over her body, he pinching her cheeks together until her mouth opens up. Fisting his cock with an audible stroke, he rests the tip between her lips and cums, hard. 

There is so much of it. Coating her lips and tongue, his release pours into her mouth, dripping down her chin. She sits up, eager for more, swallowing him deeper and he hisses, his hips jerking forward to chase the wet heat. She looks up at him with a warmth of adoration, eager for praise, as his hands cradle her jaw while his hips roll lazily against her mouth. Staying there until he’s too sensitive, he slips out and slumps forward, catching himself on the bedframe. 

“Fuck me,” he pants, the tension in his muscles slowly ebbing away. Sluggish, he moves like he’s drugged and the two of you shift on the bed to make room for him. Him in the middle, he gathers you into his arms, while reaching back to ensure Gracie is tucked tight behind him. 

The first time he held you in his arms, you fell asleep immediately, exhausted from all he demanded from you. He slept like the dead as well, finally being able to let his guard down. Tonight, you resist the urge to close your eyes, savoring the warm weight of his arm curled around your waist, and the firm, solid tuck of his body behind yours. Delicately tracing his knuckles, you think about how no other man has ever held you like this. So used to them taking what they want and then leaving, you know you shouldn't get too attached or read too much into it…but it’s nice, the weight and comfort of his warmth. 

In the small hours of the morning, you wake to the sensation of his nose gliding up the nape of your neck, his lips peppering kisses along the top of your spine. The room is dark, before dawn, and rolling over to face him, you see Gracie curled up behind him, dead to the world. 

He’s achingly soft with his handling of you: sweeps of his palms over your soft skin, kisses that have you aching for more. It’s hard to see him in the darkness of the room, but that only makes every sensation more heightened. You focus on other senses: his low, rumbling hums, the heat of his skin, the taste of his mouth. His hand teases down the slope of your body, finding a home between your legs. Cupping your cunt, he preps you to take him again. 

Swirls over your clit, fingers slipping inside to draw out slick wetness. Bringing the digits to his mouth, he coats them thoroughly with his saliva before bringing them back down to your cunt, easing them into you. 

Half awake, everything feels like a dream, saturated with sensation. The weight of his body on yours, the filling push of him inside. His warm breath ghosting over your skin, the press of his mouth along your jaw. 

“You’re such a good girl,” he murmurs, his forehead sliding against the soft skin on your shoulder, inhaling the scent of your skin. “You always take me so well. You make me feel so good.”

Your fingers thread through his curls, guiding his mouth to yours for a kiss. Deep, just like his achingly slow thrusts inside of you. Deep, like the aching feeling in your chest at his tenderness. 

Swallowing your moans, he breaks the seal of your mouths just long enough to make whispered promises in the dark: that he’s going to come back in a month, that some day he’s going to settle down in this town. That someday, he’s going to build a house and take you home with him, just to keep you all to himself.

At the last promise, you let out a quiet laugh, tipping your head back into the pillow as he runs the bridge of his nose against your throat, nuzzling the soft skin. 

“They all say that,” you tease. 

You feel him smile. “Yeah, you’re right.”

Knowing that he’s going to have to leave soon, you shift your focus on giving him everything he asks for – your legs hitching high on his hips, your thighs squeezing him tight as he rocks into you, deeper, harder. With every grinding slide, he makes you repeat his words back to him, each statement sounding needier than the last: 

No one fucks me like you do. 

I can’t think about anything else when you’re deep inside me. 

I’m your girl. Only your girl. 

When you both come, he rests his head on your chest for a while, listening to the rapid thrumming of your heart as you stroke his soft hair away from his temple. The sun begins its ascent outside, the room slowly becoming hazy with dawn. 

With one last kiss for you, and a kiss placed on Gracie’s temple, he pulls himself from the bed. 

You watch as he searches for his clothes, his belt, his boots.