Mountains And Mayhem Fics

TW: biting, tying hands together, kissing, dirty talk, oral (Female receiving, multiple orgasms, use of safe word, aftercare

You

Tommy puts you down in the middle of a room that’s not nearly as luxurious as his. He didn’t need to scan his watch to get into this one, which you assume means that it’s a public space. You glance over your shoulder to see a dark curtain drawn over part of the wall. The room is nothing ostentatious which surprises you. Aside from a chest of drawers and a large bed, the room is empty.

Click.

You head swivels back to Tommy, who’s standing beside the door, his hand on a small dial, the source of the sound you just heard. “What’s that?”

“Microphone,” He juts his jaw to the wall behind you. “They can hear everything happening in here now, sweetheart.”

A smile pulls at the corners of your mouth and you bite at your lip to stop it from forming. Tommy, on the other hand, smiles wide, a small laugh leaving his lips; lips that are stained just a tad from your red lipstick. 

“Are you going to let them see?”

Tommy doesn’t answer you, but that’s how you like it. You don’t want to make decisions and that’s the best part of that little checklist you slid under his door - he already knows what you like and what you want to try. Tommy spins away from you towards the set of drawers. His movements are confident and calm, but something dangerous radiates off of him. Your heart rate elevates, your vision honing in on Tommy. You feel like prey, like a deer in a meadow who suddenly senses danger. Unlike the deer though, you don’t want to run - unless it’s towards the one who’s about to tear into you. He opens a drawer, his broad body making it so you can’t see what he’s grabbing. It’s equal parts unnerving and so fucking sexy. You ball your hands into fists, your fingernails digging crescent shaped moons into your palms, the pain of it distracts you from running to him.

“Hands in front of you,” he barks, his voice rough and commanding. When his eyes meet yours they’re nearly black. This is the man who spanked you in his library, not the man who just spent time kissing your entire body. The shift of it startles you, a gasp filling the silence as he walks towards you, a thin black rope in his hands. He continues speaking as he winds the rope around his hands, creating a bow. “Before I let them see you, I need to make sure they know who you belong to.”

He holds up the loops and you slip your wrists through. “It’s only you, sir,” you say through another gasp as he tightens the rope with a single flick of his wrists.

“Oh, I know that already little hellraiser,” he moves to stand behind you. The sound of cotton on skin before his shirt comes over your shoulder and falls to your feet. You don’t dare look, even though a shirtless Tommy Miller is enough to create world peace in your eyes. Seriously, who could continue arguing and fighting when they could just stop and stare at all that sinew and tattooed skin? His warm breath hits your shoulder blade as he says, “But the crowd I’m sure is gathering behind that curtain certainly doesn’t.”

Pain, red hot and sharp, explodes along your shoulder blade. It’s gone before you can react, but when the same sensation erupts along your hip you cry out. 

“Tell me about the colours,” Tommy commands, his lips pressing softly to the spots you’re pretty sure he just bit. 

“Green means go,” you say as his teeth sink into your side, confirming your thoughts just a few second ago. “Fuuuuck.”

“Keep going,” he encourages and you squeeze your thighs together.

“Yellow means I’m close to my limit.” Teeth pinch the skin of your other shoulder blade, your cunt clenching.

“Ouch,” you whimper, but the moan he pulls from you as his tongue soothes the pain is all the permission he needs from you to keep going. 

“R-red means stop,” you breathe, Tommy’s mouth kissing along the globe of your ass before he bites the back of your thigh.

“Ow, fuck, sir.” Your clit throbs with each graze of his teeth and press of his lips. Each pinch of pain is quickly soothed by his kisses or lap of his tongue.

“Give me a colour, baby.” He rasps, his breath heating along your skin.

“Green,” his teeth meet your other side next, sharp and piercing.

“I’m going to open that blind soon,” he says roughly between light kisses down your hip. You arch, pushing your ass towards his face. “They’re going to see every mark, every indent of my teeth on your perfect skin.” He nips at your thigh, just below where your ass meets your leg. “Spread your legs, show me how wet you are.” You shuffle your feet apart, preening at the whimpered praise Tommy gives you. “You have no idea how beautiful you are, sweetheart. This fucking cunt is going to destroy me the first time you let me fuck you.” 

You cry out as he bites your ass cheek, your pussy dripping at the thought of people listening just beyond that flimsy little curtain. You imagine them squirming, shuffling from one foot to the next. Them, like you, feeling like they are going to jump out of their skin as they eagerly await Tommy’s next move. With every mark Tommy leaves on your skin, you picture more people crowding the window, some of them so turned on by what Tommy is doing to you that they have to rent rooms of their own; fucking each other with a raw and carnal need as they replay the scene in their minds. Your wrists burn against the rope that binds them together, throat dry from the heavy gasps of air that are forced into your lungs with each bite. Earlier you were so deep in your own head. His lips and hands felt amazing, but every time you were about to relax you started worrying about how intimate everything was, the little voice in your head telling you that this isn’t real, it’s an act, a show. With everything you know about love, passion like this doesn’t exist in real life. But now, the pain as he marks your skin jolts you out of your own thoughts.

Finally, after what feels like hours, Tommy pulls away and wanders back to your front. You blink up at him through heavy-lidded eyes. “It hurts,” you pout.

“The bites? They were supposed to hurt.”

You shake your head and he draws his eyebrows together in confusion. “Not the bites, my pussy. Please let me come now, Tommy.”

He sucks in a sharp breath, his eyes dancing along your face. Whatever it was that you just said has shifted something in his face. He’s softer, some of the honey flecks returning to his eyes, when it dawns on you.

Tommy…

Tommy

He should be mad, furious really. In these walls he is only referred to as Sir. In fact, in the last decade he can’t remember a time someone called him Tommy while they were naked. But he does know one thing, his name leaving someone’s lips has never sounded so…pure, so full of reverence. He glances up to the ceiling, then tugs at one of the long ends of the rope to remove the cuffs. He cradles your forearms gently, checking over the faint red lines the rope left behind. He presses on the pads of a few fingers, watching them go from pink to white and back to pink.

He nods in approval, and turns to head back over to the wall. His favourite part of this room is that it appears to be vanilla, and for the most part it’s used by the less kinky members of the club, but there’s always something salacious hidden in the shadows of JMKink. When he spins back to face you, you’re looking at him with a sense of regret, like you know you fucked up by calling him anything but Sir. He presses the second button on the panel by the door and the curtain pulls open with a soft whoosh. Your eyes flick to the side, like you want to look but he shakes his head, stopping you from looking behind yourself. He wants them to see the red marks, the sparkling rhinestones that spell out “Yes, Sir” along the waistband of your thong. He pushes another button and you flinch at the grinding sound that comes from above you. He watches your breathing speed up, your tits rising and falling rapidly. This time, you don’t look away from him, and that earns you more praise.

“That’s my girl, keep your eyes on me. Don’t worry about them.” The metal bar that he lowered from the ceiling is at the perfect height now, just enough out of reach that you’ll have to go on your tip toes to reach it. He taps the button to stop it, then slips off his shoes and socks before padding back over to you. Something about being in only jeans while making his partner fall apart again and again is like a drug to him and the with the way your eyes trail down his body it feels like that drug is being injected straight into his DNA.

“Remind me, hellraiser. Why didn’t I let you come last time?” This is his favourite part of having an audience. The storytelling; creating a scene, building the anticipation, working in well timed twists and turns, before the…well…climax - both metaphorically and theoretically.

“Because I didn’t listen.”

You look malleable right now, fully immersed in subspace, ready and willing to listen to everything he says. He nods, pushing his hands into his pockets before walking towards you. “Grab onto that bar.”

Your head tilts adorably to one side and he can’t help the small breathy laugh he lets out. “Above your head. Just reach up and grab onto it.” You try to follow his instructions without look away, but when your fingertips wiggle looking for the bar he laughs quietly again and gives you permission to look away to find it. 

Yep, she’s deep into subspace alright.

“I’m going to make this a little easier on you than last time, okay?” You nod as he steps into your space. Your warm body pressed against his, still so much shorter than him even when you’re pushed up onto your toes. He pulls you flush against him by your waist. “You are allowed to make as much noise as you want this time, but you are not allowed to let go of that bar. Understood?”

“Y-yes, sir.” 

His eyes flick to the window then back to yours. “Your cries of pain drew in quite the audience. I can only imagine how many more will gather around that window when they hear how pretty you sound when you come.”

Before you can respond he’s on his knees, tugging your panties down and then lifting one of your legs over his shoulders before burying his face in your pussy. There’s no slow movements this time, no letting you adjust. Your clit is so swollen that it’s pushed free of its hood. Tommy pulls it into his mouth, rolling his tongue along it. His fingers dig into the meat of your ass, steadying you while simultaneously pushing you harder against his face. If he suffocated to death right now he’d die a very happy man.

The world melts away, your moans become louder, morphing into groans and gasps. He’s not sure how long has passed, or how many times you’ve announced that you’re going to come. He doesn’t care and has no plans to stop, you know what to do if you need the break. So, he drinks you down, his ears greedily wanting more of the moans and sobs and whimpers. His knees ache under the dark wooden floor of the room, your legs shake with a mixture of exhaustion and yet another orgasm. 

“Red,” your voice is a hoarse rasp.

“Shit, sweetheart,” he says, catching you as you let go of the bar above your head and slump forward. Since he’s not that much shorter than you while kneeling, he guides you to the ground. When a submissive uses their safe word that grants them access to a safe space - all contact stops immediately and only after he’s asked for consent to move into aftercare will he touch them again. As he lowers you to the ground your arms wrap around his neck, plastering your overheating body to his. Still, he keeps his hands as much to himself as he can without letting you fall. His next words are whisper, quiet enough that he knows only the two of you can hear them. “Do I have your consent to carry you to the bed and hold you until you come back to yourself?”

“Yes, but not that bed,” You manage to whisper back. Your body is covered in a thin layer of sweat, making it easy for him to slip his arms around you. Your mask slips as you bury yourself into his chest, and that’s all the cues he needs.

TW: kissing, dirty talk, flashback of shitty men being shitty, mentions of body insecurities

You

You’ve always loved when opposing things come together and make each other better, build each other up instead of tear it down. Like a dollop of sour cream on cherry pie, or dipping a grilled cheese in apple sauce. In this case, it’s the juxtaposition of Tommy’s private room and his cabin. It’s almost like the two spaces are written in a different font while still remaining…well, Tommy. Where his home had large floor-to-ceiling windows to let in tons of natural light, this room has none. Instead, brushed gold scones illuminate as he leads you into the space. The flooring here is a plush, dark chocolate carpet as opposed to the chestnut brown wood of his home. 

Tommy closes the door and wraps his arms around you from behind, the heat of his body spreading a chill through you as you look around. You’re not sure what you expected to walk into when he begrudgingly put you down on your feet and then held his Rolex up to the security pad on the door to unlock it. Maybe a sex dungeon or a bunch of chains and apparatus’s to strap you down. Instead, there’s two oversized plush armchairs and a table to the left; a chess board set up on top of it - the board and pieces in matte bronze and iridescent ivory - and a dry bar just behind it. The counter and backsplash of the bar is the same granite as his cabin’s kitchen. You squirm at the memory of him teasing you with the strawberry, coating it with your arousal and then feeding it to you.

“What are you thinking?” Tommy rasps, moving your hair from your shoulder and kissing your pulse point as you glance towards the large four poster bed to your right. The frame is the same brushed gold as the light fixtures, the silky sheets a deep raspberry.

“I need you,” you hum, leaning back into him and tilting your head so he can reach more of your throat. As your eyes adjust to the dimly lit room, you see hooks and rings on various places around the walls and the bed frame.

So, I wasn’t entirely wrong about apparatus’s to tie me down.

Tommy runs his nose down the slope of your neck, his moustache tickling roughly as he goes. “You are so incredibly beautiful, sweetheart, even more so when you tell me what you want.” His hands burn paths along your body, one trailing up to cup your breast, pinching at your nipple through the thin fabric of your top, the other reaching for the hem of your skirt. “Tell me. I want to hear how much you miss my lips on your skin, my tongue on your pussy, and my fingers buried inside of you.” His hand moves quickly, pulling at your skirt so he can cup your pussy in his palm. 

Heat explodes from your core, running up your spine like vines along a fence. You cry out, grinding into the heel of his hand. “I’ve been craving the feeling of you, sir. No one feels as good as you. Please, it’s been agony.”

Tommy straightens slightly, forcing you onto your tippy toes, your head falling back. You can only imagine how he looks behind you; his large frame bent down so he can reach your cunt. The pressure sends stars behind your eyelids. With no intention of pulling away - and every intention of making you suffer a little longer - he says, “Walk to the bed, hellraiser.”

Your hands grip at his arms for balance as you walk on shaky, unbalanced legs. Each step brings you closer to an orgasm that you’re sure will tear you in half. It’s been ten days since he ruined your orgasm in your office. Nearly two hundred and forty hours of your clit twitching and throbbing, practically begging you to give in. As fun as being a brat is, you know that you wouldn’t be able to handle a punishment from Tommy, your sir, just yet. When you make it to the edge of the bed, Tommy’s fingers slip between the snaps of your bodysuit and your panties. He chuckles deeply at the desperate moan you let out and then rasps, “Such a perfect little pussy, gettin’ so wet for me when you want something.”

A few weeks ago, a comment like that would have had you pulling away and apologizing, embarrassed of your body’s natural response to pleasure.  

“Please, sir,” you whisper, looking up over your shoulder at him. The lace of your mask catches on the soft cotton of his shirt. When your eyes meet his there’s something both domineering and gentle painted across his face. He pops the buttons of your bodysuit, his nearly black eyes locked on yours. You whimper when his hands move away from the spot that’s been practically screaming for him.

“Shh,” he soothes, his lips pursing. He moves to the zipper of your skirt, talking to you as he lowers it and then moves to pull your top up. “I told you I would take care of it, there’s no need to whine. You’re going to be my good girl tonight, right? Have you learned your lesson? Are you ready to listen, to be patient, and do as I say?”

The body suit is pulled over your head, and in those few seconds where you can’t see him you miss him. You also fear that when the light returns this will all have been a dream. Relief settles like a rock in your stomach when he’s still there, and even though you know those were rhetorical questions, you respond with a slow nod and soft, “Yes, sir.”

Your nipples pebble as his warm hands fall to your hips. He hasn’t looked anywhere but your face, yet you feel his cock pressing into your back. A flash of a memory pokes at your brain. Preston having to fist his cock to get hard, his eyes slammed shut because he told you your pussy wasn’t normal. You don’t let the thought linger, not anymore. It’s too empowering knowing that you have the ability to turn Tommy on this much by just being you. Just as you’re about to ask him to kiss you, he kneels just like he did in your office. As if it’s as natural as breathing, which is something you suddenly can’t seem to do, you bend at the waist, planting your hands on his mattress.

“Fuck me.” His voice is barely a whisper, you’re half convinced you’re hearing things. Tommy peels your skirt agonizingly slow down your legs. You bite down on your lip to stop from whimpering again, determined not to whine. After pulling off your flats he dots kisses along your calves and thighs. Something about the reverence in his touches tonight, about the privacy of the room feels too…intimate.

His fingers trace along the rhinestone letters of your pink lacy thong. “Leave these on, sweetheart. Lay on the bed, on your stomach.”

You don’t look back at him as you follow his request. Crawling across deep red sheets that are softer than anything you’ve ever felt, the rich fabric cool to the touch along your heated skin as you lie on your stomach, a pillow tucked under your chest. His lips meet your calf, the bed dipping with his weight as he pushes your legs apart to settle between them. All of your previous interactions with Tommy were fuelled by lust and taboo desire. This, however, feels like worship and the fear of never being treated this well after him seeps into your brain.

Tommy

His lips graze the curve of your side eliciting an involuntary twitch and a muffled giggled. “Fuck, I love how ticklish you get.” He’s been kissing along the back half of your body for almost an hour, his fingers occasionally grazing the gusset of your panties.

Typically, scenes with a submissive are pre-agreed upon. They may not know his every move but a conversation of their needs or desires for the appointment is a non-negotiable. Yet, with you, he’s breaking his own rules. Sure, you know the safe word system and he knows what it is that interests you, but all of this isn’t his usual way of dominating someone.

Tommy noticed a shift the moment you crawled onto the bed. You tensed up, your breathing pattern wholly different than what it was as you walked towards the bed with his hand cupping your sex. Experience tells him that this is normal for the first session at the club. There’s usually a lot of nerves from both parties, not to mention all the new sounds and sensations. It can be hard for anyone to get out of their heads enough to just enjoy it. He hoped that by bringing you into his private room first that you’d feel more comfortable, but as his fingers dip between your soft thighs and push your panties to the side, he’s met with warm, dry flesh. Years ago, that would have been a metaphorical right hook. Now, he’s smart enough to know that wetness isn’t a sign of how turned on someone is or isn’t. He can tell that you’ve been enjoying yourself; none of your muscles are tense anymore, you’ve let out plenty of sultry giggles and husky moans or groans. Each time his fingers found your core you’d twitch and arch your back, silently asking for more.

Your voice fills his ears, “We were out on the lake, and the thought of someone seeing us or hearing me... Well, it made me come.”

Doubt creeps in. You want to be in the voyeur rooms, and he brought you here because…well, if he’s brave enough to really look into why it’s because he’s not ready to share. He’s witnessed what you look like when you come twice and it’s fucking magical. Selfishly, showing that to the world means it’s just another thing that’s not for him. He guides you to roll over, bright green eyes clashing with his. He has his job because of his brother, he builds homes for other people to build lives in. Yes, part of this club is for him, but it’s really so others can learn and explore a new side of themselves. Nothing is truly his, aside from you, but that’s not what you want. His stomach feels like it’s doing a free fall. And then, you smile at him and suddenly his stomach is in his throat and his tongue is too big for his mouth and he is so fucking fucked when it comes to you.

I’m falling in love with you. It’s on the tip of his tongue, like a champagne cork, ready to burst out into the room like a celebration. He forces himself to swallow the metaphorical cork - and all his organs - down. Unlike Champagne, it doesn’t feel bubbly and happy. Instead, it feels like bourbon, and not the good kind that’s stocked behind the bar at JMKink. This is the cheap kind that you buy when you’ve had a bad day, that you slam back to temporarily block out the pain and insecurity, the thoughts that scream louder and louder until the amber liquid burns them away.

“Please don’t stop,” you groan, spreading your legs to land on either side of his kneeling form. His eyes trail along your exposed skin, watching the rise and fall of your chest, his mouth going dry at the slightest hints of the tan lines on your shoulders. You sit up, looking up at him through the mask, your almost fully naked body so close to his. “What’s wrong?”  

I might be in love with you. I’ve never been in love with anyone, and now I’m having these feelings I can’t explain for a woman I cannot have and is my friend’s daughter.

“T-this,” he clears his throat. “Sorry, just, this is…it’s not what you asked for.”

“Yes it is,” you counter, pulling back and bringing your knees to your chest. The fire in your eyes contradicts the way you’re curled into yourself right now. Determination and vulnerability all wrapped into one little green-eyed brunette-haired package.

“That so? Because I do believe that on that little checklist I told you not to fill out, you wanted people to watch.” He looks around his private room, hoping he’s fooling you into seeing that this isn’t about him feeling overwhelmingly head over heels for you and instead about this being a transaction and an agreement about your desires.  “There ain’t no one here but me and you, sweetheart.”

You

The moment Joel’s bedroom door clicks closed he kisses me again. His hands cup the sides of my neck and I melt into his strong, broad body. Despite my high slowly starting to wear off, I don’t want to stop kissing my friend and neighbour. However, as I start to come back to myself, my brain does what it does best - overthinks - and I try not to let it make me messy. I constantly crave who I used to be before the outbreak. I was carefree, the epitome of go-with-the-flow. Sure, I had ambitions that required me to plan ahead - you don’t become a successful physician by accident - but in my dating and personal life I wasn’t constantly thinking twenty steps ahead. This isn’t the early 2000’s anymore, and this, me and Joel, will end badly.

Breaking up or getting divorced is nothing compared to the realities of what we face everyday. Panic settles like a burning ball of heat in the center of my chest. A little voice screams at me to stop right now, to blame our lapse of judgment on the effects of the THC and apologize to him. Yet, when the tips of his fingers card through the hair at the nape of my neck I can’t resist kissing him deeper. His lips part, and I take advantage of his invite, sliding my tongue along his. Joel fucking whimpers, the sound of it rumbles through me, extinguishing the fire behind my sternum. My brain, however, isn't so easily calmed, so I break the kiss, pulling back to seek out reassurance.

“We don’t have to do this if you don’t want to, Joel,” I say. He tilts his head to the side, his face a swirling mix of confusion and worry. The hand he slid around the back of my neck during our kiss relaxes slightly, the other not moving from my throat. His hold has transformed from possessive to supportive. The feeling of his action only heightened by the soothing back and forth line of his thumb along my jaw.

“I want to do this, but if you’ve changed your mind that’s okay. I meant what I said earlier. I’ll be whatever you want me to be.” I swear I can feel every whorl of the pad of his thumb as it meets my earlobes and then continues its lazy trail along the pulse point of my throat, I’m sure he can feel the way my heart rate elevates as he says, “I’m following you, always. So we can be friends or just neighbours. We can be strangers.” He leans in, lips ghost my temple before he whispers, “But I’d like to be yours. I’d like to be able to hug you and kiss you, or hold your hand as we walk to the tipsy bison. To feel your skin on mine. It’s your choice, Doc.”

I smile into his skin, “The last one.”

“Okay,” he whispers before his lips brush my temple. He pulls back to look at me as his hands come to the flowy skirt of my dress. “You just tell me if you want me to stop.”

I feel breathless and the only response I can muster is a nod. While slowly gathering my skirt in his hands he continues, “Earlier, you told me that I smell good. When I said the same, you asked me to elaborate. I think it’s only fair that I get that in return. What do I smell like, baby?”

I’ve never been a pet name person. Even in my life before the outbreak, I called my husband by his name and he always called me by mine. I was never anyone’s baby, and now, in this barbaric world you don’t want to be seen as anything that could be considered weak. Yet here, in this little bubble we’ve created, we can be soft, we can drop the barbed wire wrapped walls around our hearts and let the other person hold us safely. So, after clearing my throat, that's exactly what I do.

“You smell like mountains after it rains,” my voice doesn’t waver, but it is quiet. For the first time in my life, I’m not nervous about being naked with someone. I probably should be, since it’s been so long, but Joel radiates a feeling of comfort and home that I haven’t felt in decades. “Like stone and thunder, and damp soil and moss.”

“So, I smell like being on patrol?” He’s blushing slightly as he asks.

“No,” I say with a shake of my head, my hands running along his shoulders and biceps. My skirt is now fully bunched in his hands at my waist. “Patrol can be brutal and deadly. Yours isn’t in a harsh way.”

I watch his warm pink tongue peek out to wet his lips before he rasps, “Arms up.”

We only break eye contact temporarily when the fabric blocks my vision, but his gaze is locked with mine the moment my dress is off. I have no idea what happens to it, I assume he drops it to the floor, but at this moment I make a silent promise to myself to never be the one to look away first.

“In what kind of way then?” He finally asks.

“Cleanly and freshly. Like every bad thing has been washed away and then…” I pause, hesitating for just a nanosecond before I remember how open Joel has been about his feelings for me. His deep brown eyes dance along my face, almost as if he hasn’t realized I’m wearing nothing but a pair of panties. “Then you’re there, a beacon of hope, the sunlight after the dark clouds have parted. Everything is new and purified. Changed but better. Joel, you make everything better. Made me better.”

I hear him audibly swallow, watching the muscles of his throat work in my periphery. He’s so fucking handsome. We stare at each other for a few heartbeats before I feel the back of his knuckles stroke the side of my right breast.

I break the vow I made to myself just seconds ago, my eyes shooting down to where he’s touching me. Large, rough fingers meeting my supple flesh. Need ricochets through me immediately, my clit throbs like it's jealous of the touch, my nipples turning into stiff peaks as if they’re over-eager students raising their hands to be next. As I arch into his touch, desperately needing to be closer to him, his other hand comes to my hip to steady me. Because that’s what Joel is; secure, rooted…safe.

“Eyes on me,” whispers Joel, his voice sounding like a rake over gravel.

As I’m sucked into his whiskey and honey eyes, his fingers ghost across my nipple. I arch again, gasping a moan and chasing his touch.

Joel

The first time I saw her I was taken aback by how beautiful she was, but touching her now, and seeing the way her features soften…she’s breathtaking.

I cup her breast, cradling her in my palm. Being with her feels right, but seeing her silk-like skin against my rough and worn hand looks all wrong. At this point, the unlucky survivors of the outbreak have killed people with our bare hands, but I’ve done so much worse. There’s a list of abhorrent things too long to count, shit that haunts me regardless if I’m awake or asleep. I see their faces all the time, pain or fear twisting their features. When I’m ready to deal with it, it’s going to require a lot of trips to the therapist here in Jackson. But now, having her in my hands feels like I’m being washed clean. You don’t get this lucky for nothing, especially not in this world, so I’ll bask in this - in her - for as long as I can.

Her eyelids start to get heavy, pupils blowing wide, as my thumb meets her nipple again. I feel the goosebumps that rise along her entire body.

“I made you better?” I ask, remembering that she likes it when I keep talking. All she does is nod, lost in the feeling of my skin on hers, dazed by finally taking what she wants. I pull her closer to me, a tiny gasp passing her lips once our bodies are pressed flush. “If that’s true, it’s only because you fixed me first. I’ve done some horrible things to survive in this world…”

“We all have,” she interjects.

“I know, but I didn’t believe I was worthy of redemption until you smiled at me for the first time over our shared fence.” I slowly drag my hand up from her hip, memorizing the spots that make her breath hitch before wrapping it around the back of her neck again. She’s so warm, and part of me can’t help but wonder if the burn is a warning to stay away. I can’t ignore what my actions make me. I took lives, easily and without looking back or knowing their names. I tore apart families, leaving widows and orphans. Meanwhile, she was bringing life into the world, creating new families and rebuilding communities.

To hear her say that we have all done bad things is almost laughable. Her worst is probably my best. It’d be easy to say that she’s the light and I’m the dark, or to say that one of us is good and the other is evil. But no, those words aren’t strong enough - on both sides. Because where she is a selfless miracle, I am a heartless murderer. Yet, when her hands slip under my shirt, and I feel her soft caresses along my back, I’m sucked further away from the memories I’ve been pushing down for years than I ever have been. That’s all it takes, a single touch. With just the graze of her life-wielding hands, I have to remind myself how to stand and blink and breathe. And when she speaks next, I no longer feel that I’m as truly awful as others have said.

“Who we were before doesn’t matter, Joel.” Her hands run up my back slowly as she speaks in a stern yet compassionate whisper. “You’ve shown everyone over these last few months that you’re not a selfish or cruel man. You don’t do bad things just because. This world, this place, it is what makes us do things that aren’t pleasant. But you don’t feel joy when faced with them. You often volunteer to be the one to do them because you don’t want others to live with that guilt. Truthfully, I get the feeling that you do it to punish yourself. I want you to remember this, baby. You don’t need to hurt yourself like that anymore. Because you, Joel Miller, are a good man.”

“Thank you,” I manage.

“Joel, people don’t get lucky anymore. This…thing between us isn’t an accident. Both of us have been through hell. I want to just enjoy what we can now.”

When she finishes speaking her hands are just below my shoulder blades, she curves her fingers, short dull nails press soothing lines into my skin while she slowly drags them down towards my hips. I groan and press my forehead to hers. We stand in silence, her slow breathing and my rapid heartbeat the only thing I can hear as her hands roam my body, she scratches along my back and sides as we both let our eyes shut. We're so close that we share the same air. At this moment, I know she’s right; we don’t get this lucky anymore, this is because I was doing the right thing, even if it was difficult and wrong, even if it resulted in many sleepless nights.

She hums as her palms meet my skin, heat flushes my entire body. I have done worse than sin, but this, her with her soft skin and coffee and banana bread smell, is my exoneration.

You

Joel's lips hover just above mine, so close that I can taste the mint of his breath. I can’t help but wonder if he brushed his teeth this afternoon knowing I was coming over. Maybe he was hoping I’d finally realize he had feelings for me and he would finally get a chance to kiss me.

When my hands run along his lower back he groans and sinks into my touch. This big, powerful man is going lax for me. I wrap my fingers around the hem of his shirt, pulling it up. He obliges, lifting his arms, and leaning back just a touch so neither of us takes a shirt to the face. The moment it’s off I drop it to the floor and we both rush to press our naked chests together; him hard and hot under my soft and slightly chilled skin. My nipples stiffen against him as our foreheads meet again.

The moment we are skin to skin something changes in his eyes. They’re almost black, pupils blown wide and the golden flecks appear dimmer. Something in both of us snaps, him growling and me sucking in a breath before our mouths crash into one another. Everything about this is harder and needier than anything that happened outside. I’m no longer a pliant melted puddle of a person, he’s no longer touching me with feather-light strokes. Joel’s fingers dig into my hips, hopefully hard enough to leave little traces of him behind, before he pushes my ruined baby blue panties down. I use my feet to slide them the rest of the way off, kicking them to the side as my hands work at his jeans.

“I need you,” I gasp between kisses, tugging the zipper down.

Joel’s hands come to my ass, pulling me flush to him, and pinning my hands between us, rendering my attempts at stripping him down useless. He kneads the globes of my backside firmly and I hope I’m covered in little fingertip-sized bruises tomorrow. I whine into his lips, trying to continue getting his pants off and his cock into my hand.

“Joel,” I whine as best I can with his lips still fused to mine, wiggling my fingers to get to him.

“No,” he rasps, moving his lips to my jaw. “Jus’ let me feel you.”

I wrap my fingers in the waistband of his jeans to steady myself as he slowly walks us towards the bed. His eager, searching lips never leave my skin. He presses hungry kisses along my jaw, down my throat and then back up towards my earlobe. I gasp when he hits the most sensitive spots, he replies with a graze of his teeth, almost like he’s creating an erotic connect-the-dot puzzle of all the places I enjoy him the most.

When the back of my thighs meets the edge of his bed he releases my ass, hands settling in the dips of my hips. The tip of his hooked nose runs up my throat until his lips reach my ear. His beard scratches at me as he whispers.

“Fuck, baby. You have no idea how long I’ve imagined how you’d look in my bed. Naked and writhing underneath me,” his voice is hushed yet full of gritty desire. I don’t have the heart to tell him that all my sexual fantasies of him are newly formed. When I don’t answer, he leans back and looks at me then continues with an embarrassed smile. “Sorry if I’m comin’ off too strong.”

“No,” I reassure, reaching up to cup his face. “I just…I didn’t allow myself those kinds of thoughts. I’ve imagined what it would be like to come home to you, or making dinners together, or just existing side by side. I used the hospital to distract myself, staying for hours even though no one was pregnant, but I don’t want to do that anymore. I like you, Joel. I like the way I feel around you. I’m not blind, I always thought you were incredibly handsome, but I couldn’t let myself fantasize.”

He turns his head to kiss the inside of my palm and then smirks as he side-eyes me. “Fantasize now. Tell me what you want.”

I feel the crimson blush spread across my cheeks, flooding down my neck and chest. My bottom lip slips between my teeth as I contemplate my answer. He doesn’t press, just kisses my palm again and waits. I clear my throat softly before I start.

“I want to feel your lips on every inch of my skin,” Joel nods, the corners of his lips twitching as if he’s stopping a smile. “I want to know how your tongue would feel along my pussy, and if your fingers will feel different when I’m properly spread out for you. I want you to kiss me as you slowly press your cock into me. And I want you to make me come sooo many times.”

“Your wishes are my commands,” he says with a wink and then gives me a gentle push so I fall to the bed with a squeal. I slide back, turning to put my head on the pillow as he looks at me. Both of us gawk openly at the other. I take in all his tanned skin, every dip and curve of the muscles that line his arms, chest and stomach. He has a horseshoe-shaped scar on his side, the skin tight and shiny. Other marks are less noticeable, hidden beneath the spattering of black and silver chest hair.

“Get naked with me,” I whisper as his eyes trail down my stomach. His face softens as he takes in the faint lines around my belly button. Part of me wants to cover them up, not wanting to talk about her and what happened.

Joel looks back up at me and then slides his pants and underwear off in one swoop. His cock springs free, thick, heavy, and leaking at the tip. “Are you sure?” He asks, his voice like gravel.

I nod, reaching for him, spreading my thighs so he can settle between them. Both of us gasp when our skin touches. His forearms rest on either side of my head as he settles some of his weight on me. Our eyes dance around each other's faces, I find mine trailing to the scar on his temple. I’ve always wanted to ask, but now is not the time. I have a feeling most of the marks on his body aren’t happy stories.

Joel’s thumb grazes my cheekbone and I don’t stop the smile from forming. “Joel?” I whisper.

“Yeah, baby?” He mirrors back.

“Please kiss me.” It’s a desperate airy murmur.

Joel

Her eyes flutter shut as my lips slant across hers, mine following shortly after. If it wasn’t weird to kiss with your eyes open, I’d do it with her. Mainly because I have no goddamn idea how I got this fucking lucky.

When surrounded by darkness I can smell the coffee and banana bread. Every awful, horrible thing I’ve done fully melts away. It’s just her and me.

She parts her silky lips, our tongues meeting in a gentle swipe once, twice. Her plush hips flex forward, her wet sex rubbing along my cock. We both groan and she does it again, wrapping one leg around me, the other foot planted on the bed. We kiss and grind against each other until my dick is slippery and we are both panting.

“Joel, I’m…” she whimpers between kisses.

I move my lips along her jaw and towards her ear. In an encouraging whisper, I say, “It’s okay. Come for me, baby,”

“Oh god,” she gasps and then starts to shake. Her thighs squeeze around my hips and I swear I can feel her clit pulsing along the underside of my cock.

I pull back to watch her face. Her bottom lip is pinched between her teeth as she whimpers. “You’re so beautiful when you come,” I murmur, rutting my hips into her harder while being careful not to slide inside of her very warm and inviting pussy. Her eyes open, pupils blown wide as she succumbs to pleasure. “That’s my girl.”

This is the third orgasm I’ve seen her have, and somehow she’s freer and more stunning with each one. Once her orgasm subsides she smiles up at me and my heart leaps into my throat.

You

When I told Joel I wanted to feel his lips on every inch of skin I didn’t actually mean every inch, but he has spent the last thirty minutes kissing my arms, chest, legs, and back. He’s guided me to roll over or lift a leg. We both laughed when he kissed my big toe. He asked about the long thin scar on my ankle, a reminder of the small plate I needed after breaking it in my early teens. He traced his fingers along the kidney bean-shaped birthmark on the underside of my left ass cheek, saying how cute it is and then telling me how it reminds him of mini golf.

Now, he’s lying on his stomach between my legs, kissing along my hipbone and towards my belly. One of his arms is hooked under my leg, the other holding the hip not currently being spoiled by his mouth. I watch as his lips move along my skin. He stops to look at my stretch marks and my chest feels like I'm simultaneously not getting enough air while also feeling like I just took a huge breath in. He swallows audibly, his hand moving from my hip to run a finger down one of the stripes. When our eyes meet again, both of us are holding back tears.

“I’m sorry,” he whispers. I mouth a thank you then chew on my cheek to distract from the tears that are threatening to escape. “Are you still sure?”

“Yeah,” I say with a soft smile. “If you still want to.”

Joel slides down the bed, and from this angle, I can see the muscles of his back flexing with each movement. His hands cup my thighs, pushing my legs apart for him and I laugh out a rhetorical, “I guess that’s a yes?”

His eyes are fixed on my centre, both of us experiencing emotional whiplash in the best kind of way. The intensity of his stare makes the walls of my pussy clench around nothing. He must see flex of it because he smirks that deliciously sexy smirk of his. His hands run up my legs, inching closer and closer to where I’m desperate for him. Tendrils of desire creep down my spine and I fight a shiver. Joel’s thumbs come to the outer lips of my vulva as my hands come to his hair. He pushes them apart gently as I card a hand through his salt and pepper curls.

“I wish I were better with words so I could tell you jus’ how beautiful you are. Fuck. You’re so wet,” he adjusts to hold me open with a thumb and forefinger. His other thumb brushes my clit, “And warm. And so goddamn soft.”

My lungs immediately feel tight. I take in quick, short breaths, watching as his face lowers to my flesh. He’s millimetres away, so close that if all I did was flex my glutes his mouth would be on me. Joel inhales with a whimper and then looks up at me. “You smell so good, baby.”

Without waiting for me to respond he parts his lips and laps at my clit. His warm tongue burns my already hot and needy flesh. “Fuck, Joel,” I hiss, my fingers tug at his hair. Our gazes are still locked, and when he raises an eyebrow at me I nod and let out a wanton, “More, please. More.”

Joel

Something inside of me snaps at the sound of her begging. I don’t just eat her out, I devour her like a starved wolf, like a man who hasn’t tasted pussy in years - which I haven’t. I refuse to stop, not even after she comes with a sob. I wish I had kept my jeans on earlier because the hardest part of all of this is to stop myself from fucking into the mattress like some sort of horny teenager.

Her clit is so swollen as I suck it into my mouth, hooking both my arms under her thighs so I can pull her closer. Her hand drops from my hair and hits the mattress with a thud. If it wasn’t for the gasps, whines, sobs and moans leaving her perfect lips I’d be worried that I had killed her.

I peek up at her to find her lost in post orgasm bliss. I release her clit from my lips, licking at her and speaking between each caress of my tongue. “I wish you could see how stunning you are right now. All pliant and ready for me. You deserve this and so much more.”

My tongue draws a long line from her entrance to the spot I know makes her tremble.

“Joel, baby, oh my god.” Hearing her moan my name along with the name we only call each other has my heart reenacting a game of Atari between my ribs and I snap again. Slowly working a finger inside of her and rolling the flat of my tongue over her throbbing clit.

I don’t stop, only adjusting the speed or pressure if she asks. I have no idea how long I’ve been between her thighs, or how many times she’s come, when she tugs at my hair to pull me off.

“I can’t come again, baby,” she says weakly. When I look up, her hair is adorably dishevelled, her cheeks flush, her chest heaving and glistening with sweat.

I lick her arousal from my lips. “Shit, I’m sorry. I…I kinda lost track of everything.”

She laughs, “Same. I don’t know if that was one really long orgasm or like three back to back.”

I slide my middle finger from her pussy and she twitches. “Three? Shit, too bad you already know my middle name or I’d be telling you it’s sex god,” I reply smugly while helping her move her legs, then lie beside her, both of us turning to face one another.

“Calm down or this room won’t be big enough for the three of us.” She rolls her eyes playfully.

“Who else do you think is in this room? I didn’t have a helper. That was all me, baby.” I wink at her and then for whatever reason I boop her nose. Luckily, she takes pity on me, scrunching it and laughing.

“The third would be your ego.” She swings a leg over my hip and pulls herself closer as she adds an affectionate-sounding, “Dummy.”

You

How I went from ‘I’m never allowing myself to have feelings again’ to clinging to Joel as I fall for him has my mind spiralling. He said earlier that he smells like patrol, and I’d be stupid to ignore the danger he happily puts himself in every single day. Am I really going to be okay knowing he’s out there? He can handle the infected, that part doesn’t scare me, but swarms of raiders are always lurking.

“Hey,” he says softly and I blink him back into focus. “Where’d you go?”

I shake my head. “Nowhere,” I lie, scooting closer to his warmth. “Must just be dazed from the six orgasms you’ve given me today.”

“Mmmm, I feel like we should go for lucky number seven.” His eyes glint with mischief, like a little kid who's planning to set up a trap for Santa.

I realize that in the last few months of spending time with him, it’s always me making the jokes. Sure, he’d participate and throw a witty remark back, but he always looked sad in a way. Now that his walls are down, he’s light and playful and so fucking cute that I just want to squish him. So I do. I press my body to his, his cock hard against my leg as I squeeze his cheeks between my hands and kiss him. The laugh that I’m met with causes my fears from early to ease and spurs my overwhelming cuteness aggression. Forcing him onto his back, I crawl up, straddling him and squeezing him tightly between my thighs.

“You’re so fucking cute, Miller,” I say jokingly through gritted teeth while I sponge kisses all over his face.

He snorts a laugh. If he really wanted to, he could easily win this little fight, but he doesn’t. Instead, his hands grip my hips and he pulls me with him as he sits up. I keep kissing him as he slides us back so he’s resting on the headboard, a pillow cushioning him. He lets me get it all out of my system and by the time I’m done we are both laughing and he’s somehow grown harder between our bodies. My hands fall to his broad shoulders and he cups my chin as our eyes meet. The sun has fully set now, he’s illuminated only by silver moonlight.

“You’re cute, too,” he whispers. Pulling my face into his. Once our lips touch a fire ignites in my belly. I have had more orgasms today than I have in probably the last month. But yet, I want more, need more. And even though every inch of my pussy is sore and sensitive, it’s already wet and ready for more.

I snake a hand between our bodies and fist the base of his cock. He doesn’t break our kiss, just feeds me his moans as I pump his thick shaft a few times. His dick catches on my clit and I have to break the kiss to cry out. I catch Joel’s concerned expression as I rise to line him up with my body.

“I need you,” my voice is a shaky whisper.

I do need him, but I know I’m swollen with both my current arousal and my past orgasms, and he’s so thick that I can just barely touch my fingertips to my thumb around him. Plus, he seems longer than any other cock that I can remember.

“Go slow,” he warns, probably more for my benefit than his, or at least that’s what I think until I press the fat head of his cock just past my entrance and he shudders underneath me. I watch his chest heave as he breaks out in goosebumps. “Shit, baby. So tight.”

I move my hips up and down, getting the first couple of inches of him nice and wet while I adjust to the intrusion. We’re both silent, watching where he’s slowly disappearing into my body. I manage to work him in almost halfway before I’m the one who starts to tremble. His hands cradle my ass, helping to hold me up.

“I…ohmygod…I don’t think I can take it all,” I say with a defeated sigh, resting my forehead on his.

Joel

My ego really is going to take up all the space in this room soon if she keeps praising me like this. I know I’ve got some girth, but she’s like a vice grip around me right now. All hot and slick, her cunt holding me like a lifeline.

“It’s all you, baby. Jus’ do what feels good,” I reassure her, pressing my lips to hers. I’m never going to be done kissing her. Even if she never wants to do this again, or if she wants to go back to being friends, never getting to kiss her again will be the hardest part for me.

She whispers a shaky ‘ok’, and then lifts to the tip and sinks back down. She repeats the same short, shallow thrusts again and again. Each time she reaches the sensitive ridge at the head of my cock I see stars.

“Your pussy, fuck. You’re killin’ me.” I say in a confidential whisper, adding her name at the end. She blushes and then slides further down my shaft. “Mmm, you liked hearing that, didn’t you?”

Based on how much easier she’s able to move along with me, I can tell she enjoys being praised.

“Yes, Joel. Yes,” it’s all air and desperation again. A telltale sign she’s relaxing and letting the feeling of me inside her take her.

“You just got so much wetter for me. You’re doing so well.” A phrase I used to use in my old life is on the tip of my tongue, but I hesitate. Would she like it?

She pauses her hips, my dick nearly fully swallowed by her tight heat. Her ass is in my hands still, helping to keep her up. I take a few calculated breaths to push my building orgasm down, but when she looks at me with hooded eyes, I stop breathing altogether. My mouth goes dry as I realize…no, it’s crazy to feel that already. Isn’t it? I’ve known her for a while, and our friendship has been easy. Like magnets, we just…click. I’m the negative; introverted, grumpy, quiet and stubborn. She’s the positive; extroverted, always happy and smiling, she’s quiet but open and approachable. I’ve seen a stubborn side when it comes to her work, but with the residents of Jackson, she’s collaborative and open to suggestions.

Her hand reaches between our bodies, her fingers searching to see how much more of me is left. I can’t help the subconscious reaction of my body when the tips of her fingers brush my cock. My hips flex up until I’m fully buried in her pussy. Both of us cry out, she falls forward, her head buried in the crook of neck.

“Joel,” she coos. “I’m never going to get enough of you.”

I kiss her hair, wrapping her in my arms. Both of us have a thin coat of sweat on our skin, but I hold her tight. “Me either. Jus’ stay here for a minute.”

Considering neither of us has moved much, she's breathing like she ran a marathon. We sit in a comfortable silence for a while before I break it.

“Try to slow your breathing for me. Nice, easy inhales. There you go,” I say when she takes a slow breath in with me. “That’s it, baby. Exhale slowly. You got it.”

“One more for me,” I coax, and we mirror each other's inhales and the walls of her pussy start to relax. The saying I stopped just a few minutes ago leaves my lips before I can halt it again. “Good girl.”

She shoots up to look at me so fast that my hold on her breaks, my hands hitting the mattress.

Fuck.

But when our eyes meet hers are wide, and she has a little smirk on her face that I’ve only ever seen when she jumped out from behind my couch and nearly gave me a heart attack. “Say that again,” she asks.

“That’s not how you ask for things, baby,” I play back, giving her ass a light slap. Her hips roll and to my delighted surprise, she lets out a throaty moan. “Say please.”

She slips her bottom lip between her teeth and she's so goddamn beautiful right now that I could come just looking at her. Her cheeks flush a deeper shade of pink and the next two words that leave her mouth hold enough weight to alter my DNA, “Harder, please.”

I play it cool and cock an eyebrow at her. This woman, this impossibly perfect woman, just asked me to spank her harder and liked it when I called her a good girl. I’m so fucked and there’s no denying it now that I love her. I swallow down the three words, then my palm snaps against the meat of her ass once.

“Fuck,” she whimpers and then rides my dick, chasing her high. “Thank you.”

My fingers dig into the plush skin of her hips, my palms settled into the dips of them. I don’t want to hurt her but I do want to leave marks. I want her to see them the next time she's naked. I want her to think of me as she touches them. I want her to get all hot and bothered and wet. I want her to be craving me so badly that she comes over and sneaks into my room. Then, once she’s all stripped bare and spread wide, all primed and aching, I want to make her beg for release while tears run from her eyes.

“See what you get when you’re polite? When you ask nicely?” I barely recognize my own voice. I haven’t been dominant in this way in years. Based on the way she tightens around me, she likes it. “God, look at you right now. Six orgasms and this dripping little pussy is already searching for more. Insatiable, ain’t ya?”

She nods, humming an agreeable sound with her eyes closed. I grab her hips roughly, stopping her from being able to flick them back and forth. “Use your words.”

Her head falls back and she groans in frustration.

“Baby, I said to use your words.”

She starts to beg towards the ceiling of my bedroom and I cut her off. “No, no. You will look at me when you ask for what you want.”

She blinks down at me, eyes glistening in the moonlight flooding my room through the sheer blinds. She’s all shadows and silver. After clearing her throat she starts.

“Yes, Joel. I need more. Need you to make me feel good. Again. Please. You feel so good inside of me. No one has ever been this deep or hit this many spots. You have me out of my mind with need. Please let me ride you. Please. Let me use you to make myself come and then you can do whatever you want.”

“Whatever I want?” I repeat.

“Yes. I will keep going if you want. Or you can flip me over and fuck me into your mattress. Just, please, Joel. I’m already so fucking close.” Her eyes dance around my face for a second and then she adds a flirtatious, “Please, sir.”

The entire world fades away and all I care about is her seventh orgasm and then my own. I drag her hips back and forth, forcing her to ride me roughly. She joins, flicking her hips back and forth, one of her hands comes to my shoulder, the other reaching back to my thigh to brace herself. Her short nails dig into my skin.

“That’s my girl,” I grit out. “Use me. Touch yourself, baby. Rub that beautiful swollen clit and show me how it feels when you come on my cock.”

I expect her to move the hand that’s on my thigh, but instead she leans back more and removes her hand from my shoulder. I can see every single inch of her soft body like this. She’s stunning and I have to flex the muscles behind my belly button to stop from coming too soon.

“Fuck, there she is. Stroke that clit. Lemme see it,” she’s moaning like a woman possessed. “Shit, squeezin’ so tight. You’re gonna come, aren’t ya?”

“Yes, Joel. Yes. Spank me, please. I’m gonna come.”

I listen, swatting her ass with a quick snap of my wrist. She screams and then her muscles go lax before her entire body starts to writhe.

“Good fucking girl,” I praise holding my orgasm back like my life depends on it. I’m so turned on that even my nipples feel tight.

“Fill me up, Joel,” she gasps, her doe-like eyes searching my face. “Please, I’ve been good for you. Fill me.”

“Fucking Christ,” I rasp and then with a growl of her name, my cock swells and releases inside of her. She melts into me, slowly riding me through my high. Stars burst behind my eyes, her face shining in my mind with each flash of gold. I feel the warmth of my come filling her, hear the muffled cries of her release against my skin, taste her mouth still on my lips, and smell that coffee shop that had been my place of salvation for so long. No orgasm I’ve ever had has been this intense. This isn’t just a physical feeling, it’s everywhere.

Pressure builds behind my eyes as she starts to push me into overstimulation. I moan into her hair, crushing her shaking body to mine. “Stop, it’s too much.”

She nuzzles into me and we sit quietly, only our slowing breathing filling the room.

“Holy shit,” she mumbles into my neck, breaking our few heartbeats of silence.

“Are you okay?” I slide my arms down to her arms and adjust her so I can see her face.

“Yes. More than okay. Are you?” She asks. Tucking her arms to her body as I wrap mine around her again.

“Of course, honey,” I say with a soft contented sigh.

“Mm-mm,” she shakes her head, pressing a kiss to my neck. “Not honey. Baby.”

“Or good girl,” I growl back and she giggles a melodic sound into my throat. The sound of it makes my stomach flip. I’m so fucked. I’m still buried inside of her, soft now, but I could get hard if she wanted to go again.

“Apparently so,” she says with a sigh, almost like she can’t believe that she liked it so much. Just as I’m about to ask her if she wants to join me in the shower, there’s a loud slam of the front door and both our heads swivel to the alarm clock on my nightstand. 10:58 pm.

“Jooooeeeeellll?” Ellie’s voice calls from downstairs. “I’m home just in time like you asked and it’s my birthday and I want cake…..”

“Shit,” we both say in unison, working together to slide her off my softened cock. She scrambles for her dress, I fumble with my pyjama bottoms and attempt to throw on a T-shirt at the same time.

“Do you think Doc is still awake!!!” Ellie hollers. “Whoa, whose shoes are these?? JOEL!!!! What the fuck, dude? Are you alive? Someone left their shoes here!” I hear the creaking of the steps, taking one last glance over my shoulder to see her adjusting her dress, before I crack the door open and slide out to come face to face with Ellie who is holding Doc's shoes in her hands, staring at me suspiciously.

You

Regardless of how badly I want to, I don't eavesdrop on the two of them. I decide it’s best to distract myself, wandering over to Joel’s en suite bathroom and cleaning myself up. When I come back out they’re still talking right outside the door.

“Ellie, it’s late.”

“It’s my birthday though. Please?! One little teeny itsy bitsy sliver of cake and then I’ll go right to sleep,” her words string together.

“Are you drunk?” Joel asks, not in an accusatory way, but more so in a casual concern.

“What? No. I’m hungry.” Ellie sputters.

“Are you high?” He says in the same tone.

“Not as high as Doc. I at least remembered where I live!” She says laughing.

“Hey…rude!” I announce from behind the door. I hear Joel’s defeated sigh over Ellie’s laughter.

“Ellie,” Joel warns, and I take that as my cue to exit the bedroom and save the poor girl. My hand meets Joel’s spine, right between his shoulders, and I feel him relax.

Ellie’s red-rimmed eyes meet mine, a small smile twisting her lips. “I did what you said, Joel. I was careful, I came home when you asked, and if anything had happened I would have ran right here.”

My fingers scratch at this soft shirt and his entire demeanour shifts. “Thank you. I’m…really proud of the…” he clears his throat roughly, “of the young woman you’re becoming.”

His words seem frozen in the air as they look at one another, and then Ellie blushes and looks down at her converse. “Thanks, Joel,” she murmurs.

“Cake?” I ask rhetorically, knowing these two stubborn, hard-headed twin flames need a change of topic.

“Fuuuuuck this is delicious. He might be a jerk, but he can bake like a mother fucker,” crumbs fly from Ellie’s mouth as she speaks around forkfuls of cake. Truthfully, it’s not that great but she’s high after all. Joel chuckles, smiling proudly; mostly at Ellie but also to himself for giving her a good day. He’s always had a thing about birthdays. I file that away, along with the questions I have about his scars.

“If he’s a jerk I’d hate to see what they say about me,” Joel says under his breath as he takes the dishes to the sink.

“They think you’re a hottie,” Ellie blurts. Joel looks over his shoulder with an incredulous expression on his face, first to Ellie and then to me.

I shrug, crossing my arms and leaning back in my chair. “I mean, I agree so…”

“Gross. I’m going to bed before my innocent child-like eyes and ears see or hear anything that will scar them for life,” Ellie stops to give me a quick side hug and then stares at Joel’s back as he washes the dirty plates and forks. The two of us watch as his shoulders shake with silent laughter, completely unaware of the war happening behind Ellie’s eyes. She glances towards me and with an encouraging jut of my chin, this terrified-looking girl who is usually so fearless swallows and then wraps her arms around Joel’s middle.

“Thanks for a great birthday, Joel,” she says, her voice wavering as if she’s hugging an infected and not the man who has kept her safe all these years.

I notice the stiff lines of Joel’s upper body, the sloshing of the water going silent. She drops her arms and I look away, staring at the table I helped Joel stain a few weeks ago.

“Ellie,” Joel croaks, the shuffling of his bare feet following Ellie to the threshold of the kitchen. “Happy birthday, kiddo. I’m sorry for earlier. Real sorry. I don’t want to fight, but especially not on your birthday.”

Tears well up in the back of my eyes when I risk a glance their way. She’s wrapped in his arms, his broad body cocooning her. A confusing mix of elation and jealousy swirls in my stomach. My daughter never made it to this age, and I have a feeling the child Joel lost didn’t either. No one can really explain how it feels to lose a child, but to lose everything else at the same time is…well, again, not something that can be explained properly. It’s like walking around with a hole in your body. As much as you pack the wound it never seems to heal, it will start bleeding or hurting at random times. Sometimes you swear the hole has fixed itself, be it right before you fall asleep or wake up, sometimes the person who left that hole is so vivid in dreams. Yet, when your brain finally catches up to your reality, you’re still here and you’re still bleeding out. After a few seconds, Joel and Ellie both let go and tuck their hands in their pockets.

“Good night,” Ellie whispers, her eyes darting every which way before she spins awkwardly on the ball of one foot and sprints up the stairs two at a time. Joel’s back is still to me, a tea towel draped over his shoulder. When he spins towards me, my mouth seems to move without my brain's permission.

“Her name was Sarah,” I feel like I’m having an out-of-body experience, this is too much to place on the shoulders of anyone, but especially on someone who just gave me more orgasms than I can count. “She was nine when the outbreak happened.”

Joel bends beside me, his knees cracking, then grabs my hips and spins me towards him. “Fucking Tommy,” he murmurs, then continues, “She was fourteen, not nine.”

When I meet his gaze, his eyes are rimmed with tears. “What? Who?” My voice is breathy and laced with confusion.

Joel’s brows pull together, his rough thumb wiping a tear from my cheek that I didn’t realize had fallen. “Sarah, she was fourteen.”

“You had a daughter named Sarah?” That hollow space in my chest blooms hot. It’s hard to believe in fate or kismet anymore, but this means something.

“Yes,” he says, his head tilting to the side as if he’s slowly putting it together. “She…on outbreak day. Military. Yours was also a Sarah?”

I nod, not able to form words and definitely not ready to tell him what I did; didn’t do would be more accurate, but even all these years later I can’t bring myself to say it out loud.

Joel stands, pulling me to my feet before his hands cup my face. “I was never one of those people who believed in stars aligning and all that shit, but I don’t know, baby. Something feels different now.”

His big brown eyes call me in. This…thing between us is everything I always wanted but never allowed myself to have. I can’t go back now, and it’s confirmed when he speaks next.

Joel

Her chin trembles against my palms, fat tears collect along her last line like morning dew on grass. I swipe away each one as it falls. I take a slow breath and get ready to say something I haven’t said to a single living person in years.

“Baby, I think I’m in love with you.”

The words hang between us, and the only part of it I wish I could take back is saying that I think I do. Because there’s no thinking, I am so fucking in love with this brilliant woman in front of me that I feel insane. I love Ellie, too, like she’s my own daughter, and one day I’m going to find a way to tell her that.

“Joel,” she whispers, stepping closer to me, her hands slipping under my shirt. I bite back a moan at the feeling of her skin on mine. After an audible swallow, she continues, “I think I might be in love with you, too. And it scares me.”

The crack in her voice at the end nearly ruins me. One of my hands finds its way to the nape of her neck, my fingers carding through her hair, the other stays planted to her face.

“I know,” I say softly, our foreheads meeting, “it fucking scares me too.”

Her lips find mine, soft and still trembling. I kiss her back, letting her take the lead. I don’t know how I got here, how either of us got here really. When her tongue swipes against my bottom lip I urge her closer, guiding her into me with a flex of my fingers along her jaw and in her hair. She somehow even tastes like banana bread.

“Let’s go to bed, baby,” I mumble between kisses. She pulls back to look at me, a line etched between her brows.

“Shouldn’t I go home?” She asks, her voice a swirl of concern, hope and confusion.

I smile at her, slowly walking us towards the stairs. “No, we had to jump apart earlier. I need to hold you. Plus, Ellie already caught us.”

When we reach the stairs I release her from my arms and she tangles one of her hands with mine before we walk up the stairs together.

You

A soft kiss to my temple wakes me. I peel my eyes open, then quickly shut them again when the morning light assaults my retinas. Joel’s deep, but quiet, chuckle meets my ears.

“I didn’t mean to wake you up. We are heading out now,” his voice is just above a whisper, calm and sweet, but I scramble to sit up. Joel’s hands come to my shoulder, pushing me back to the mattress. “Shh, you’re alright. Just stay. Get some more sleep. We’ll be back tonight.”

I look up at him, yellow sunlight lighting up his face. Everything from last night flashes before me, but the part that sticks is both of us admitting to being in love with the other, and the two of us showing each other just how much when we got back to his room. It was soft and slow, our lips fused together, only parting to kiss or nip at each other's skin.

“Be careful,” I whisper, pushing the worry aside.

“I will, baby. It’s not that far. I’m…” he pauses, pushing some hair off my forehead. “I’m sorry for not inviting you.”

A ball of heat forms in the center of my chest. “Don’t be. This is your time with Ellie. I know how much you look forward to it. She is excited too, just so you know. But you’re going to have to tell me what it is about birthdays one day soon.”

His lips meet mine, a quick gentle press. “You tell me what day I can celebrate you, and then I’ll tell you.”

I crinkle my nose, “Not a great day if I’m being honest.”

“I can fix that,” he says after kissing the tip of my still turned-up nose.

“You’re amazing, but I don’t think anyone can make September 26 better.”

Joel sits up straight and looks down at me. His expression is completely unreadable and then he starts to laugh.

“It’s not funny,” I say, swatting his arm.

“It is once you know that’s my birthday too.”

TW: teasing, talks of sexual acts, reader has full body descriptions, talks of collars, kissing, dry humping, confessions of feelings, mentions of past emotional abuse (fuck, Preston).

Tommy

Your flushed, pleasure drunk face has haunted him for the last ten days. After ruining your orgasm in your office, he held you until you had caught your breath. Occasionally, you’d squirm in frustration - or need - in his lap and he’d flex his arms to hold you tighter. Every whimper from your lips he met with a comforting hush. He could have spent hours with his lips pressed to your hair, your small and curvy body tucked against his - broad and hard. Once you were back to your regular self, he told you that he’d be inviting you to the club soon and that he didn’t want you to touch yourself. You didn’t fight him, instead you slumped back into him with a nod before burying your face into his neck.

He’s never felt any sort of remorse for denying a sub before, they all knew what they signed up for. Technically, so did you, but it was painful for him to not give you exactly what he thinks you deserve. Originally, he had planned to let you cum all over his face, drinking down everything you gave him. Then, he wanted to lay you across your glass desk, command that you pull your panties to the side so he could jerk himself off and cover you in his ejaculate. He wanted to sit in your high-backed leather chair, using his fingers to push his cum inside of you, then watch it drip down your pretty pussy, see it smear on your pristine desk, or roll onto the floor, all while praising you. He hoped that would get you worked up again so he could watch you use gather any mixture of both your arousals that left with your fingers, and get a front row seat to you rubbing your clit until you came for him again.

He adjusts himself discreetly under his desk in the portable JM Construction trailer that’s acting as his office right now. He tries to focus his attention on the weekly Rancher’s Cove conference call with Joel and the other department heads. The head of their realtor team, three foremen that have been assigned to the project, and their interior decorator are taking turns to update the older Miller brother - who is in one hell of a mood today - about where they’re at.

“We’ve sold two of the nineteen remaining lots in Ranchers Cove, but without any mock ups of homes it’s been a tough sell.” Bill, the head of their reality team says.

“Tommy, where are you at with those?” Joel asks.

“I’ve got four drawings done so far. Inside the homes they’ll have the standard options we offer,” Tommy  begins to respond.

“These need to be above our standard, Tommy.” Joel asserts, cutting him off. 

Tommy fights from rolling his eyes. Joel hasn’t been involved in this side of the business for a few years - he’s technically retired - but, since he forked out ten million dollars of his own money for this project, Tommy remains calm. Joel Miller can be an asshole, pushing at Tommy constantly, but the success of JM Inc is no accident. Love him or hate him, Joel’s knowledge and experience are invaluable.

“Joel,” Frank, the interior designer they subcontract to pipes in, “These homes are going to start at just shy of a million, not including the land. It might make it a more appealing to a larger group of buyers to offer the standard interior package, and then have a premium package for those that want something as nice as Tommy’s cabin.”

“I’m not interested in appearing to a larger group.” Joel deadpans, “These aren’t cabins, let’s all remember that. These are high end lake front properties.”

Tommy glances at the print outs of interior finishings him and Frank plan to use. He’s not sure he’d call anything about their plans “standard”, and unless Joel has discovered something never before used, it can’t get anymore “premium”.

“Our standard options are already high end, can you clarify what are you hoping for?” Tommy challenges. “I’m not sure what is considered nicer than granite countertops, or stainless steel appliances. How can we increase the luxury of the bathrooms when are already offering steam functions and soaker tubs big enough for, well, someone your size.”

“We have to stand out, make it desirable. The mock up’s need to be perfect. The finishings need to be luxurious. Tommy, your cabin is phenomenal, but they all need to be like that without being cookie cutter.” 

Ellie, one of the foreman pipes up next. “Joel, are you wanting each home there to be different? Are we offering buyers nineteen homes to pick from and if one is picked it’s off the docket?”

“Yes.” Tommy and Joel say at the same time. They may not always agree on everything, but they do agree that they hate neighbourhoods where all the homes are the same, where HOA’s only allow two or three styles of homes that all have to have the same tree out front. In fact, up until recently Tommy had refused projects like that all together. That is, until your dad asked him to build your house. He glances out the window of the trailer towards your home, watching the progress closely. 

Ellie continues, “What if we offered five or six different designs for areas of the home. Buyers can mix and match. There would be endless combinations. It would also be easier on the crews, less mistakes, which means less time and labour and more money in your pockets.”

Joel has always had a soft spot for Ellie. Tommy hired her originally shortly after she turned eighteen, but Joel took her under his wing, teaching her the in’s an out’s of construction. Within a few years she was finished her carpentry training, quickly followed by electrician certification, and then a degree in landscape architecture. Now, nearly ten years later, she’s more than qualified to run a crew, and is expecting a baby with her wife next month.

Tommy listens to them going back and forth when his phone bings on his desk. Your name lights up his screen and distracts him from the conversation. Joel has strict rules about being on phones during meetings, but Tommy’s assistant is logged in and taking notes. Plus, he’s been waiting for you to reply to him all morning. 

You: No, I still haven’t touched myself. I’m trying to be good for you.

Tommy: You have been. I’m very proud of you.

You: Proud enough to let me touch myself right now?

Tommy: No, sweetheart. I’ll make it better tonight.

You: A flap of a butterfly wing or a slight breeze could do it at this point

Tommy: That’s a kink I’ve never tried before

You: …wait…tonight??

Tommy: Check your JMK app, sweetheart

“Tommy?” Joel’s voice has his eyes snapping back up to the call. All the little boxes that housed everyone else are gone. “Who are you texting and why is your face like that?”

You

Once your Bentley is safely parked behind JMKink you pull out your phone. Your fingers shake slightly as you open the JMK app again and click on the message from Tommy - your assigned dominant. His message includes where to park, and that you’re to knock on the back door at exactly eight pm. You recognize the door from when you were here for the poker game; matte black with “JMK” in golden lettering. 

The sun was stifling again today, the air is still humid from the rain that trapped you at Tommy’s. It feels symbolic that it’s clinging to the city. Like the heat between you and Tommy is a real thing, something you can feel wrapped around your body. Tonight, you opted for a black mini skirt and white, high-neck body suit. The pink lacy panties you have on say “Yes, Sir” along your hip in the same spot as last time. You made a bold choice to forego a bra; it’s uncomfortably warm outside and it’s one less thing that separates your skin from Tommy’s. Your black flats meet the hot concrete as you head to the door; another bold outfit choice considering you prefer to wear heels. Your collection of designer shoes at home would have most people salivating. Slipping into a pair of heels usually gives you a boost - not just physically but mentally, as well. You’ve never enjoyed how people perceive you when they realize you’re short. In your experience, the mentality of tall men being more respected goes both ways. Yet, you have found that you love the way you feel when Tommy towers over, especially in flats. 

Nerves buzz along your skin, the heat of August morphing into September is only made hotter as you raise your fist to knock right as the clock rolls over eight. The door cracks open the second your knuckles meet the metal surface. A blast of air condition from the building hits your skin but does nothing to cool you down. Your breath catches when you see him - Tommy ‘orgasm professional’ Miller. Fuck. Tall, broad, long hair pushed back from his incredibly handsome face. His moustache is now paired with a small patch of hair below his bottom lip and a five o’clock shadow making his jawline look sharp and dangerous. He’s dressed in  black jeans - sit low on his hips, the denim practically stretching over his muscular thighs - and a baby blue t shirt that looks painted on. His exposed skin is deliciously tattooed and tanned. Your mouth waters at the sight of him. How is he even better looking than I remember?

Neither of you are shy as your eyes roam each other’s clothed bodies. You feel your nipples harden as your gaze takes a detour to his hand. Your pussy flutters at the way it flexes on the door knob, almost as if he’s trying to hold himself back. Fuck, you wish he wouldn’t. His other hand reaches to his back pocket, catching your attention when an eye mask that looks like it made of golden lace appears on a hooked finger. Your eyes flick up to his, a gasp leaving your lips when you’re met with his intense, lust-filled stare.

“Hi, sweetheart,” he says softly, the right corner of his mouth pulling upwards.

“Hello, sir,” you hum. His hand that’s holding your mask finds your hip, like two sides of a magnet, pulling you in. He truly does tower over you and you crane your neck to look up at him. At this proximity, sawdust and icy mountain air invade your senses and that same feeling of safety and comfort that you felt in your parent’s pantry washes over you.  

Tommy pulls you by the hip, guiding you over the threshold. The rise and fall of his chest gives him away. Short, quick movements as if he’s nervous. However, the moment the door clicks closed he moves, catching you off guard and pushing you against the door as it closes. Your airy giggle echos through the hallway before his lips meet yours - hurried, desperate and passionate. He nips at your bottom lip, his big hands roaming everywhere and anywhere. You relax into him, letting Tommy manipulate and take whatever he wants. His tongue swipes along yours and a jolt of pleasure runs from your navel to your clit, a moan from your throat is captured by his mouth.

“Needy little thing,” he murmurs between kisses.

You nod, rising up on your tip toes and reaching for his neck. He bends slightly, allowing you to pull him in for more because right now all you can think is just that - more. Thankfully, Tommy feels the same, his hands run over your ass before he grips the back of your thighs and lifts you up. Your legs wrap around his body, your mini skirt hiking up over your hips. You grind into his abdomen, the heat of his body setting your cunt on fire.

“Not yet, little hellraiser,” he rasps, pulling back from your lips. You lick the taste of him from your lips. One of his hands leaves your skin, coming up to show you the mask again. You knew this was part of his rules, you signed off on wearing a mask while in the club. Yet, you had hoped to be able to convince him to not make you wear it when you were away from the public areas of the club.

“Sometimes,” Tommy starts, his thumb and forefinger coming to your chin, “A submissive and their dominant will do a collaring ceremony. Depending on the people involved, it can be public or private, but the premise is the same. When wearing the collar, the submissive now must obey the dominant. Again, depending on the nature of their agreement, that collar can be removed when they aren’t in a scene or it can stay on for however long they want.”

“Is that what my mask is, Sir? Our version of a collar?” Tommy smiles softly at your question, his thumb smearing your matte red lipstick again. You’re starting to get the feeling he prefers you messy, not the prim and proper, private school attending, trust fund heiress you’ve been brought up to be.

“Yes, if you’re okay with that,” he whispers deeply, and suddenly the mask doesn’t seem so constrictive. Instead, it’s a symbol of a promise. The promise for him to teach you, to help you continue to fix what Preston ruined. A promise to take care of you when it’s on. Your stomach feels like it’s doing a free fall. Kim didn’t mention something like this when she was with Joel.

“And what if…” you hesitate, swallowing audibly. As always, Tommy doesn’t press or try to assume your thought. Instead, he just waits, his dark eyes dancing along your face. You force down an apology and ask what you really what to. “What if I’m not wearing the mask and we do this? Like before?”

His forehead falls to yours, his eyes fluttering shut and you mirror his actions. Darkness, a place to say what either of you want or need. A place where those desires can either be lost or brought to light by the other person. When he speaks next his voice is like sand paper.

“Then you’re mine. No more hiding, no more secrecy. The Queen of Nashville and the King of all things depraved. But most importantly, mine.”

His confession sends a jolt through you. Your hips flex forward involuntarily and the pressure on your neglected clit sends your mind reeling. You keep your eyes closed as he moves his lips hover over yours. After a cleansing pull of oxygen through your nose, you repay his confession with a whispered one of your own. 

“Initially, I didn’t want to wear the mask in your private room, Tommy. But now I think I should. I need rules or I’m going to fall for you.”

A kiss so soft that you aren’t even sure if it’s real brushes the side of your mouth. Tommy’s forehead leaves yours and you blink your eyes open. The muscles of his throat work down a swallow, flexing and jumping as if to call you in to bite or lick him there. He holds the mask up again.

“Put it on, sweetheart. Before I lose my fucking mind.” A smile tugs at your lips, a quiet laugh filling the space between the two of you. You place the mask over your face, tying the golden ribbon in a small bow behind your head. Tommy’s eyes flick to where you’re still grinding slow circles on his stomach and then back to your eyes. “Is my little brat ready for me to make her come now?”

The rough baritone he uses when acting as his dominant counterpart causes you to melt into him. Your hands scramble for purchase on his sinew lined biceps, your lips immediately pressing into the pulse point of his throat. Tommy squeezes the globes of your ass in his hands, rocking you forward. Pins and needles prick at your inner thighs, he feels so fucking good.         

“Yes, sir,” you whimper, moving to dot kisses along his jaw. “Please, I’ve been such a good girl. I did everything you asked of me. I didn’t touch myself, and I promise I’ll do what you say. Just - please.” You sucks his ear lobe into your mouth and hear his breathing hitch.

“Okay, sweetheart. I’ll make it better.”

TW: sub/dom dynamics, dirty talk, kneeling, crawling, oral sex (f receiving), possible power imbalance, pet names (sweetheart, baby), female OC being insanely rich, mentions of OC's emotionally abuse ex boyfriend, ruined orgasm, aftercare.

You

Holy mother of all things flannel and tattooed forearms and sexy.

Tommy wanders into your office looking like a lumberjack wet dream. Your mouth goes dry as you take him in. Slightly scuffed cowboy boots, dark jeans that hug at his muscular thighs, a black shirt with the JM Inc logo across his broad chest, and a deep blue and green flannel shirt unbuttoned and rolled to his forearms. His hair is down, pushed back off is face and you’re pretty sure he’s gotten a few more freckles across the bridge of his nose since you saw him last.

The two of you keep it professional, shaking hands before you give him a tour. He follows closely, listening intently as you explain your vision for the different spaces of the office and offering suggestions of his own.

“I have the blueprints for you,” you say as the two of you wander back to your office.

“Your dad sent them to me a while ago,” he admits as he follows you inside. “He also sent me an email with all your ideas.”

A mix of embarrassment, doubt and confusion engulfs you. Of course your dad would put you in charge of the updates but then send Tommy everything so that you don’t mess it up.

“Why didn’t you say anything?” You murmur, spinning to face him. He’s standing so close to you that you can smell his cologne.

He shrugs, then glances around to make sure no one is around before his finger grazes along the back of your hand as he says, “I like listening to you.”

“Oh,” you breathe and with an almost pained look on his face he takes a step back. His words bounce around in your brain as he unrolls the blueprint on the desk and then lays a blank piece of opaque paper over top. The sound of your name leaving his lips pulls you back into the moment and you walk with shaky legs around your side of the desk to continue your meeting. 

After another few hours the two of you have agreed on all the aspects of the renovation; from which walls will be knocked down, to paint colours, finishings for the staff kitchen, bathroom updates and new office furniture. It helps that you and Tommy both had similar inspiration photos. By the fifth instance of you having the same idea you both laugh and shake your heads. The blank paper now acts as the new blueprint for the offie the two of you designed together.

“So I guess that’s that then,” Tommy says, sitting back in his chair and running a hand through is hair.

The manila envelope holding your signed contract to be his guest at JMKink practically screams at you from your Louis Vuitton work bag sitting atop the long hip-height bookcase that runs under the entire floor to ceiling, wall to wall window behind you. You swallow down the nerves before you speak.

“I actually have one more thing for you,” your voice is steady and not at all how you feel inside as you spin your chair and stand to walk the few steps to your bag. You pluck the contract out and turn back to Tommy, gasping when he’s right behind you. You didn’t even hear him move.

“What is that, sweetheart?” He asks, his voice tight and chest heaving. 

You pinch your bottom lip between your teeth, keeping your eyes on him as you slide the papers from the envelope and hold it out to him. He takes it without looking, already knowing what you’re handing him.  

“Close the door,” he rasps. You squeeze your body between him and the bookcase, heat flares where your body brushes against him. You move as fast your navy blue suede Manolo Blahnik pumps and white fitted mid-length Prada dress will allow you too. After giving your assistant what you hope is a casual smile you shut the door, keeping your hand on the knob as you spin back to face Tommy. It somehow feels like you’re breathing too much and not enough all at once. 

“Tell me what you want,” he murmurs, dropping your contract on your desk while his long legs eat up the distance between you.

“Teach me,” you whisper.

“No, no,” he says deeply, shaking his head and stopping just out of reach. “Be more specific, sweetheart.”

You slowly fill your lungs with air through your nose, his eyes take detour to your lips as the part with the exhale. “Teach me how to come, how to let go, how to be…”

“Submissive?” He says with a cocky head tilt and eyebrow lift.

“No,” you whisper.

“Then what?” He crosses his arms, the flannel shirt pulling at the seams.

“Yours,” you breathe.

His tongue pokes at the inside of his cheek as he considers it. “Kneel.”

“What?” The room spins around you with the realization that you’re in a seven thousand dollar dress and about half a second away from kneeling on your office floor in it. 

“You want to be mine?” He challenges.

“Yes, sir,” you barely recognize the airy tone of your voice.

He smirks, his eyes darkening as he repeats himself, “Kneel.”

You hike the skirt of your dress just above your knees and sink to the floor. You can feel his eyes as they follow you the entire way. When you look up at him through your lashes one side of his mouth pulls up into a half smile. You desperately want him to take the last few steps towards you, but instead he turns and walks back to grab the contract off your desk. The anticipation of what he might do next feels like you’re being spoon-fed adrenaline. You want - need - to be in his hands, not that paper. With each turn of a page, that need morphs into a living, gnawing craving deep in your belly. Once he’s finished inspecting it for signatures he starts to flip through it again and you swear you can feel sanity starting to slip. He doesn’t look up from the contract when he finally speaks.

“Still want to get fucked where people can see?” He asks it like it’s a normal conversation to have with someone, like he’s internally freaking out like you are.

“Yes, sir,” you confess, squeezing your thighs together when his deep brown eyes slam into yours across the office. 

He pushes off your desk with a quiet laugh, moving the chair he sat in during your meeting and a the small garbage can before he peels his flannel off, giving you delicious view of his muscle and tattoo lined arms. You watch as he lays his shirt over the back of your office chair and then reaches into his pocket to take out a hair tie. You stay quiet, biting the inside of your cheek to stop yourself from demanding that he hurries the fuck up already. Tommy gathers his hair into a low bun while looking out the window as he does it. Your mouth waters as his thick finger pull and twist with practiced precision. Images of his fingers on your body - in your body - flash through your mind and you squeeze your legs tighter to relieve some of the growing ache. 

Finally, Tommy turns back to face you. Your name passes his lips in a low rumble and you swallow a whimper. “Crawl to me.” 

Your heartbeats fill the room as your hands hit the plush carpet of your office. Carpets that just moments ago the two of you agreed needed to be ripped out and replaced with something new. As you move towards Tommy you feel yourself going through your own sort of renovation, like you’re going to coming out of this taller and shinier, with a whole new level of confidence and self-assurance.

You stop at his feet, looking up at him while still on all fours. The afternoon sun seems to bounce off the strong cut of his jaw. He steps around you and the whimper you swallowed earlier pushes its way past your lips when he stops behind you, one foot between your calves.

“Stand up, hands on the top of the shelf,” he says in a hushed but serious voice.

You do as he asks, trying to be graceful and sexy in your tight skirt and nearly four inch heels. Once you’re standing, you bend slightly at the hip and rest your hands on the bookcase. You can see nearly all off Austin’s downtown from your window. Surrounded by buildings just as tall or taller, all of the encased in shiny glass and full of people who are at work. You can’t see anyone, and you don’t think people can’t see you, but the thrill of not knowing for sure sends a small zaps of electricity down your spine.

“Such a good listener when you want something, aren’t you?” He asks rhetorically, one of his hands wrapping around your hip, the other gathering your hair, arranging it to drape over your left shoulder. His broad body towers over yours, the warmth of him wrapping around you.  

“‘Yes, sir,” you repeat through a gasp as his moustache grazes your throat.

“Any changes to your limits on your checklist, sweetheart?” He hums, your eyes fluttering shut for the same reasons they did on his porch. In the dark, you can ask for what you want, and it’ll either be brought to the light by Tommy or lost into the infinite space that surrounds you.

“Yes. I’ve changed my mind on oral sex and fingers.”

His lips press a kiss to your pulse point. “Anything else?”

“N-no,” you moan softly, relaxing into the feel of him.

Just as all your muscles go lax his hand that’s still wrapped around your hair tugs roughly, pain prickles at your scalp and you fight from crying out so your assistant doesn’t hear anything. “Try again, sweetheart.”

The pet name is venomous, said in that way he knows gets under your skin, but you brush it away the best you can. This is not the right time to be a brat. “No, sir.”

“Good girl,” his praise is just above a whisper as he releases your hair. After pressing another kiss to your throat he continues, “I’m going to play with you now, and I need you to stay very quiet. If I hear a single sound, I’ll stop and I will not start again. Understand?”

You nod, leaning into his lips to try to get another kiss. “Yes, sir.”

The heat of Tommy’s body disappears as he kneels behind you, “Look at me, sweetheart.”

You twist as best you can while keeping your hands planted, looking down over your shoulder at him. His hands burn soothing lines up and down your calves, his palms warm and calloused as he speaks. “Tell me about the safe word system I laid out in that paperwork. What do the colours mean?”

You wet your lips before reciting one of the many parts of the contract that you’ve committed to memory. “Green means go, it gives you permission to keep going or go harder, it means that I an enthusiastically consenting. Yellow means I’m close to my limit and need you to slow down, but still implies that you have my enthusiastic consent. Red means stop. I can say it anytime, not just when asked for a colour. You can also said red.”

“That’s my girl,” he flashes you a beautiful smile that’s all perfectly white teeth, crinkled skin around his eyes and pride. Your stomach flips at how handsome he looks and then flips again when his hands begin their climb up your thighs, pushing up the form fitting dress you purposely wore today up. His gaze is fixed to your legs, eyes dancing along every inch of skin he exposes like he can’t decide where to look or like he’s afraid he’ll miss something. You, on the other hand, can’t keep your eyes off of him. He licks his lips right before he pushes your skirt up and over your ass. His pupils dilate, a whoosh of air leaving his lungs as he sees the other article of clothing you purposely put on for him today.

Tommy

“Fuuuuck, sweetheart.” He rasps feeling spellbound.

He stares at the band of your lacy black thong. Sitting prettily along your left hip is ‘yes, sir’ written in little silver rhinestones. Deep crimson red seeps into his vision, every muscle in his body on high alert, as twenty different scenarios of what he wants to do you race through his brain.

“Are you sure about the changes to your limits?” He asks, dragging his fingers across the sparkling crystals on your panties. He glances up, taking in the aroused flush of your cheeks and you nod, staying quiet like he asked. 

Pride swells in his chest. He has helped a multitude of subs build their confidence and assisted couples in rekindling their passion. His biggest achievement to date was the few months he worked with a same sex couple - each taking on a submissive and dominant role. The sub desperately wanted to overcome the shame around his homosexuality. Tommy remained fully clothed during their sessions, praising and reassuring him as he participated in different scenes with his dominant boyfriend. If needed, he’d crawl into the bed with them afterwards to help bring the submissive out of subspace and participate in aftercare, but that’s as physical as he got with them. The man just needed to hear from a straight man that it was okay to enjoy being with someone of the same sex. Yet, seeing you now after just one session, well one and a half since Jim interrupted him, he’s awestruck by the self-built walls you’ve already crashed through around your fears of how you taste.

“Not a sound, sweetheart,” he growls. The deep timber of his voice sends goosebumps along your exposed skin and you arch towards his face. “Spread these pretty legs.”

He groans as you step your feet wider, watching your calves flex. He’s not sure how you work in heels this high, but he’s not complaining at the way they make your legs look. If he’s lucky enough to get the chance to really make you his, he will happily massage your entire body every night if he gets to see you in heels every day. He wraps his hands around your ankles, stopping you from opening wider for him. He can’t reach everything he needs to yet, but he plans to make you work for it, to mess with your equilibrium so that you’re gripping onto the top of that bookcase for dear life while sitting on his face for balance as you fall apart on his tongue.

Tommy sits back on his heels, running a single finger up from your achilles to one of the calves he was just salivating over. You squirm and twitch, but stay quiet. He smiles to himself, remembering the way you giggled when he touched your sides in his kitchen. He knows you’re ticklish. He knows it’s killing you to stay quiet. He knows a good dom pushes the limits. As he hits the back of your knee your breathing becomes heavy and erratic. You bend your knee away from him. 

“My ticklish little submissive,” he praises, looking up at you to find you still watching him, the flush of your cheeks spreading to your neck, your bottom lip pinched between your teeth. “Look out the window, sweetheart. I want them to see you as you come all over my face.”

He presses kisses up the back of your thigh, revelling in how soft and warm you are. Just as he reaches the plush globe of your ass he pulls away and hears the huff of air from your nose. A bratty submissive who is frustrated might be his favourite combination.

Fuck I’m in trouble, he thinks to himself before starting the slow teasing torture up your other leg.

“What’s the matter?” He taunts with a hushed voice between kisses. “You didn’t actually think I’d make this easy on you, did you?”

You say nothing, just like you’re supposed to. He tracks the way your thighs tremble with each press of his lips to your skin. When he reaches the top of your leg he pulls away again, laughing at the frustrated scrape of your nails along the wood.

“Mmm, I knew you’d eventually break for me, drop that little attitude and actually listen for once.” He blows a stream of cool air along the gusset of your soaked panties, pulling back when you arch into it, desperately seeking friction. Tommy’s dick is rock hard, pressing painfully against his zipper. “I kind of miss the challenge though. Do you have anything to say, sweetheart?”

He’s met with silence and a shake of your head. He rises off his heels to adjust himself over his jeans before bringing a finger to the back of your knee again. You jolt, falling to your forearms. From this position he can see the fog on the glass from your rapid breathing.

“No? Nothing at all?” He brushes along the back of your knee again. “Ticklish little thing,” he whispers knowingly, praising and taunting you. He sits back again, then places a kiss on the inside of each of your knees before dragging his tongue up your inner thigh.

You

He’s going to kill me. I can’t stay quiet much longer. But if I make a noise then he won’t let me come, and then I’ll die. 

Maybe that’s dramatic, but as soon as his tongue hits your thigh that’s exactly how it feels. Your freshly manicured nails scratch along the top of the book shelf, eyes going wide as you take in all the buildings. Can anyone see you? You can’t see anyone, so they probably can’t see you, right? But what if they were as close to their window as you are? The thought of someone seeing you makes your clit throb.

You bite down harder on your lip, the pain distracting you from the scream that wants to rip free from your throat. He hasn’t touched anywhere but your legs, yet you feel like you could come if he blew air along your covered pussy again. 

His warm, searching tongue reaches the top of your inner thigh, so close to your ruined panties, and you arch back, silently begging for more. That insecure little voice in your mind, who unfortunately sounds exactly like Preston, tells you that you’re too wet and you fight against the urge to close your legs.

“You smell so fucking good,” Tommy’s voice is a scratch filled whisper, the tip of nose run up the side of your ass to your hip - or at least that’s what you assume it is since you don’t dare look back after he told you to look outside. He kisses just under the waistband of your thong, his fingers running along the rhinestones on the other side. Your name leaves his lips in the same rough softness, “Fuck I want to taste you, sweetheart. Give me a colour.”

Your heart does a weird flipping, stuttering jump that it’s never done before and you’re suddenly too hot and too cold at the same time.

It’s not something men like, Preston’s voice says. You take a breath, slow and confident, pushing all of that away. You’ve made so much progress, every single thing your ex filled your head with was a lie. Therapy fixed most of it and Tommy is willing to help you with this one last thing.

“Green,” You hum. In the time it takes you to blink, your thong is yanked to the side in one harsh tug and Tommy’s face is buried between your thighs. His tongue pushes through the dripping velvety softness of your pussy. You suck in a breath, your forehead falling to the glass. 

Tommy groans into your cunt, his free hand snaking around your hip to pull the hood of your clit back so his tongue can swirl around it. It’s unfair that you have to be quiet, you want to scream and moan and tell him how fucking good it feels. You want to thank him, praise him in the way he does to you. Heat pools in your belly and your legs start to shake. You send a silent prayer up and down, hoping whichever depraved angel or devil is listening that you’re able to stay standing and quiet. Tommy flattens his tongue, drawing a sloppy line from your clit down to your entrance.

“Everything about you sets me on fire. You have the prettiest little pussy I’ve ever seen,” you clamp a hand over your mouth to stop from making a noise. He laughs quietly, “You taste so fucking good, dripping all this sweet arousal just for me. Now let me feel you come on my tongue like the good little slut you are.”

He dives right back in, his tongue pressing inside of you once, twice, then moving back to your sensitive clit. You arch your back, your hand pressing against your mouth hard, your teeth sinking into your palm. Just when you think you can’t handle it, he sucks your clit into his mouth and a loud, unabashed, euphoric moan leaves your mouth as you start to come. Tommy pulls away, your pussy left to clench around nothing, your orgasm weak and ruined.

He tsk’s at you, snapping your thong back into place and pulling your dress back down. The fit of the skirt forces you to close your legs.

“No, no. I’m sorry,” you breathe, whimpering as your clit throbs for attention. He stands then guides you straighten and turn to face him. The friction of your thighs only causes more agony. “Please, I’m sorry. Please!”

Tommy’s fingers intertwine with yours as he leads you towards the small seating area of your office. You stumble, hushed pleading words still falling from your lips. He sits, pulling you down into his lap, cradling you against him as he wraps his arms around you. He smells like warm mountain air and saw dust as your nose buries into his throat. 

“Please, Tommy. I didn’t mean to,” your words are muffled as you talk into his skin. 

He runs a hand down your shin, slipping one shoe off and then the other, making it easier to curl you closer and tighter against him. You feel frantic, yet pliant; meanwhile he’s stoic beneath you, calm and steady. His hand trails up your leg, then your arm before slipping between your jaw and his collarbone. He pulls at you to look at him, holding your chin firmly to stop your had from lulling back. His moustache and chin is shiny with your arousal and you want to lick it off. 

“I told you what would happen if you made a noise.”

“I’m sorry, I started to come and…” His thumb abruptly hooks into your mouth, pressing your tongue down to stop you. The walls of your pussy clench. It feels indescribable to be controlled by Tommy like this, especially when his doting chestnut brown eyes dance along your face.

“I don’t care,” Tommy coos, his thumb now slick with your pooled saliva as he runs it along your bottom lip, smearing your matte red lipstick. His voice and actions are polar opposites, like being caught between two magnetic forces, spinning you every which direction.  “You want to be mine and only good girls get rewards. I admire how brave and insolent you are, baby. But I invented this game and being a brat won’t get you what you want.”

Yep, he’s going to kill me.

TW: An insane amount of adorable flirting and pining and internal panicking. Mentions of shitty hyper-religious parents, mentions of sibling/child loss. Alcohol consumption (just one really strong marg).

Tommy

Joel: Hire another crew, lots of damage Tommy: It’s a lot, but not enough for a whole extra crew Joel: Push up Maid Discreetly Tommy: You crying? Joel: What? No. Why would I be crying. Tommy: You said Maid Discreetly Joel: You’re fired Tommy: Ok good, have fun with the clean ups Joel: *middle finger emoji*

It’s been two weeks since your dad came to his “rescue”. Two long and miserable fucking weeks. Tommy hasn’t taken a day off since you left. He’s put in, at minimum, sixteen hours a day since coming back into the real world. You left with the sunshine beating down on your tanned skin, your eyes not meeting his as you mumbled a thank you. He schooled his face, hoping Jim wouldn’t suspect anything and buried his hands in his pockets to stop from grabbing you. Between hiring a whole new crew, jumping between job sites, and his phone going off constantly with unexpected damages, he’s grumpy and exhausted at the end of each day. He craves that happy little bubble he had with you.

He’s cancelled on Kya both weeks and he wishes he could blame that on work. Truthfully, he used to be able to push you out of his mind enough to focus on the woman who pays him to help her work through her insecurities, but that’s impossible now. Not thinking about you is like trying to breathe under water or read with his eyes closed. You’ve seeped into every crevices of his brain. Regardless of how drained he feels, the moment he drags himself into bed at night he hears those needly little moans and gasps you made just for him. Every meal he makes feels wasted. Every glass of wine tastes like you, feels like you - sweet, but sharp, and bursting with unexpected flavours. 

Tommy has picked up his phone multiple times to text you or call you, but something always seems to stops him. Fear, maybe? You seem to be bringing out a lot of new feelings for him. He never saw himself settling down and having a family, yet night after night he dreams of you being his wife - sometimes innocently, but most of the time not. He’s also never felt lost on how to speak to a woman before, even in the awkward teenage years.

Burying himself in his work seemed easier, even if that little voice in the back of his mind likes to remind him that what he’s doing is more cowardly than easy. On top of hiring a new crew and jumping from job site to job site, he’s been overseeing the plans for the rest of the homes in Rancher’s Cove. He wanted to tell you that he and Joel purchased all the land, and he plans to build all the cabins and then the realtor that works for JM Inc will sell them but it felt like such a small thing to be proud of when you have so much. Once again, his newfound fear held him back.

Just as he pulls up to another job site to check in on the progress his phone rings, your name flashing across the screen. He blinks down at it a few times, first to make sure he’s not seeing things and then because he suddenly can’t remember how to answer the damn thing and his tongue feels too big for his mouth and the AC seems to have stopped working even though it’s pumping out at full blast. 

“Hel -” his voice cracks and he clears his throat. “Hello?”

Your laugh sounds from the other end, joyful and so fucking sweet. “First day of puberty, Miller?”

He shakes his head, smiling so big that his face already hurts. “Apparently so. How are you?”

“Good. Busy,” you rush.

“Yeah, same, I’m umm -” 

You cut him off before he can finish. “I’m sorry I didn’t call. I just, I don’t know, we kinda…Well, it doesn’t matter but I’ve been busy with my dad.”

“No…no, don’t be. I could have called, too. I’m sorry,” he’s not sure who he’s reassuring, you or himself, but he feels like he can breathe again. He had been worried that you had regrets about what happened. 

“You don’t need to apologize. You told me all the site issues, I figured you were working around the clock, so I’ll keep this quick.” Your voice has changed, less friendly and more business-like. “I sent you your Maid Discreetly contract last week and haven’t heard back, so I was just checking in.”

“Shit, I opened it and meant to sign it and send it back.” He puts you on speaker and opens the mail app on his phone. He knows exactly what happened when he opened it. Your picture in your email signature, all winged eye liner and matte red lipstick, distracted him and he spent far too long staring at you longingly. Even though he knows it’s pinned to the top of his inbox he says, “I’m looking for it right now, I’ll send it.”

“No pressure, Tommy. If you still need time to read it over or think about it…”

He cuts you off this time. “I don’t need any time. I’m signing it right now, sweetheart.”

He hears the small hitch in your breath at the nickname. “Thank you. I guess I’ll let you go.”

“No, wait, I actually wanted to see if we can bump our meeting up to talk about your office? I hired another crew to help with the storm damage, but I’d like to give them more work before laying them off.” He says all the words a little too quickly.

“Oh, umm, yeah, I’m sure I can make something work. I can’t believe I’m about to say these words, but if you could email me what you were thinking my assistant can make sure it works.” He loves that he can hear the shy yet proud little smile he knows is on your face right now.

“Assistant?” He responds, feigning surprise while smiling down at your email signature and feeling like his heart might burst out of his chest. “Look at you, Miss Interim CEO.”

You laugh, quiet and sweet. “I guess so. My parents leave for California in a few days, so that will be the real test.”

“You’re going to crush it, sweetheart. I’m so proud of you.” Suddenly, everything in the world feels right, if only he could pull you into his arms. 

“Thank you,” you respond softly. You both fall silent, just the sound of both of your breathing filling the air space. 

“What else has been going on?” He finally asks, not ready to stop hearing your voice.

“My dad told me about the house. I guess he has decided he was being too strict with his whole ‘no moving out until you’re engaged’ rule.” He picks up on a slight tremble in your voice as you say it. Jim met him for lunch yesterday to thank him so he already knew about your new job title and the conversation about the house.

“That’s big. You must be excited,” He prompts, leaving it to you if you want to expand more.

“I guess. I thought for sure he had found someone to marry me off to, and this house a way to soften the blow, but I guess not. It’s kind of strange.” You pause and he patiently waits for you to sort out whatever you’re thinking. The wave in your voice is back when you continue, “I just mean that it’s strange to imagine living alone. Is that pathetic? I’m going to be twenty-five soon, so I shouldn't be scared, right?”

He hears the creak of your desk chair and imagines you sitting in a big office with your feet up on the desk, a pencil skirt hugging your body deliciously. 

“Nah, once you’re twenty-five it’s pathetic. You’re good to be scared right now.” He chuckles and you laugh along with him.

“Geez, thanks, Miller.”

“Anytime, baby.” He cringes immediately, hating himself for letting that slip out, but your laugh turns into something breathy and airy when he says it. 

“I still can’t believe you’re building me a house,” you say quietly. 

“Well, now that you know, any requests?”

“Hmmm…” you say, and he hears a pen tapping on paper. “A library and a wine room. A garage big enough for my three vehicles. And a really big closet.”

He laughs, “That all?”

“Your shower,” you add.

“I told you!” he exclaims.

“I’ve been fantasizing about that steam function,” you hum. His cock twitches, he’s been having fantasies about you in that steam shower, too.  

“Well, what can I say, I’m usually in most women’s fantasies.”

“You’re an idiot,” you laugh.

“Right back at you, little hellraiser.”

A loud knock on his window makes him jump, he holds up a finger - signalling that he needs a minute - while glaring at the foreman who interrupted such a perfect moment.

“Sorry, I said I’d make this quick.” You rush. He’s starting to hate how often you apologize for things.

“Yea, can’t say I’ll do the same for this idiot that just banged on my window.”

“Don’t fire them all, okay? I have an office that needs renovating.” You quip.

“No promises, sweetheart. I’ll send you some new meeting dates right away.”

“Okay. I look forward to it.” He swears he can hear the blush creeping up your neck right now.

“More than you know, baby.” He whispers and then hangs up before you can say good bye, because he never wants to hear those two words pass your lips.

You

“Fuck, the breeze feels like heaven,” Ophelia hums, lying back on her pool chair.

“This tequila is about to taste like heaven,” Laren adds before flicking on the margarita machine at the small bar beside the pool in your parent's back yard.

Your conversation with Tommy today, and the new meeting time in two days, has you full of nervous, reckless energy, and inviting your girlfriends over tonight was the only way to ensure you didn’t kick down the door to JMKink and shove your signed contract in Tommy’s face. You’re in the middle chair, Laren’s currently unoccupied as she makes drinks.

“Is it scary living on your own?” You ask Ophelia, leaning in so she can hear you over the whirl of the blender.

She lifts her sunglasses to take in your face. Her two different coloured eyes - one hazel and one blue - locking with your green ones. She laughs, crinkling her nose in jest as she says, “I live in a tiny apartment off campus, you live in a gated neighborhood. I don’t think it’s a fair comparison, babe.”

You look at your friend sheepishly. You truly don’t mean to come across as spoiled or out of touch with the real world. “But don’t you get lonely? Or bored?”

She rolls her plump lips together. “I guess when Kim first left it was a bit lonely, but at least now I don’t have to worry about her seeing me naked.”

“I wanna see you naked, hot stuff.” Laren catcalls, lowering her voice jokingly.

“Pay my rent and I’ll show you.” She jokes with a small shimmy, her perfectly proportioned breasts following the motion while being barely concealed in the hot pink scallop-edged bikini she’s wearing. The bright colour against her deep copper skin is beautiful.   

“That reminds me!” Laren proclaims as she brings over the plastic margarita classes, rimmed with salt and a lime wedge; always in caterer mode with the perfect presentation. She hands both of you your glass and continues as she walks back to the bar for hers. “I have a party if you both want in. It’s at JMKink and it’s burlesque themed.”

You turn your head towards Laren slowly, trying not to look too suspicious. Since the poker game almost a year ago she’s been acting…well, you aren’t really sure how to describe it. ‘Off’ wouldn’t be the right because she doesn’t seem sad or disturbed. If anything she seems happier, but in an off way.

“Are you the official party planner for that place now?” Ophelia asks.

Laren shrugs and takes a sip of her margarita. “Tess was happy with the poker game. She said she’d keep in mind for future events.”

“So we have to be topless?” You ask, imagining the look on Tommy’s face if you served him drinks on his birthday completely topless in his club.

“No. Well, maybe, but with pasties,” she responds. “We haven’t locked down all the details yet with outfits. So far we have planned to hire professional burlesque dancers to perform in big martini glasses, maybe have one pop out of a cake for the birthday boy.”

Your love for your friends grows exponentially when they’re talking about something they’re passionate about. Right now, Laren’s big emerald green eyes are wide with excitement, and she’s smiling from ear to ear as her hands flail about. “I think it would be really sexy if all the girls wore corsets and little ruffly bum booty shorts, maybe some fishnets. They could just copy your eyeliner and matte red lip,” she adds, motioning to you. “Just really go for that modern Moulin Rouge look, you know?”

“Whose birthday is it?” Ophelia says, wincing at the strength of her margarita. “Fuck, is this all tequila?”

You and Laren speak at the same time. She says ‘no, there’s also ice’ to answer Ophelia’s second question and you say ‘Tommy Miller’ to answer the first.

Both of your friends stare at you. Your face moves from side to side like you’re at a tennis match as you try to brush it off. “What? It may or may not have come up when I was stuck there.”

“Speaking of…” Laren’s voice is full of mischief as she moves to sit on the end of your chair, her phone and margarita in hand, the sunlight glinting off the tanning oil she’s lathered over her skin.

“There’s nothing to say,” you lie, and take a sip of margarita that burns all the way down. Ophelia was right; this is basically just tequila.

“You were trapped in a log cabin, while it rained, for two days with a man who owns a sex club and nothing happened?” Laren pushes. You look to Ophelia for help who just holds up her hands and shrugs in response.

“Nothing happened,” you lie again, firming your voice. This is something that Kim should know first, and she should hear it from you, not from one of your wonderful, albeit gossipy, girlfriends. The more time you’ve had to sit with whatever is happening with you and Tommy, the more you’ve started to feel like you’re almost betraying her, which is silly. You know she’d be happy for you. “He’s friends with my dad, you guys.”

 “He’s also insanely hot,” Laren says, swiping open her phone and then tossing it over to Ophelia.

“Holy shit!” she coughs, whipping her sunglasses off to get a better look at the screen.

“Highly recommend you scroll a little,” Laren says, as if she’s telling a customer about a buy one get one free sale.

Ophelia manages to pick her jaw up off your parents pool deck to say, “God damn, Tommy is a fucking man!”

“Shhh,” You warn. “My parent's are still in the house.”

Ophelia whispers, “Have you seen this man's biceps? Or tattoos? Or this video of him hauling literal trees in a tight white t-shirt as he builds…oh fuck, he’s building a goddamn house! Oh you are in so much trouble because that is a man who knows.”

You laugh and shake your head. “Knows what exactly?”

“Where the clit is,” Laren deadpans. She takes a sassy sip from her drink, then adds, “Preston didn’t even know where your belly button was.”

“Ok, if you aren’t going to fuck this man, can I?” Ophelia gasps, turning the phone towards the two of you. There he is, Tommy “orgasm professional” Miller surfing in bright pink swim shorts with an inseam length that should be illegal. He’s tanned, and as soaked as your pussy is right now. The photo must be a few years old because he has no moustache and he seems leaner. You prefer him now.

“Moving on,” you say, snatching the phone from Ophelia and closing the app. “Laren, I got your save the date! When do we get to start wedding dress shopping?”

“We aren’t getting married for another two years, I have time.” Her voice seems hollow as she moves back to her own chair and stares at the turquoise blue water in the pool.

“Why are you guys waiting so long?” Ophelia asks, her voice curious and kind.

Laren shrugs as she drains the rest of her margarita in one gulp. “He’s got a lot going on with the whole hedge fund management thing and the church requires us to take a bunch of courses before we can get married. Between all of that, and the crazy wait time for St. Mary Cathedral, it just seemed easier to give us a lot of time to prepare.”

“So you’re going full good Catholic girl, then?” You ask. 

Both you and Laren grew up going to church every Sunday. Your uncle was a lot stricter with her than your mother was, making Laren attend bible studies and youth groups throughout the week. You assume it’s because your mom harbours some resentment towards being forced into a life of devotion, where Laren’s dad loved every minute of it. Yet, you can’t help but think some of it has to do with your brother's death and the way your Aunt and Uncle have treated their own son. You’d never dare bring that up though. Your mom is still religious, still attends a service once a week, but she no longer makes you or your dad go. On the other hand, Laren is there every Sunday. Every hair in place, every piece of overpriced clothing unwrinkled as she holds her customized bible and sits with her ankles crossed - the image of the perfect daughter, expected to make up for her brother's sins.

“Not like I have a say in the matter,” Laren says matter of factly, picking the coarse salt off the rim of her glass, watching as they fall from her fingers and into the small bit of melted ice in the bottom. “I’m also hoping they can fix things with Taylor in the next two years. I really can’t imagine getting married without him there. He was my best friend. I miss him.”

This is the first time you’ve heard Laren mention her twin brother in over a year, and with all the margarita glasses being empty you take that as your cue to jump up and make a second round.

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. 

I'm going to tag anyone who commented on or reblogged the original story idea, but I'm not starting a tag list again. So please follow @mountainsandmayhem-updates and turn on notifs for future stories!

Trigger Warnings: spanking, dirty talk, pet names (sweetheart (always), baby), thoughts of sexual acts (swings, vouyerism), male masturbation, idiots in love/pining

You

Soft light trickles through the curtains. You groan, rolling away from the harsh reality of daytime. You thought you’d sleep like a baby after Tommy thoroughly exhausted and sated your body; unfortunately, your subconscious had other plans. You kept falling into the same restless dream. Over and over again you’d see the back of Tommy’s head as he walked away from you through a crowd; you’d call for him, chasing after him and asking him to slow down. Strangers would look back at you as his name echoed from your lips, but wouldn’t move out of your way. Others would purposefully step where you were headed, blocking the easy path to him. You’d push past people, calling his name louder with each attempt. Just when it would feel almost impossible to breathe you would finally be close enough to reach out. As your fingers found the soft cotton of his t-shirt he’d turn to look over his shoulder at you, and instead of Tommy, he’d be Preston or your father. Regardless of who it was you were now facing they’d say the same thing, “You’re causing a scene. Women of your status are to be seen, not heard.”

Even with the dreams, you know last night was not a mistake, not something to regret. No one has ever listened to you the way Tommy does. When he looks at you it’s like no one else exists to him. His focus is on you, fully. He’s never told you you’re too much, or that you laugh too loudly, or should only have one glass of wine with dinner. Instead, he encourages your ridiculousness. Laughing just as loudly whole heartedly  with you all while topping up your wine glass. And, yes, it helps that Tommy Miller is tall, tanned and toned; literally the amount of muscle packed onto his broad body is insane. Seeing him naked might put you into a coma.

We all grow up exposed to the relationship our parents have. That’s usually what we think a marriage and a partnership should be. So, naturally, you grew up thinking one day you’d be just like your mom and, in turn, your husband would be just like your dad. Your mom is successful, acting as the CFO for Maid Discreetly while your dad sits at the helm as CEO. However, for a good portion of your childhood your father would go off to work and your mother would tend to you and the house - looking flawless and effortless - her expensive degree hanging unused on the wall until you were old enough to drive yourself to school. Much like your mom, you assumed you’d have a hyphenated last name so that your dad’s bloodline continued on with his name attached. You thought that was the perfect life; marrying someone with a bigger nest egg than you.

Until now. Until Preston showed you the harsh truth of it all. Until he plucked you apart, peeling away everything that made you who you are. Until Tommy. Until these last few days. Because now everything has been flipped and scrambled before falling neatly into new places. Your idea of the future, your future, has completely and wholly changed. A semblance of what could be was there the moment you told him to fuck himself by proxy, but it was foggy, like trying to see through grease smeared glass. But now, as you peel your eyes open to the brightness of the new day it’s clearer than crystal while being impossible to grasp in your hands. 

You let your mind wander into dangerous territory. Thoughts of you and him here at the cabin built to cedar on weekends, two children filling this room and the one next to you; two girls born as close together as possible, because you know he’d show up for every princess tea party with a plastic tiara on top of his head. Picturing Tommy holding two of his babies makes your heart swell. He’d take them on hikes through the trees, collecting sticks and four leaf clovers so you could work or read a book. You’d teach them how to skip rocks along the lake while he watched from the wrap-around porch, his guitar in his hands, two smaller pink guitars leaning against the cabin beside him. He’d cheer from afar when they got a rock to skip instead of sinking to the bottom and wink at you when you looked up at him. You’d make dinner as a family, and after you got the girls to sleep he would tie you to the headboard and make you come so hard you’d see fireworks.

Tommy’s words from last night burn along your brain. 

‘Something about you has me all turned around’

‘That’s my good little sub’

‘This tight, wet pussy is mine’

You grab your phone from the nightstand and hover over your texts with Kim. You remember her saying something that Tess told her, something along the lines of Joel being a professional dom, and he wouldn’t call you his unless he meant it. You want to tell her everything, get her opinion on if what was said was him being your Sir or him being Tommy. But as your fingers hoover above the screen you don’t know where to start. So much has happened, the last time you two talked about Tommy you told her how much you hated him, and now she’s been so busy with her summer internship that she barely has time to talk. 

‘Think about what you want out of this,’ You sigh, locking your screen and heading to the bathroom to shower.

You take your time, washing and conditioning your hair; letting the warm water wrap around you, hoping the fog along the glass door will reveal answers like a crystal ball. As easy as it is to see your future with Tommy you can’t deny the fact that your parents would never approve. Plus, he’s starting renovations at the office soon, and allegedly also building you a house. As Tommy’s point person for all the upcoming work, it would be incredibly awkward if things didn’t pan out. Even more awkward if he didn’t feel exactly how you do now. You close your eyes, tipping your head back into the warm water. Your mind is running a mile a minute and the dark looming cloud that tells you he may not feel the same about you starts to take over. Why would he anyway? He’s older than you, he’s establish in his life; owning this cabin plus a place downtown and a sex club and a business, the list goes on. Meanwhile, you’ve just started your career and, for the time being at least, you live at home with your parents. A thirty-nine year old man probably wants nothing to do with you, a twenty-four year old who is panicking internally about the thought of living alone.

At this point it might just be easier to chalk last night up to the wine - not that either of you really drank that much - or, perhaps, a one time slip from being stuck in the house together. You’re a woman. He’s a man. You’re both single. It’s biology and chemistry, right? You could say it was cabin fever, being trapped and bored. 

None of those feel like the truth though. The truth, whether you want to admit it or not, is that you’re attracted to him, you might even like him, and if you actually looked inward, and truly analyzed what you were feeling, you’d admit to yourself that you’re falling fast and hard for Tommy Miller, your dad’s friend.

Fuck.

Tommy

Tommy tossed and turned all night, fighting against the urge to break down your door and make you come again and again. He’s had a handful of subs and noncommittal situationships, but he’s never been so captivated by someone before. Your smart mouth, the quirky way your brain works, the way your body responds so deliciously to his touch…he’s enraptured by you. His pleading speech to get you to stay in your room happened without him ever realizing it, words flowing from his lips while your bright green eyes glowed up at him like a traffic light. Go, green means go. 

‘Yes, sir. More, sir.’

Three simple words, arranged in a begging sentence have sliced through his skin, set his heart on fire and god dammit does he want more, so much more. He eventually fell into a deep sleep, so deep that he had a dream that didn’t revolve around his job for once. No flooded job sites or roofs caving in. No, last night he dreamt about you. 

You and him were making dinner together while kids watched tv; two girls based on the little piggytails he could see over the back of the couch. You were wearing a white apron and a pale blue sundress with lemons on it, feet bare as you stood beside him chopping vegetables, him marinating meat. He leaned down, and even though it was a dream, he could smell the refreshing pear and mint that seems to be in your signature scent. His moustache brushed against the shell of your ear as he whispered, ‘how’s the plug, Mrs Miller?’ You smiled up at him, the edges of his dream going fuzzy with how beautiful you looked. You whispered back, your voice needy and almost breathless, ‘delicious and tortuous’. The next thing he knew, he had you in a sex swing, legs spread impossibly wide, as he fucked you at the club. He didn't need to look towards the windows, he knew that there was an audience; why wouldn’t there be with the way you were moaning and gasping, begging him to stop but not using your safeword. His dreams bled into each other, jumping from a life of comfortable domesticity to sinfully delicious. 

His alarm wakes him up for the first time in years. He rolls over, turning it off and then stares up at the ceiling. The sun shines through a crack in the curtains. He usually rolls down the blackout blinds, but he was on a high last night when he got to bed. His arms stretch above his head, his cock straining against the duvet. When he practically floated into bed last night he was hard, but he didn’t feel the urge to take care of it, it was a reminder of you and what your presence does to him. But now, in the pink and orange hues of the sunrise he’s not able to suppress it any longer. 

His eyes flutter closed as his hand wraps around the base of his dick. He pumps up slowly, squeezing the tip tighter as he reaches the sensitive ridge along the top, just like he likes it. He melts into the mattress as he pumps again and again. Visions of you flash behind his eyes. He can feel your skin on his hands still, hear the whiny little whimpers clear as day. It’s all so real behind his eyelids. 

“That’s my girl,” he whispers, imagining how your warm pussy would feel wrapped around his cock. “So tight. She’s cryin’ for me.”

His subconscious plays out your cries of pleasure and he spits into his palm then pumps his cock faster. He flips the duvet off, watching as his fist tugs at his straining dick. He imagines you on your knees, mouth open, tongue out like it was last night. Except this time, instead of his fingers, you’re waiting for his come. His balls tighten, the pleasure at the base of his spine nears its tipping point. He clenches his molars so hard he’s worried they’ll crack to stop the moan that wants to rip free from his throat as he comes. It spurts from his cock, hot white ropes landing on the trail of hair on his stomach. 

“Fuckfuck,” he whispers, squeezing at the root of himself while his penis continues to twitch in his hand, his orgasm lasting longer than he expected.

He lays there, catching his breath and trying to sort out how he should feel. He knew from the second he laid eyes on you at that gala that he was attracted to you, and then when you ended up being the daughter of his new friend. He felt so fucking guilty about all the times he pictured you instead of Kya. So guilty that he ended her contract early, paying her back thousands of dollars. When he watched you cry at the fourth of July party he felt a growing urge to protect you, something he’s never really felt before for anyone outside of his niece and Tess. These last few days alone with you has ignited something from the deepest part of himself, and he should look into it…right? 

“Jesus Christ, Tommy. You fucking fool,” he huffs under his still shuddering breath, sliding out of bed and getting into the shower. 

He stands under the hot water, hands braced on the shiny white tiles, his outgrown chocolate brown curls falling into his eyes. He’s never let himself fall in love before, but he remembers his grandfather and Joel saying something about a tug. Is that what he’s been feeling? After he closed your door last night he stood on the other side of it for a few heartbeats too long. Part of him was hoping you’d chase after him, but when he heard nothing from the other side, he forced himself to walk away. His legs were heavier with each step, almost like being around you made him lighter, freer.

Perhaps you staying in the room was out of obedience. He can’t deny that there wasn’t a lot of talk around what a submissive does or is. Or, perhaps, you stayed because what he confessed scared you or confused you. Just because he feels a certain way about you doesn’t mean you feel the same. His words replay in his mind as he scrubs at his scalp with his shampoo.

‘Something about you has me all turned around. Please, do me this one favour, and stay here. Think about what you want out of this, and if it’s just learning how to come at the hand of someone else then so be it.’

He cringes as he tilts his head back to rinse the suds. All you asked for was to learn how to come, you didn’t ask for all of this extra shit. You didn’t ask for him to confess like that. He’s sure he’s scared you away. His words in the bright light of the morning have a different weight to them. He never should have said them. He should just give you what you need and then moved onto someone else when you were done.

He cards conditioner through his curls, realizing what conclusion he just came to. When you're done, not when he’s done or the contract he has his subs sign is up. No, with you, there’s no contract. It’s whatever you want, whenever you want it. He will teach you anything you want to know, and when you’re done he’ll come here and lick his wounds in the dark. He’ll probably do exactly what Joel did to all the spaces that reminded him of Kim; tear them apart, build them anew, and act like that fixed it. 

He rinses his hair and then grabs his loofah, adding some body wash and running the scratchy sponge across his skin. He shakes his head, he can’t take you to the club, not with who your family is. Sure, all members sign airtight NDA’s and there are highly enforced rules around talking about who is and isn’t there, but he can’t risk that. He’s grown to really enjoy Jim’s company, and this side of him is twisted and depraved. Or, at least to the outside eye it is. Tommy isn’t ashamed of his kinks or his club, but your family has an image to uphold. Every single person who shares your last name is clean cut, staying out of trouble, and that’s part of why the most wealthy and influential of Austin allow you and your maids into their homes. There’s no scandal, just a picture perfect all-American family.

As he lets the water run across his body, rinsing away the soap, he starts to wonder if he’s overreacting. JMKink has NDA’s created by some of the top lawyers in the country, you can’t talk about who you saw at the club, and because of the insanely high membership fee there are wealthy and influential people there all the time too. This new role of protector you’ve unlocked in him is trying to push you into the shadows, keep you hidden and his, but that’s not what you asked for, and that’s certainly not what your checklist revealed to him. 

You want to be fucked, dirty talked, and controlled, all while other people watch. And he might be the only person in Austin that can make that happen.

Tommy dries off, dressing in jeans and a black t-shirt then cracks his door open. It’s quiet, and as he reaches the top of the stairs, he can hear the water running from your side of the hall. His hand wraps around the railing, finger tips nearly indenting the wood to stop himself from joining you. He takes a breath, reminds himself of his plan and with every ounce of self control he has, he walks downstairs to his office before making coffee and breakfast.

As he moves around the kitchen his ears pick up on everything that's happening above him. The water turning off, the glass door of the shower sliding open, he swears he can even hear the towel drying off your smooth skin. He straightens the papers on the kitchen island, almost like a nervous habit, even though he’s not nervous whatsoever. He puts your checklist beside the papers just as he hears your door creak open.

He slices some strawberries, fighting against the flashbacks of how sexy you were last night when he pressed this same fruit through your folds, as your footfalls come down the stairs. His heart rate skyrockets, and he wouldn’t be surprised if you could hear it echoing through the large open main floor of the cabin. He fans the berries out on your plate, a toasted bagel and fried egg beside it, then looks up at you from across the island. It feels like all the air is pushed out of his lungs when he sees you. Your dark hair is wet and piled on top of your head, your skin make up free and glowing. Your green eyes squint inquisitively at the papers on the counter. 

“Good morning,” he says, voice cracking, and then you look up at him and something deep inside of him tries to physically pull him towards you. Like he could hulk smash through the island in his kitchen just to get to you. He knows it then, it’s the infamous tug that his grandpa and Joel spoke of.  

“Morning,” you say with a small smile. “What’s this?”

“Thought we could talk over breakfast, if you want?” He slides your plate across the island to you while you climb onto one of the stools.

“Yes, I think that’s a good idea. Is there coffee?”

“No, I figured we should have a conversation at seven in the morning without it,” a sarcastic glint in his eye.

“Hey, I’m young, that’s easy for me. The coffee was mainly for you.” With a devious little smile you add, “Old man.”

The coffee pot beeps behind him. “Didn’t learn your lesson last night, little girl?”

He watches you squirm in your stool, your voice comes out airy but your face is set in that playful determination he loves so much about you. “Guess not. We might have to do it again.”

Tommy turns to pour two cups of coffee, his dick already straining against his jeans. How can someone be so stunningly beautiful and ready to be whoever or whatever he wants all at once? At this rate, will he ever be done with you?

He slides your mug across to you, your fingers brush his, and even though the cup is hot, he knows that the fire that spreads up his arm is from you. 

“I’ll tell you what then, sweetheart.” He lets his voice deepen, enjoying the way your breath hitches and changes at his new tone. He slides the papers on the island your way. “You read these, pay special attention to the last clause because it’s non-negotiable. Once you sign off like the good girl I know you are, I can teach you all sorts of lessons.”

The two of you sit in a comfortable silence, both eating your breakfast while you read. It’s nothing too crazy or outlandish. Mostly the JMKink required paperwork, NDA’s, legal documents that you sign to confirm your birth control status, the use of condoms, and a promise to send in monthly health checks. The last clause is rarely used, but exists for circumstances like yours, and he knows it’s going to piss you off. You cannot be a member, just a guest, and have to wear a mask in voyeur rooms to keep your identity hidden. 

Tommy knows that every word on that contract is for the best, but something about the thought of pumping you full of his cum over and over again has him contemplating if you’ll be the girl he gets to put on private shows with. It’s all laid out already, a way for him and the elusive sub he’s been looking for to bring in extra income for playing the way they both want. After you finish reading the last page you look up at him, your half drank coffee cupped in your hands. 

“There’s conflicting information here. Am I a member or no?” 

Tommy leans back on the counter behind him, crossing his arms. “Not exactly, but you’d be allowed to come into the club as my guest.”

“That’s a stretch. According to this last clause, I’m allowed in your private room and if I want to be fucked in front of others I have to cover my face. You said it’s non-negotiable, so explain the why here, Tommy. Why is there this clause just for me?” You ask, and he prepares for the pushback he knew he’d get. He knows that you don’t like to be handed things or ride on someone's coattails. You want to work for things, get them on your own, and he already knows you aren’t going to like his answer.

“Sweetheart, we have to be smart here. You know who you are, who your father and grandfather and great great grandfather are. Your last name is practically royalty in Austin. Tying you to the club like that could ruin everything.”

You place your coffee cup on the granite counter with a soft clink, then cross your arms. “So you’re telling me that there are no men of my same birth status at that club?”

“There are some notable last names, yes.” He states, knowing that honesty can be the only policy between you and him.

“I could just go down there and pay for it, you know. You’re supposed to be proud of your kinks and the club, not worrying about what other people think.” He can see the frustration building in your eyes.

“I am, sweetheart. I’m not ashamed, I don’t care what people think or say about me. But you? You, I care what they think or say. The upper echelons of Austin allow you and your maids into their homes because they trust you. If it gets out that the CEO, because believe it or not babygirl, that’s what you’re going to be, is a member of a sex club? How is that going to look?” You sit there frozen, staring at him, so he continues. “I know you can pay for it, I love the fact that you can pay for it. You might be the first woman I’ve been around who isn’t looking to me to pay for stuff, but we need to do it this way. It’s the safest way. If these papers ever leak, we can say you never actually went, but if you have a membership that’s scanned every time you come and go from the club then there’s no denying it if this becomes public knowledge.”

“So, guests don’t need to scan in? That doesn’t seem very safe.”

“Guests very much do need to scan in, unless they know the owner.”

“I need to think about it,” you say.

“That’s fair. I’d like if you could communicate your thoughts with me as you decide though. Okay?”

You

Communicate.

That word has been bouncing around your skull all day, and the sun beating down on the washed our road made it feel like this little bubble you’ve created with Tommy is more like a ticking time bomb than a happy little iridescent circle.  

Communicating is not something you’ve done with a man or partner or whatever this is. Preston preferred if you just did what he wanted, there was no point in telling him how you felt or making your own decisions. Truthfully, when you told Tommy you needed to think about it you weren’t surprised by his response, but that part of you that Preston had beaten down thought he may stoop to levels you’re used to dealing with. You thought Tommy would talk in circles, not letting up until you just signed off, doing what he wanted and giving in just to get it over with. Once again, Tommy Miller has proven to you that he’s here for you. 

It’s been almost eight hours since your conversation this morning. He’s been locked in his office all day, not even coming out for lunch. You’ve caught up on all your emails and read through the contract to the point where it’s burned into your brain. You’ve picked up your phone multiple times, finger hovering over Kim’s contact info. Did she have to sign one of these? Can she even talk about it? You don’t call though. She’s trying not to crash and burn after admitting to missing Joel. She’d be happy for you, but you can’t put her through that right now. 

You shut your laptop for the day and slide it back into your bag then wander over to the front door. You crack it open, hand gripping the golden door handle, hoping the driveway is still muddy. Life doesn’t work like that for you though and the heat of the August sun has dried up all the puddles. You can’t help but feel like there’s some sort of connection here. First, mother nature rains you in, locks you here with a man who has been bouncing around in your brain for months. Then rain falls, washing away everything, the same way Tommy has washed away any lingering doubts that Preston left behind. And then, with a snap of her fingers, the sun comes up and everything is new and green - just like you.

You’re so lost in thought that you don’t hear Tommy until his arm is around your middle, his lips meet the shell of your ear. “Talk to me, baby.”

There’s a weird mix of fear and comfort as your lips form the words, your eyes fixed to the dry gravel around the tires of your Jeep. “I’m not ready for this to be over.”

Tommy tightens his grip around you, “Neither am I, sweetheart.”

You let out a deep breath as you sink back into his heat, your head falling back to his chest. His lips ghost along your temple. “Can we just forget about the contract for a bit.”

“There’s no contract here, no rules except the ones we set.” He pulls you tighter and you let your head lull to the side, exposing your neck to him. He doesn’t miss a beat, his warm tongue licking a line along the column of your throat. Your entire body lights up for him. “What do you need?”

“Touch me,” you whisper, grinding your ass against him. 

“Where?” His soft lips kiss at your neck.

Through shaky breaths you say, “Everywhere. Please, sir.”

You’re so far gone for this man, so what’s one more orgasm here before you leave? It’s not like it’s the end. Even though you want more of this; making dinner together, flirting and laughing, asking for all of that would just scare him away. So, you know you’ll end up signing the contract, you’d sign anything if it meant feeling like this again. You push down the fear that no one else will ever make you feel this way. 

His voice is all gravel, low and rough, as he speaks. “I’m going to slowly remove every piece of clothing you have on, sweetheart. Run my lips and tongue and teeth on every inch of skin I expose. Once you’re begging for me, I’m going to tie your hands above your head and show that perfect pussy of yours how it deserves to be treated.”

Your knees feel like they’re going to give out at any moment, he nips at your neck and you moan, the sounds of your pleasure echoing out into Ranchers Cove. You want that, very much, but it seems too sensual, too personal. You can’t form a coherent thought, so Tommy continues.

“That what you want, sweetheart? To be cherished?”

“N-no,” you stammer, letting your eyes flutter shut. Something about the darkness makes you feel braver, like you can say anything and it can either be lost in the obsidian surrounding you or be brought to light by Tommy. “I want you to spank me again, and fuck me.”

His free hand slips down the waist of the sweat pants you’re wearing. Your hand falls from the handle of the front door, letting it open all the way, before it reaches up to find purchase in Tommy’s curls. His fingers easily find your clit, his thumb pulling up to expose that sensitive little bit of flesh that you’re desperate for him to touch again. 

“Naughty little thing, aren’t you? Standing on my porch, asking me to spank you and fuck you while not wearing any panties.” He swirls his fingers with a teasing pressure. “So wet for me already.”

“Oh god, Tommy,” you breathe, turning your face towards his to capture his mouth with yours. He kisses you just as gently as he’s touching you. Teasing you and taunting you like the expert he is. 

He pulls back from the kiss, and your eyes flutter open. His dark eyes focused on you. His lips brush against yours as he continues. “Do you want me to bend you over the railing? Slide my thick cock all the way inside your needy, messy little pussy and then spank you?”

“Oh fuck,” you hum, tugging at his hair. “Yes, Tommy.”

It’s quiet as he guides you towards the railing, he doesn’t stop teasing your clit and you aren’t even sure how you manage to walk, but you’d find a way to fucking levitate if it meant being touched by Tommy. The late afternoon sun hits your face as you make it to the edge of the porch, the warmth seeping into your skin. Every cell of your body feels alive.

“Please - please,” you beg. 

“I know, sweet -” Tommy’s hand rips free of your sweats, “Oh, shit.”

Your eyes fly open and you stumble as you turn to face him. His eyes are wide as he stares at you and then out towards the emptiness that’s surrounding you both. “What? Are you okay?” 

And then you hear it, the familiar crunch of tires on gravel. Each pop of the rocks feels like a puncture to your heart, or possibly your stomach, or maybe it’s just that your heart is now in your stomach as it’s being run over. You don’t turn around to see who’s coming, you already know it’s your father.

“I’m sorry,” you whisper, avoiding Tommy’s gaze as his eyes continue to bounce between you and whatever vehicle your dad is in.

“Baby - I mean, fuck. I don’t know what you call you anymore, but don’t apologize, please. This is…” Three blasts of a horn cut him off, and you see him give a small wave out of your periphery. 

“Guess I’ll put my own clothes on and get all my stuff,” you say, trying to sound nonchalant about everything. Just as you pass the threshold of the door you hear your dad’s voice.

“Tommy, damn, that was quite a storm! But I’m here to rescue you from my daughter.”

CW: dominant Joel (obviously, it's me), spitting, dirty talk, orgasm denial, unprotected p in v (be better than them), use of vibrators, oral (female receiving), fingering (female receiving), consumption of alcohol, pet names (baby, darling, sweetheart), adorable flirting.

The excitement of going to Joel’s a few weeks ago was squashed before it could even fully form. Your phone rang just as you were about to drive to his place. His voice was panicked and vibrating, almost like he was speaking through his heart.

“I am so fucking sorry. Sarah fell. Thinks she broke her arm. Fuck. They were riding their bikes. I’m sorry. I’m so fucking sorry.”

You calmed him down, talked through his entire drive to the hospital. He texted you a few hours later; Sarah had indeed broken her arm and was in surgery to have it set. He apologized again which was completely unnecessary, and yes, you told him that.

It’s been a few weeks since your dirty tailgate rendezvous. You haven’t seen Joel at work, presumably because he’s been taking care of his daughter. A man taking care of his daughter, who is probably in a lot of pain, shouldn’t make you hornier, but it does. It really really fucking does.

Thank god for your favourite audio erotica creator, Texas Hold ‘Em. He releases new audios every Friday and his voice is the only thing that’s been able to take care of what Joel couldn’t.

Unfortunately, this Friday you got stuck at work longer than you intended. Every single thing went wrong; from point of sale programs crashing, to a truck breaking down, to two of your employees being struck down by food poisoning. When you’re finally able to wrap up for the day you’re frustrated and annoyed, and all you can think about is the filthy words that Tex has in store for the listeners. Even though his audios get hundreds of thousands of listens, and nearly the same amount of comments and likes, it always feels like he’s talking just to you. Every word he says and every kink he has lines up with your sexual interests and desires. Plus he has this deep, almost growly moan, that settles in the base of your spine each and every time.

The fact that he’s completely anonymous is equal parts erotic and aggravating. His profile picture on the app is just a close-up of his hand holding a whiskey, a black on black Rolex around his wrist. It’s embarrassing how often you search social media outlets for him.

You have plans tonight with a bottle of wine, your vibrator, and his smooth Texas twang, but you’re like an addict. The moment your car door clicks shut you open the app and scroll to your favourite audio of his. You just need to hear his signature line, the line he uses in every single audio that he pairs with a clit shattering moan.

“Let me see what I do to you, darlin’.”

You start your car, easily finding your favourite one. Tex’s heavy breathing fills the car and your body immediately starts to melt into the leather of your front seat. You let your eyes flutter closed for a minute and your mind wanders to what this dirty-talking king might look like. Joel Miller pops into your mind, he talked you through it a few weeks ago, he probably is just like Tex during the real thing.

Two gentle knocks on your window startle you. Your eyes fly open, head jolting to the left. Staring back at you are the deep brown and golden flecked eyes of the man you were just fantasizing about. Your fingers scramble to the touchscreen of your vehicle, desperately trying to remember how to pause the audio. Your heart leaps into your throat as the volume increases instead of stopping.

Fuck. How do I work this thing??

Your mind is blank, fingers jabbing desperately at the screen. When you can’t figure it out you turn the car off, then try your power window. When that inevitably doesn’t work since the car is off you crack your door open.

“Hey. Hi. Joel. Hi.”

Was that all one word? Was it even a sentence? Or a greeting. Fuck.

Joel steps back and opens your door the rest of the way. He’s dressed in his signature work attire; steel-toed boots, dark wash jeans, a grey “Miller Construction” t-shirt that matches the one he gave you, and a forest green flannel that’s left unbuttoned. Much to your vaginas chagrin, he doesn’t have the sleeves rolled up his forearms today. He looks down at you with one eyebrow raised, a little smirk pulling at the right side of his velvety soft lips. The dimple that forms in his cheek is enough to ruin your entire life.

“Whatcha doin’?” He inquires. Based on the smug tilt of his lips you know that he heard the erotica you were listening to.

“Umm, just heading home. What, uh, what are you doing?” You can feel your cheeks turning crimson.

“I was coming for gravel,” he says flatly.

“Right. Well, you’re in the right place for that,” you respond and cringe internally. “Oh, how’s Sarah?”

“Good, thank you,” he smiles softly, clearly touched that you asked. “She’s feeling much better so I figured I’d get back to work.”

“Good. Better is good,” your heart is pounding and you hate that you can’t form a coherent thought right now. When he doesn’t respond you start to ramble, your eyes now fixed on your steering wheel, your hands gripped at ten and two. “Healing. Which is what you want. She’s young though. Not like us. Glad she’s -“

“Can you do me a favour?” Joel asks, cutting you off - which you’re grateful for - bending at the hip so he’s at eye level.

“Y-yeah. Of course,” your breath hitches when your gazes meet. He’s so close and the smell of freshly cut grass and sunscreen fills the minuscule amount of space between the two of you.

A devious, almost devil-like, grin spread across his perfect mouth. “Start the car.”

It’s hot all of a sudden. Way too fucking hot, and it’s hard to breathe. You lick your lips, tracking the way Joel’s eyes move to watch your tongue as it runs along your mouth.

“Why?” Your question is a shaky whisper.

His voice is rough and sandpaper-like, but feels like warm oil as he rasps, “Good girls don’t ask questions. They just obey.”

Your eyes peel away from his, looking towards your dashboard. You’ve parked far enough away from work that your staff wouldn’t be able to see or hear what’s happening. Your fingers tremble as they move from your lap to the push-button start. You can’t hear the audio over the erratic pounding of your heart until Joel speaks again.

“I can do better than that,” All you can do is nod. “So you agree?”

“Yes,” you hum, airy and desperate.

“Get in my truck, baby girl.” Once again, nodding is all you can do. He laughs silently, reaching across your lap to undo your seatbelt. As your body turns he says, “Turn off the car, sweetheart.”

He extends a hand to help you out. The moment his fingers wrap around yours he pulls gently and you stand on wobbly legs. Once he feels that you’re steady enough, Joel’s hands move to cup the sides of your face, his dull well-kept nails scraping against the base of your skull, guiding you gently to look up at him.

“I’m sorry I haven’t texted you in the last few weeks,” he hums, his forehead coming to rest on yours.

“It’s okay,” you murmur, your hands slipping under the hem of his shirt. The skin of his hips is warm and smooth, and the feeling of him sends sparks of electricity up your arms.

“It’s not. I should have reached out,” his eyes lock onto yours. At this proximity, the honey coloured flecks are almost gold.

“Joel, you were taking care of your daughter. Honestly, it’s okay.” You try to reassure him.

“I missed you.”

His words echo through your skull, his forehead rolling against yours, his mouth getting closer.

“You getting soft on me, Miller?” You quip.

He chuckles, dark and devious, before he growls, “I’m never fucking soft around you, darlin’.”

Just when you think you might die if he doesn’t kiss you, his mouth crashes down on yours. You moan into his lips as he pulls you closer, his fingers tangling tighter around the hair at the nape of your neck. Your hands slide further into his shirt, up along the muscles of his back and you kiss him with an intensity you’ve only ever read about. He breaks the kiss to gasp as your nails trail down the muscles that line his back. His head tilts back in pleasure and you take the opportunity to sink your teeth into his neck.

“Get in my fucking truck before I ruin your pretty pussy right here on the side of the road.”

If he keeps being this vocal then he will be better than Tex. Maybe you can convince him to swirl a whiskey glass around to hear the ice cubes clink melodically on the glass as he talks to you; another signature move of your favourite creator.

You laugh as he steps away so you can move, locking your car on your way. He follows behind you, grabbing your wrist when you try to open your door.

“Joel, I can open my own door,” you say with a fake pout, all while loving how much of a southern gentleman he is. His other hand swats your ass and you squeal. Ok, how much of a southern gentleman he sometimes is.

“I know you can, but you shouldn’t have to. Now be a good girl, stop pouting, and get in.” You step onto the running board and sit on the soft black leather of the passenger seat. “What do you say?”

“T-thank you,” you breathe.

“Sir.” He adds sternly.

You smile over at him then as sweetly as possible you coo, “Thank you, sir.”

“Buckle up, darlin’.”

The door shuts, leaving you in silence and everything seems to move in slow motion. Joel walks around the hood of the car, the way he says ‘darlin’’ feels far too, well.. you can’t really place how it feels. Familiar doesn’t seem right. Comfortable, maybe? All you know is that it tumbled from his lips as if he’s called you that for years. You follow his movement as his hand raises and cards through his hair, the soft brown curls twirling along his thick fingers. A quick flash of something glints at his wrist.

Is he wearing a watch?

You and Joel have been flirting at work for almost six years, and every time you have forced yourself not to look at his tanned, vein-lined forearms. Mainly because the first time you did it your brain turned to mush and he had to repeat his question. Six years, and you can’t remember if he’s always worn a watch or not. You shake your head as he rounds the hood, reaching for his door. People wear watches, it’s a normal thing to do, you’re just pent up and have spent far too much time listening to Texas Hold ‘Em audios. This is Joel, a friendly single father and your customer, not a professional voice actor who records himself talking about sex - dirty, kinky, freaky sex.

That very unhelpful little voice in the back of your mind adds, ‘but how well do you really know him?’ just as Joel opens his door and climbs in. You buckle up your seatbelt as he starts the engine. Before doing up his, he turns to you.

“I know I said this last time, but I need to say it for my peace of mind. We do not have to do this. I don’t want you to do anything you don’t want to. It changes nothing for me. We can stay in this customer and supplier bubble, we can be just friends, or we can be more than that. But it’s whatever you’re comfortable with. Okay?”

You’re touched that he’s said it again, but it’s unnecessary. You want him, you’ve wanted him since the first day he walked into your workplace and he smiled at you from across the showroom when you said hello. The same day his forearms made your brain fuzzy.

“Joel,” your voice is low and serious; you swear he stops breathing as he focuses all his attention on you. “I have thought about how your body would feel against mine since the first day I laid eyes on you. I want this. I’ve wanted this for six years. So take me wherever, get naked with me, and fuck me until I forget my name. Because I swear to god I’m about twenty minutes away from becoming a scientific anomaly and spontaneously combusting from how badly I want you.”

He moves quickly, leaning over the console, the tip of his hooked nose brushing yours. Just when you think he’s being soft and sweet, he forces a hand between your thighs and cups your pussy, just like he did a few weeks ago, using his other hand to pull the lap band of the seatbelt tight. You try to grind into his palm but you can’t move.

“That what you want? My cock buried deep in this tight little pussy while I talk you through it, darlin’? Is that what he does? The man on that app?”

“Yes,” it’s more of a whimper than a word when it leaves your lips and your eyes flutter shut.

“Good, because I’ve been dreaming about being between these thighs for a very long time,” he presses the heel of his palm along the seam of your jeans and you gasp. Is he really going to make you come this easily again? He keeps the pressure on your clit but doesn’t move as he continues. “Open your eyes, I need you to listen carefully.”

You obey, mainly because you thrive in situations where you’re told what to do, but also because you know that being good will get you rewards with Joel.

“There she is,” he says with a crooked smile, revealing the dimple on his cheek, and then continues. “Do I have your consent to take you to my house, get you naked, give you as many orgasms as you can handle, and whisper filth into your ears?”

“Yes, please, you have no idea how badly I want you.”

A growly, content hum rumbles in his chest. “God it makes me so hard when you’re polite like that.”

He kisses you, firm and quick, before situating himself back into the driver's seat and clicking on his seatbelt. The two of you slip into easy conversation as he drives. He tells you his daughter is away for the next few nights with his brother and his wife. Sarah’s sixteenth birthday is next weekend so they took her on their yearly celebration trip. He jokes about how spoiled she is when it comes to Tommy and Maria. The way his face lights up when he talks about his daughter causes you to melt into your seat. You’ve never wanted children, but it seems like Joel is raising a good one!

You pull off Main Street into a quiet neighbourhood. It’s lined with big trees and perfectly manicured lawns. He pulls up onto the long driveway of a well-maintained white craftsman-style home with a large front porch, cedar shingles and a deep forest green front door. The garage is behind the house, and he pushes a button on the remote clipped to his visor and the small metal gate slides open. As it rolls along its track, a black lab that’s more salt than pepper ambles over to the truck, its tail wagging lazily.

“Oh my goodness. Joel Miller has a dog?”

He grunts a noncommittal sound as he slows the truck to a stop.

“What’s its name?” You coo as he parks his work truck just outside the garage and turns off the engine. You’re trying to play it cool about this discovery, but you want to pet the dog almost as much as you want Joel to pet you.

“His name is Buttons,” his hand clamps over your mouth. “And before you laugh or say something smart. I don’t have a dog. Sarah does. And she named him when she was three.”

His hand falls from your mouth and if that’s not the cutest fucking thing you’ve ever heard then god can strike you down right here, right now.

He hops out, you do the same. As he comes around the truck Buttons comes to greet you first. You bend at the knees, putting your hand out. “Hi, Buttons. You’re so cute.”

He lets you pet him and then wanders to Joel. “Hey, old boy,” he says softly, patting his haunches. “You have a good day? Keep the squirrels out?”

You look up from where you’re still squatting down, smiling at this domestic side of him. Six years, and everything about being at Joel’s house just fits. The green door, the dog, the pool, and the impeccable eye for detail in his landscaping.

“Huh,” he hums when he looks back at you, “Kinda like you like that.”

“You’re in luck then,” you flirt back, wide-eyed and fake innocence painting your face.

“That so?”

You lower your voice to a seductive tone. “Yeah, I happen to like being on my knees.”

He tries to hide his excitement and anticipation of what it will be like to finally have you. But you catch the slight flare of his nostrils, the jump of his Adam’s Apple, the way his hand flexes as he pulls it away from the dog. It’s quick, less than a second, before he schools his features and rasps, “You have exactly twenty seconds to get into my house.”

You stand, pursing your lips in challenge.

“Twenty,” he states, your clit tingles before you speed walk towards his house. As you brush past him he loops an arm around your waist, and pulls you in, holding your back against his broad chest. “Nineteen.”

“Cheater,” you poke, trying to wriggle free.

“Eighteen,” he whispers. “If you don’t make it to the door soon I might not let you cum tonight. Seventeen.”

You twist your body, using every muscle you have to try to free yourself from the anaconda-like grip he has around you. It enrages you when he lets out a cocky chuckle at your efforts, taking a few easy steps towards his house with you in tow.

“Sixteen. Or maybe…maybe I will let you cum. Let you cum so much and so hard that you beg me to stop. Fifteen.”

You spin towards him. Pressing your breasts into him. If he’s going to play dirty, so will you. “You talk a big game for someone who’s restraining their opponent.”

“Fourteen,” he says with a smirk and a wink, following it up with, “Thirteen.”

You wiggle your arms between his grip, grabbing your shirt and yanking it up over your head. You silently thank the version of you from two days prior for procrastinating laundry. All you had for today was a black mesh bra with embroidered flowers that covers absolutely nothing. You feel his cock harden against your hip.

“Twelve. You always wear something that sexy under shirts with my name on them?” His voice is different now, deeper, huskier.

“Maybe,” you hum, watching the way his eyes greedily take in the sight of your nipples pebbling through the fabric. “My panties match. I’ll show you if you let me go.”

He cocks an eyebrow at you, wrapping his big hand around your wrist before letting go with his other arm. “Eleven, show me.”

You pop the button of your jeans as he takes another few steps towards his house, you walking backwards in time.

“Ten. Chop, chop. Let’s see how fucking good you look under those clothes, baby.”

“Which one do I get?” You ask and he squints in confusion. “No coming, or coming so much and so hard that I beg you to stop?”

He laughs, deep and gentle and full of lust. “Nine. Begging, I’ve been waiting to hear you beg. Eight.”

You move your hands to the waistband of your jeans. Joel’s grip loosens and you take that opportunity to spin your wrist and break the hold, sprinting the few steps to his back door. You make it to the house just seconds before he grabs you, squealing as he spins you, pressing your bare back against the cold metal of the door. You try to arch off the cool surface but you’re pinned, and when Joel’s hands move to cup your breasts you don’t move, you let him take what he wants.

His lips collide with yours, hungry and desperate. Kissing him is more than you could have imagined - and you’ve imagined it a lot. You sink into him, going pliant. His thumbs run along the nearly non-existent fabric of your bra and you moan into his mouth. His tongue flicks against yours the same time his thumbs run over your nipples.

“More,” you gasp, bringing your hands to push at your unbuttoned pants. Joel steps back just a touch, grabbing your wrists and shaking his head at you. You can’t help the whine as you say, “Please.”

“Not yet. Remember that little audio you were listening to?” You nod, blushing even though you’re not feeling an ounce of shyness or embarrassment. He continues, gathering both your wrists into one of his hands, the faint beep of him entering his door code as he speaks. “I want to watch you touch yourself to my words.”

You swallow, squirming slightly at how fucking turned on you are.

“Yes, sir,” you breathe, his eyes moving from your face to your breasts, watching the rise and fall. “Whatever you say.”

He drops your wrists, one hand wrapping around the back of your neck as he pulls you in for another rough, hurried, hungry kiss. Your hands scramble for purchase along his biceps, gripping the flannel of his deep green and blue shirt. You feel like you’re floating as he guides you into his house, pulling you to who the fuck cares where, his mouth never leaving yours. Your shoes eventually meet something plush, his other hand grips your hip tightly, squeezing reassuringly before he pulls back.

Your eyes flutter open, Joel’s hand slides from the nape of your neck to your cheek and you lean into his touch.

“I love the way you melt into me,” he whispers, the pad of his thumb running along your bottom lip and you can’t help but bite it gently. He chuckles quietly, “Careful, baby. There’s a whole side of me you’ve never seen before.”

“That was probably supposed to be a threat, but it just sounded like fun,” you state as he steps away, walking towards the built-in bar in his living room. You glance around, taking in the plush chestnut brown leather sectional, a forest green blanket folded neatly over the back of it. He has a wooden coffee table that’s stained a deep brown, a design magazine and a library book from school stacked on top of it neatly beside the TV remote. Everything is tidy, and decorated. From the warm eggshell white of the walls that are covered in photos of Joel and his daughter, to the light pine hardwood floors, and the fuzzy white rug you stand on, this house is a home. Your heart aches slightly at the lack of domesticity in your life. You’re typically not comfortable in new places, especially in just a bra, yet this feels…natural? Like you fit, without trying.

You’re sucked back into reality by the gentle clink of ice cubes. When you look towards Joel he’s leaning against the bar, one hand in his pocket, the other holding a highball glass. He crosses one leg over the other as you both stare at each other. He’s rolled his sleeves up to his elbows and your gaze zeros in on the whiskey glass. He swirls the golden amber liquid. Your mouth goes dry when you see the black watch. It’s all too familiar.

Big Tex.

“Time to lose those pants, sweetheart,” he instructs, bringing the glass to his lips. A shiver runs up your spine when his tongue peeks out to wet his lips before he takes a sip.

You don’t hesitate, toeing off your shoes before hooking your thumbs through the waistband of your open jeans and sliding them down your legs. You push your shoes off the carpet and then toss your pants towards the couch. He gives you a tender, almost warm, smile that’s completely at odds with how intense his eyes are as they trail up and down your nearly naked body.

“Fuck,” he mutters, then pulls his hand from his pocket and twirls his index finger, prompting you to spin. You move slowly, keeping your eyes on him over your shoulder as you move in a circle. “Christ, baby. It’s illegal that they make you wear so much goddam PPE at that place.”

You laugh quietly as you face him again. “Have a feeling you’d never get any work done if I was like this behind the counter, Miller.”

He lets out a knowing laugh as he sips his whiskey again, then says, “You got that right, and now I’m gonna be rock fucking hard every time I go in there knowing you’re like this under all those clothes.”

You laugh, then jut your chin towards his drink as you say, “Not going to offer me one?”

“You like whiskey?” His voice is light, like he’s genuinely curious about what sort of nightcap you enjoy so he can file it away for later.

“I’m willing to try anything once.” You wanted to sound cool and flirty, but your voice wavers.

“That’s so?” He watches as you nod. His eyes darken before he growls a single word that nearly ruins you. “Kneel.”

You sink down, the rug fluffy and soft on your knees.

“So fuckin’ pretty,” he coos as he walks towards you. Once the toes of his boots meet your knees, his thumb comes to your chin, pulling gently to part your lips. “Is this okay?”

“Yes, sir.”

Joel brings the crystal glass to your lips, pouring a small drink of the deep golden amber liquor into your mouth. It hits your tongue, sharp and smoky. It heats your throat, the warmth following the liquid down to your stomach. This should be humiliating, being nearly naked and on your knees while the man you’ve had a schoolgirl-like crush on for years is fully dressed and feeding you whiskey. But the way he watches as you swallow is so fucking erotic; pupils blown out, lips pressed together, the muscle in his jaw flexing when your lips first wrapped around the glass, his hooded eyes moving from your mouth to your throat as you swallow. Some of your staff say that Joel is hard to read, saying he seems grumpy or in a hurry. But with you, he’s always worn his thoughts and emotions on his sleeve.

“More,” you finally manage.

Instead of repeating his previous actions, he brings the glass to his lips and you fight a whimper of desperation. Because that’s what you are. Desperate. For more. For him. For all of this to never stop. He takes a pull from the glass, then taps your bottom lip with his thumb. Your heart and stomach - fuck, even your brain - feel like you’re skydiving, but you open your mouth, trusting that whatever plan he has for tonight is with your pleasure in mind. Joel bends forward, his broad body blocking out the living room before he lets the liquid fall from his mouth into yours.

“Don’t swallow yet,” he rasps, pulling away and keeping his thumb pressed to your lip. You look up at him towering above you, eyes wide and innocent, and he looks at you with a mix of heady lust and soft admiration. “You are so fucking beautiful.”

It’s not the first time a man has said that to you. However, it might be the first time you truly believe it. His fingers move to your chin, guiding you to close your mouth. He gives you a nod and you swallow. The heat from Joel’s eyes follows along with the warmth of the whiskey. His eyes tracing its path until they land on your barely there bra.

“Bring your hands to your breasts, play with them gently.” You obey, cupping yourself and lightly squeezing, a small moan escapes your throat and you press your thighs tighter. Joel turns, wandering back to the bar and resuming his earlier stance - leaning back, one leg crossed over the other, swirling the whiskey glass, the other hand in his pocket.

“Does that feel good?”

You hum in agreement, letting your eyes flutter shut. Could he really be your favourite creator?

“Play with your nipples, sweetheart. Make them nice and hard for me underneath that slutty little bra.”

You swirl your fingers over them, back arching in response. “Eyes on me,” he growls before adding, “Harder. Pinch them.”

“F-fuck,” you whimper, the twinge of pain only heightening the growing ache at your center.

Joel smirks, “You like it a little rough, don’t you?”

“Mmmmm, yes,” you hum, smiling soft and sweet.

“Take it off.”

You pop the front closure clasp of your bra, catching the way his cock grows harder behind his jeans. A distinct outline now pressing against the dark denim. The cool air of the room pebbles your nipples further as the embroidered scrap of mesh falls to the floor, landing beside your knees.

“Good girl. Show me just how rough you like it.”

You slip your bottom lip between your teeth then pinch both your nipples between your thumb and forefinger.

“Oh god,” you gasp, sinking on shaky legs to sit on your heels.

“That’s not my name, and I don’t share. Joel or sir only.” His ice clinks again and you whimper. “Unless you think you can guess my other preferred name.”

“N-no,” you breathe, rolling your fingers over the sore peaks of your breasts.

“Pinch, baby.” He instructs. You follow, crying out softly. “Let me hear it. Then I’ll let you show me how messy that pussy is right now.”

“Please, sir,” you practically sob, not recognizing your own voice as you pull on your nipples. “Please.”

“Hands on the floor behind you,” you suck in air, trying to catch your breath as you move. “Atta girl. Spread your knees.”

The rug is soft on your sun-kissed skin as you adjust to how he wants you. You blink down at your panties and then back up at him. His words from earlier finally register, his other preferred name. A shy confidence creeps in.

“I want to guess,” you whisper.

With almost menacing need painted across his features he stands, gives you a gravel-filled command to ‘stay’ and then walks down the hall. He turns into one of the rooms. It feels like he’s gone for hours and seconds at the same time when he reappears. He’s removed his boots, but otherwise appears to be the same. He stops in front of you, his socked feet in line with your bare knees. He pulls his hand from his pocket, a small vibrator in his grasp.

“Go ahead then, sweetheart. What else do you think I like to be called? If you get it right, I’ll let you pull your soaked panties to the side and press this to your clit.”

You swallow hard then clear your throat. “Tex,” you guess, your voice wavering.

One side of his mouth pulls upwards, a dimple carving into his tanned, stubble-covered cheek. “Smart girl.”

Approximately four-point-five-million questions race through your brain. Joel, Joel Miller, is Texas Hold ‘Em?! Joel Miller is Tex? Tex, who has nearly a quarter of a million likes, comments and listens on his audios. Joel. Your customer Joel, has talked you through multiple orgasms. He has audios that are partnered with your purple vibrator, so essentially, he has given you multiple orgasms.

A soft whisper interrupts your thoughts, “sweetheart?”

You blink Joel back into focus. His expression is shy and nervous. Almost like he’s worried you’re going to pack up and leave, or that things will change now. Based on the sheepish look on his face, the way his cheeks are slightly flushed, his big brown eyes dancing around your face, you can’t help but wonder if this is the first time he’s told someone about his little hobby.

“Are you okay?” He asks at the same time you say, “Are you really?”

You both laugh quietly and share the same answer of “yes”. He tucks the vibrator into his pocket and then holds his hand out to you to help you stand. As you steady yourself on your feet he breaks the silence again.

“You still want to do this?”

“Yes, sir,” you smile as he steps in close, his free hand wrapping around you. You moan quietly as your nipples meet the soft cotton of his shirt. So close. He’s so close to being skin to skin with you and you suddenly realize you’re craving something that you’ve never experienced with this man before.

Joel isn’t that much taller than you, but as you tilt your head up to look at him you feel like all those tiny women in the romance books you read. That feeling is only heightened when he bends at the knees, throwing you over his shoulder as if you’re a bag of feathers and not a fully grown woman who often avoids the scale. You squeak out a giggle as the world turns upside down and you’re blessed with the beautiful view of Joel’s muscular ass. He carries you towards the bar where you hear the sound of glass being placed on granite and then he’s on the move again, wandering down the hallway. You crane your neck to try to see where he’s taking you, hoping it’s his bedroom, biting back a smile when you’re right.

His hands come to your outer thighs as he lowers you to the ground. His touch leaves fire-blazed lines behind as he runs them up to your hips, his fingers hooking into the waistband.

“May I?” His words are kind but the way he’s looking at you like a starving animal is not.

You nod, “Yes, please, sir.”

You expect a slow lowering peel, him kneeling as he pulls your panties down your leg, you resting a hand on his shoulder as you step out of them. Instead, you’re met with a rough tug, the mesh fabric tearing from your body. You gasp, jolting forward until your naked body is crushed against his fully clothed one. He doesn’t catch you, just lets you crash into him as he looks down at you with a devious grin.

“Tell me to stop and we stop,” he rasps.

“No, I want a safeword, Tex.” You pinch your bottom lip between your teeth, watching the flex of the muscle in his jaw as he thinks. When he doesn’t respond you add, “Whiskey. My safeword will be whiskey.”

He cocks his head to the side, eyes dancing along your face. He seems to be contemplating, testing to see if you mean it. “On your back on the bed, legs spread as wide as possible.”

You step away and climb into his bed, Joel Miller’s bed, tamping down the girlish giggle building in your throat that comes with the realization that you’re finally in his bed. You lie in the middle, head resting on a pillow that smells like him: sunscreen, freshly cut grass, and laundry detergent.

“As wide as possible,” he reminds, his voice basically a groan.

You move your legs apart, the room quiet aside from both of your heavy breathing and the sound of your smooth skin gliding across his cotton duvet cover. The cool air of the room hits your pussy, and you realize how wet you are.

“Fuck me,” he whimpers, frozen in place at the sight of your exposed center. He stares for a few heartbeats, watching you get wetter. He sucks in a breath, bringing his hand to his pocket and pulling out the vibrator. “Think I owe you something, don’t I?”

“Anything you want.” And you mean it, anything he wants. Any time. Anywhere. Any position. Any universe. He steps up to the side of the bed, holding the toy out to you. Before he hands it to you he clicks it on.

“On your clit, no coming until I say.”

You’ve heard this before from him, you didn’t know it was him, but one of your favourite audios is him denying the listener a few orgasms before he finally allows them one. With shaky fingers you bring the vibrator to your pussy, dragging it from your entrance to your clit, making it nice and slippery. As the toy hits your most sensitive bit of flesh you let out a euphoric exhale, groaning softly as you melt into the mattress. You don’t take your eyes off Joel.

“That’s my girl,” he hums and you preen at the praise. He drops your torn panties to the floor and peels off his flannel overshirt, letting it join your ruined underwear. “Swirl it around for me.”

You’re embarrassingly close to falling apart already, but you listen, circling your swollen clit with the tip of the vibrator. Your legs start to close, your eyes flutter shut, and your breathing picks up its pace. It’s so good, better than you could have imagined.

“Oh my god - fuck, fuck,” each word gets breathier, less annunciated.

“Legs open!” It’s a command, a bark, his voice like sandpaper and gravel. You jump, eyes flying open to look at him, legs pushing wider. “Don’t make me ask again.”

“Sorry…sorry,” you make bigger circles with the vibrator, trying to avoid the orgasm that’s threatening to pull you under. Joel reaches one arm up and over to the back of his shirt, his bicep flexing deliciously before he tugs, revealing his strong, broad chest. Dark hair dusts his pecs and stomach, a trail leading down to the waist of jeans. Your voice is desperate, “All of it. Please. I need to see you. Feel you. Please.”

He unhooks his belt, yanking it from the loops of his jeans. Hundreds of impure thoughts surrounding that belt flood your mind. “More,” you gasp.

His thumb and forefinger pop the button of his jeans next, the metal on metal of the zipper sounding loudly over your practically heaving breaths. In one swift motion, he tugs down his jeans and boxers. When he stands to full height you’re truly fucked.

Joel Miller is…devastating. An Adonis. All warmth and muscle and…home. His cock juts out, rock hard, straight and slightly veined. The tip is wide and soft-looking, pre cum leaking from the slit.

“I’m gonna come,” you scream.

“Do it, show me what I do to you,” he growls. That’s it, that’s the saying in his audios that has gotten you off more times than you want to admit.

“I can?” You gasp, squeezing every muscle in your body as tight as possible, desperate to obey his earlier orders not to come until he says.

He rips the vibrator from your hand and you cry out a ‘no’.

“When I say to do it, you fucking do it. Now, you have to wait.” He taunts, climbing on the bed to settle between your spread thighs. He stares at your sex, licks his lips and then tuts, “Too bad, really. A pussy this pretty deserves to get to feel good.”

“I can do it right now. I promise. Please, Tex,” you beg, unashamed at how needy you are, especially when you see how hard he has to restrain himself at your pleas.

“No, no. I said you have to wait,” he whispers, bringing his fingers to your soaked flesh, running them along the outer lips, spreading your arousal. His eyes start to hood at the feeling of you and you melt even further into his bed. “You’re so fucking soft.”

You want to reply, want to flirt and compliment him, but the sight of him sitting between your legs, his eyes shining with admiration, his lips parted and swollen from earlier kisses, the glint of his infamous watch as his fingers run along your cunt is too much.

“So wet, too. Is this all for me, darlin’?” You pray the question is rhetorical, but the gentle slap he lands on your clit demands an answer.

You jolt up to rest on your elbows, forcing your legs to stay in place. “Yes,” you sob, your head feels like it weighs a hundred pounds as it rolls back. “Yes, it’s all for you, sir.”

He moves to loom over top of you, bringing his slick-covered fingers to your mouth. You don’t need instructions. You part your lips, letting him push his fingers along your tongue. You gag as he hits the back of your throat and then close your lips around his digits and suck.

“No coming until I say,” he reminds you, pulling his fingers from your mouth, saliva falling onto your chin. Everything happens so quickly, his lips crushing into yours, his soaked fingers easily slipping inside of your pussy, the collective groans you both let out, your arms going boneless so you fall to the mattress, the rapid spread of fire through your veins.

“I’m…” you whine, unable to finish the sentence when he pumps his fingers forward against your G-spot. Your hands clench the sheets painfully.

“No,” his voice is low and rough as ducks his head down your body. The flat of his tongue finds the stiff peak of your left nipple.

“No, no, I’m - oh fuck - I can’t,” you plant your feet on the mattress, trying to get away, desperate to follow his orders. But he’s too strong. Too wide. Too determined to make you break.

“No and can't aren't your safeword,” he taunts, the deep baritone of his voice rumbling through you. He pulls your nipple into the heat of his mouth, swirling his tongue around it teasingly.

“Joel,” you sob, all the vowels of his name lasting too long as the walls of your pussy contract around his fingers that are working at you with an expertise even you have learned. “I’m, please, let me, please.”

He pulls his fingers free with a lewd squelching noise and as you cry out in protest he bites down on your nipple.

“Ah, fuck,” you hiss, hands coming to his shoulders, feet thrashing. “That hurts.”

He releases your abused nipple and you suck in a breath, looking down at him. “No, don’t stop.”

He chuckles darkly, giving your nipple a gentle kiss. “I’m not stopping until I hear that safeword.”

Joel dives back in, simultaneously taking your other nipple into his mouth and slipping his fingers back inside of you. He’s the perfect amount of rough, always pulling out of you just as you’re about to hit that peak, that moment of no return where your body will succumb to the orgasm.

‘He’s going to kill me, I’m sure he’s going to kill me’, you think as he pulls away for the fifth time.

A sheen of cold, frustrated sweat coats your skin. Every muscle in your body is sore, aching for release. He trails kisses down your sternum, his short beard and moustache scratching against your overly sensitive skin. He follows your ribcage, around to your right side, alternating between kisses and flicks of his tongue as he heads towards your hip.

“Please, Tex. I can’t do it anymore.” Your words are basically a mumble, the room spinning as you look down at him settling between your thighs. There are teeth marks on your breasts and in random places on your sides. All spots he bit after not allowing you to come, the pain distracting you from the impending orgasm all while intensifying the ache between your legs.

Joel hooks his arms under your legs, pulling you open for him with the breadth of his shoulders. “I’m not stopping until I hear your safeword,” he repeats.

“But, the safeword means to stop,” you whine, tilting your hips towards his face.

“No,” he whispers, the heat of his breath hitting your cunt, the walls of your pussy fluttering in hope of finally getting what you need. “It means I’ll stop this little game we are playing. And then, if I still have your consent to touch you, I will make you come.”

You groan in frustration, looking up at the ceiling. You assumed he’d eventually give in, let you come and then start teasing you all over again. But that wasn’t his plan, and you hate that you hadn’t asked earlier what saying the safeword meant. The feeling of his warm tongue drawing a slow, flat line from your entrance to your clit pulls you from your thoughts. Your hands fly to his hair and you moan loudly. His tongue presses against your sensitive bundle of nerves and you’re right on the edge again. Teetering, grasping to the ledge like you’re hanging off the side of the Grand Canyon without a harness.

“Miller, please. Don’t stop. Please don’t stop,” it’s all air and desperation, your hands guiding his head, and in turn his tongue, to your clit. “Fingers, please. I need your fingers too.”

Two of his thick fingers slide in easily, your arousal and his saliva enough wetness for him not to have to take his time. The pinch of the stretch heightens your pleasure. Close, so very fucking close. You start to worry about what will happen when you do come. You’ve never been edged like this, never been turned on like this, never felt a burn of this intensity between your legs.

You don’t realize how tense you are until Joel’s raspy voice sounds between licks, “Relax, darlin’. Say the word, say it and I’ll keep going. Say it and I’ll let you come. Let me see what I do to you.”

He curls his fingers forward, his other arm coming out from underneath your leg, using his forearm to pin you to the mattress. His watch catches the light, and he dives back in. Holy fuck, my favourite erotica actor is licking my pussy.

“Whiskey,” you sob.

Joel keeps his pace, fingers pumping, the flat of his tongue swirling your clit. He only pulls away to say two gravel-filled words, “good girl”, before focusing on you and your high.

Your hips grind on their own, legs shaking as you’re pulled closer to the breaking point. The muscles behind your navel tighten.

“I can’t. Tex, I can’t,” you gasp, panic evident in your tone.

“Right here, baby girl,” he half whispers, half murmurs, his tongue barely leaving your sex. “I got you.”

The sounds that pass your lips would be embarrassing if it weren’t him in the bed with you. Supportive. Kind. Absolutely filthy.

“Fuckfuckfuck,” you whine, grasping at his shoulders, nails carving little half moons into his tanned skin.

“Show me what I do to you, darlin,” he commands, his voice exactly how it is in his audio and you crumble. You more than crumble, you split in half, sucking in breaths as your body convulses.

There’s probably sounds leaving your lips but you can’t hear them. All you are is a writhing, vibrating ball of intense pleasure. Every nerve ending sings as your pussy clenches tightly around his fingers again and again. Just when you think you might start to come down he slurps your clit into his mouth and you come harder, hips pinned to the bed by his strong forearm. You squeeze your eyes tight, a burst of red lighting up the dark. It’s never-ending, and you realize how very wrong you were to think the edging was when he was trying to kill you.

You lose track of how long your orgasm lasts, but as you veer into overstimulation you yank at his soft curls, pulling him away from your clit by his hair.

“Wh-whis…” you don’t finish the word before he’s pulled his face away from your pussy, stilling his fingers but not removing them. You peel your eyes open and look down at him, beard soaked, lips shiny, that dimple carved into his cheek as he smirks at you. “Holy fuck.”

He laughs quietly, a second dimple denting his other cheek. “You okay?”

You nod, arms falling heavily from his body to the mattress. “Yes, no, but yes. Fuck, I don’t think I’ve ever come that hard.”

“Texas Hold ‘Em at your service,” he jokes, and now it’s your turn to laugh. “Are you okay if I pull my fingers out?”

“Yeah,” you say. Adding a slightly fearful, “Slowly.”

“Okay,” he nods, unpinning your hips to knead at your inner thigh as he takes his time pulling his fingers free. His eyes flick up to your face often, watching for any signs that he needs to stop or move even slower.

Once free, you force yourself up, grabbing his wrist and bringing his fingers to your lips.

“Careful, darlin’. You do that and I’m going to fuck you.” His voice is low and serious.

“Is that a threat, Tex?” You flirt, skimming the pads of his fingers along your plush bottom lip.

“It’s a fucking promise,” he challenges.

You giggle mischievously, “Tell me again what will happen if I do it.”

“If you suck your arousal off my fingers I am going to fuck you. Hard. Until you come again around my cock,” you tongue peeks out, licking the little bit of yourself off your bottom lip. “Then I’m going to push you into overstimulation until I come all over your perfect little cunt.”

“Will you clean yourself off of me after?” You feign innocence while asking. Joel contemplates your offer, his dark eyes dancing around your face. When he doesn’t answer right away you panic, clarifying to not sound as depraved, “With your fingers, Miller, so I can suck them clean again.”

He cocks an eyebrow at you. “Fingers? Is that what you really want?”

You shake your head, “No. I want you to lick it up and then spit it in my mouth.”

Before he can respond or register what you ask you part your lips and take his fingers as deep as possible. Your mouth waters at the sweet tang of your flavour. You keep your eyes on Joel’s, watching the way his pupils dilate before he fucking whimpers at the feeling of your tongue swirling his fingers.

You pull your head back, his fingers now clean. “You okay there, big boy?”

His answer is a grunt and a shove, your back hitting the mattress with a thud before he hauls your legs over his shoulders. He easily bends you into a tantric human pretzel, his hands braced on either side of his head. His cock glides against your clit.

“What did I say would happen?” His voice is almost dangerous.

“That you’d fuck me until I came again.” You hum.

“Nope, repeat it. Word for word.”

You follow his commands. Repeating exactly what he said, his hips flex forward, the friction on your sensitive flesh taking your breath away each time.

“That’s my girl,” he praises, inching back to line the head of his cock up, prodding gently and driving you insane. “Fuck I love hearing that pretty little mouth say such filthy words.”

“Sir, please,” you whisper.

“I…” he’s stalling, eyes moving from your face to his bedstand. “I can wear a condom. But I do have a vasectomy, and I was tested a while ago.”

“How long ago?” You want to feel him bare so badly.

“A year or so. Haven’t fucked anyone in a while.”

His confession makes your heart swell. He’s so goddamn handsome, he could get a million women if he wanted to, but this confirms to you that he’s not like that.

“I have an IUD and I’m clean, too.” His body jerks in excitement, sparks shooting through your pussy at the friction. “Oh fuck.”

“How old are the results?” Typically, these conversations are awkward and unsexy, but with his cock warm and heavy, and resting on your pussy it’s just adding to the heightened anticipation.

“Same as yours,” you admit, your cheeks flushing at the little white lie. Yours are closer to two years old. Between work and everything else you don’t have a lot of time to date. Thank god for the internet. “Fuck me bare, Tex.”

That gets him, and with one push his hips meet yours and you cry out. A heady, intoxicated, blissful moan fills the room, mixing with his sounds of pleasure.

“Fuck, baby girl. I’m not going to last very long,” he murmurs. “So tight.”

“Me either,” you say with a whoosh of an exhale. He’s hitting spots you didn’t know existed and this position has him deeper than you’ve experienced in a very long time. “Please move. I need you to move.”

He obliges, pulling his hips back until just the tip is left inside of you. Both of you look down, but even when you crane your head you can’t see. You look back up at him, watching his throat work down a swallow. “This pussy was made for me.”

Without warning he slams back inside of you. He repeats that torturously slow drag of his cock out, pausing for a moment or two, and then crashing his hips back into yours. Once. Twice. On the third time, you cry out.

“F-fuck, Joel. Right - oh my god - there. Right there.”

“Just breathe,” he reminds you, repeating the pull of his hips. “Takin’ me so well.” He thrusts forward and even though it seems impossible you’re ready to come again.

“I need to come,” you beg, not recognizing your own voice for what feels like the hundredth time tonight.

“Rub your clit,” his voice is strained and you know he’s holding back from his own orgasm. You tuck your hands between your bodies right before he bends forward, catching your lips in a rough kiss. His tongue passes your lips, tasting your mouth as he rocks in and out of you at a steady pace. He swallows your moans and you swallow his.

Heat builds deep in your belly, spreading to your back and up your spinal cord before your entire soul sees whatever is beyond heaven. Joel pulls away from the kiss as you sob out in pleasure. You hear little bits of the praise he offers.

“So pretty when you come”

“Squeezin’ me so tight”

“Fuck you’re gonna make me cum, baby”

“Atta girl, take what you need”

Your orgasm crests with a full body shudder, as the walls of your pussy start to slow, Joel pushes himself up, pushing your legs wide, his hands digging into your inner thighs. You pull your hand away from your clit, playing with your nipples as he continues to fuck you.

“Christ,” he hisses as you tug at your nipples. “So fuckin’ sexy. Gonna cover this wet and swollen, little pussy in my cum. Claim you as mine.”

“Show me,” you whimper, using his own dirty words against him. “Show me what I do to you, Joel.”

Your name and a heady ‘fuck’ fall from his lips before he pulls out, wrapping a hand around his cock to pump up and down roughly. His eyes flutter shut, but he didn’t make it easy on you earlier, so you don’t let him get away with it.

“No, baby,” you command, reaching forward to cup his balls as he jerks himself off. “Eyes on my pussy. Make it all messy.”

A sound you never could have imagined comes from Joel’s throat. It’s a moan, a whine, a sound of pure ecstatic bliss. You glance down, watching his dick twitch in his hand before thick ropes of cum land on your pussy, coating it in him.

“Fuck that’s so hot, Joel.” You massage his balls and another shot of white cum leaks onto you. He takes a few quick breaths, then sits back on his heels, his head falling back as he sucks in deep inhales through his nose. You do the same, and just as your eyes fall shut Joel moves quickly, his hot tongue drawing a slow line up your pussy. He slurps your clit into his mouth before he brings his face to yours. You smile, then reach up to wrap your arms around his neck and kiss him. The mixture of your cum passes from his mouth to yours and then back again. Both of you swallow it down greedily. The flavour is intoxicating, addictive, a dream that you didn’t know you even had and cannot wait to repeat.

Joel Miller. Your best customer and now the best fuck you’ve ever had.

Working in a male dominated has more cons than pros. Most of the contractors coming in for supplies treat you like you haven’t been doing this for ten years, but not Joel Miller. No, Joel is your favourite customer, and you reckon that you might be his favourite supplier. He comes in every other day, and today you watch him from the window of your office as he hop out of his truck with a Starbucks in hand.

“Iced London Fog,” he beams. “Half sweet and with oat milk.”

“You remembered?” You all out gush.

“Course I did,” he says with a wink before telling you what he needs and you ring him up. As you pull your radio from your safety vest to call his order out to the forklift operator, his eyes flick to the logo on your shirt. His company logo.

“Nice shirt,” he teases.

“Oh thanks. Some guy I know gave it to me. Heard he’s pretty good at his job.”

“Heard he’s the best,” he jokes, puffing his broad chest out. “Got an award recently and everythin’.”

“That so? I heard his supplier put some pressure on the vendor to get that product for him AND waived the delivery fee. Lucky guy to have someone like that.” You know you’re flirting, but so is he. Your staff will probably gossip about it later. Even though you’re their boss, they all know you have a small crush on him.

Joel’s perfect lips pull into a smile, dimples forming into his sun-kissed cheeks. He leans forward to grab his invoice, his rough hand purposely caressing yours as he says, “you have no idea how lucky.”

Your phone rings about ten minutes before close, “Joel - Miller Construction” across the screen.

“Hey Joel,” you say, your usual greeting when he calls.

“Hey, sorry, I know ya close soon, but I need another few bags of that polymetric sand and I need to finish this job tonight.” You can hear the stress in his voice, yet he’s nothing but polite.

“All good. When will you be here?” You’re slightly annoyed that you’ll have to stay longer since you have a bottle of red wine at home that’s been calling your name. The thought of getting to see his big, brown eyes one more time today though wipes out any negative feelings.

“About twenty minutes or so. I can give you my card number if you wanna leave them outside the gate.” Disappointment swirls in your gut at the thought of him not wanting to see you.

“No, it’s ok. Just slide the gate open, I have some stuff to catch up on. I’ll wait.” It’s a lie. An outright lie. You don’t have anything to catch up on.

“Thank you. I’m sorry,” he coos.

“It’s all good, Joel. That’s what I’m here for,” you say with a smile, using your best customer service voice. “See you soon.”

Shortly after all your staff has punched out and left, the door bings. You pop out from the back to see Joel, his hair messy, a smudge of dirt or grease on his face from his workday. He smiles when you come into view.

“Sorry again,” he apologizes.

You’ve gotten to know Joel pretty well over the past few years that he’s been your customer, so as you pull up his order you say, “You really don’t need to apologize, Joel. I’m sorry you have to work late on a Friday. Where’s Sarah tonight?”

As he slides the chip of his credit card into the pin pad he replies, “Stayin’ with her friend Ellie from school. Havin’ a sleepover or whatever it is girls do.”

The machine beeps the sound of approval. With a soft, nostalgic laugh you say, “God I miss being a kid.”

When you look back up at him he’s looking at his company logo on the upper left part of your T-shirt, your safety vest now removed and hanging in your office. His eyes trail to the small hole in the collar part. In any other job you’d never get away with wearing a ripped shirt, but the safety vest covers it and it’s also your favourite shirt. The cotton of it is so soft, and every time you put it on you remember how shy yet proud Joel looked when he brought it in for you. It was his first round of shirts after he finalized his company logo, you’d supported him with his first job - and every job since - and he wanted you to have one.

“Looks like ya need a new shirt,” he quips, smirking slightly.

“No way, I love this shirt. Ripped collar and all.” The two of you walk towards the showroom door, he holds it open for you and both wander towards the sand he needs.

“You sure? I just got a new batch of swag. Shirts. Sweaters. Hats. Might even have a water bottle or a note pad or two in my truck.”

The two of you stop in front of the pallet of sand. “That so? How do I get some of those?” It comes out much flirtier and suggestive than you mean for it too.

Joel easily lifts two of the three bags he paid for, each of them weighing fifty pounds. His large, strong, vein-lined hands wrapping around the bags as he hoists them to rest on one of his broad shoulders. The hem of his T-shirt lifts, exposing the V of his hip. Your mouth goes dry as you look away and go to lift the third bag.

“I can get it,” he says, but you lift it with ease, holding it more like a toddler than a sack of potatoes in the way Joel is.

“I’m friggen ripped, bro,” you joke with an attempted baritone, making him laugh. As the two of you walk to his truck, you repeat, “So, what do I have to do to get one of those new shirts?”

Your gazes meet and you watch as his eyes trail slowly down your body and then back up, his eyes hungry as they pause for a second too long on your lips.

“Well…” he nearly growls, before a devious smile parts his lips.

That awkward, introverted side of yourself wants to squeal out a giggle and push at him jokingly; luckily, your cool, flirty side wins.

“You wish, Miller.”

He pops the tailgate and flips the sand bags in one smooth motion. The gravel of the parking lot crunches under his boots as he spins towards you and then steps in close. You can smell the sunscreen and freshly cut grass of his day at this proximity. His hand brushes against your stomach as he scoops the bag from your arms. Before stepping back he says, “If you ask me really nicely, I’ll let you have whatever you want.”

You haven’t even registered what he just said when he steps away. Without him close, you almost feel like you might fall over. Like his eyes locked to yours were the only thing keeping you upright. Your world starts to spin, and then there’s Joel again; Deep, coffee brown eyes looking down at you with an intensity you haven’t seen before. And, hooooly fuck, does he look sexy right now.

“I’m waiting,” he murmurs.

You clear the pins and needles from your throat gently then stammer, “Pl-please Joel?”

His breathing quickens as he watches your lips form the words. “You can do better than that. Come on…ask nicely, sweetheart.”

His hands come to your hips. You’ve imagined Joel in scenarios like this for years, but the reality of it is soooo much better. Your bottom lip slips between your teeth as you try to recall what it is that you’re supposed to be asking for.

“Joel,” you purr sweetly. “Please may I have a new shirt?”

His head lowers to yours, and now, not only does he smell like sunscreen and freshly cut grass, but also the mint of his breath.

“That all you want?” He taunts.

“N-no,” the shaky whisper of your voice barely sounds like yours.

“Water bottle?” His voice is cocky and playful. He’s a menace, you always knew it, but this is the first time you’ve really seen it. Unable to form a sentence, all you can do is nod in response. “Can’t ask nicely if you don’t use your words, baby.”

Your pressed flush against him. Joel is solid and steady against your pliable body and erratic breathing. “Can I pretty please have a water bottle, as well?”

The tip of his nose grazes just barely against yours. “Atta’ girl.”

He steps away abruptly and all the air feels like it’s been sucked from your lungs. He wanders to the rear passenger seat door as you grip onto the tailgate to attempt to ground yourself. He shuffles some things around and then wanders back to the back of the truck. He places the shirt and bottle beside your hand.

“Thank you,” you say with a gulp.

Joel’s eyes seem glued to your lips. “Fuck,” he mumbles to himself. “I really want to kiss you, but I don’t want you thinkin’ that you have to do it. This is different from our business relationship.”

“Kiss me,” you rasp.

His hands meet your waist again. He’s close. So very fucking close and your entire body is humming with anticipation.

“Are you giving me consent to kiss you?” He whispers. “Knowing that you can say no and it won’t change anything?”

“Yes, Joel. Yes. Please kiss me.” He chuckles darkly at your neediness.

“And you’ll tell me to stop if you want me to stop?”

Your cheeks flush and the frustration of being kept on the edge builds. You need Joel’s lips on yours; in fact, you don’t think you’ve ever needed anything this badly.

“I’ll tell you to stop if I want you to. Kiss me, Joel. Kiss me or I think I’m going to die.”

“Goddamn, baby girl. You have no idea what it does to me to hear you beg while you’re wearing my T-shirt.” His hard cock presses against your hip as he says it. Your hands scramble for purchase on his forearms, his nose bumping lightly against yours.

“Stop teasing,” you whine, poking out your bottom lip.

He nips at it quickly and then his mouth is on you. His warm lips fuzing with yours passionately. He wraps one arm around your back, the other cupping the back of your head. You go completely boneless for him, letting him bend and manipulate you to be closer, head tilting to let him in more. That’s all you can think. More.

You slide your hands up his forearms, over his tanned biceps until they’re wrapped around his neck. Your lips part, calling him to take whatever he wants from you, and when his tongue passes your lips to lightly swipe against yours, sparks burst behind your closed eyes and you let out a desperate whimper.

At the sound of your need for him he kisses you harder, the passion evolving into something much more heated than you’ve ever experienced. His knee presses between your thighs, getting you as close as possible while still fully clothed.

He nips your swollen bottom lip again as he pulls away, just enough to tug your hair to the side and expose your throat to him. You tense at the pain, but when his warm tongue runs up your throat you basically dissolve into him.

His facial hair scratches against your ear as he says. “Be a good girl and thank me.”

“Th-thank you, Joel,” you obey, your voice a crackling whisper of need and desire.

“You’ve been drivin’ me wild for years in that shirt,” he rasps, his lips ghosting along the sensitive skin of your neck. Your hips move on their own, grinding against the leg he has pressed where you need it most. He continues between kisses, “Did you know that? How goddamn hard I get when I see my name sitting on top of your heart.”

All you can do is pant and cant your hips.

“It’s like you belong to me.” Your nails scrape along his scalp, a mix of a gasp and moan filling the minuscule amount of space between you. “Mmm, you like that, don’t you? Me saying you belong to me?”

You capture his lips with yours, kissing him deeply as you moan a sound of agreement. Joel spins the two of you, then lifts you slightly so you’re sitting on the still lowered tailgate of his truck. You normally wouldn’t be this public with your desires, but all the businesses around you are closed and the sun is starting to set. Plus, between the tall gate that encloses the yard and all the pallets of product, the chances of being seen are low.

“More,” you hum, wrapping your legs around his hips. You can feel his cock pressing against you. “More, please. Touch me, Joel.”

His hand slips between your bodies, his warm palm cupping your pussy over your jeans. Heat spreads as you grind into his palm.

“Been imaginin’ you like this for years, baby girl. Those moans are so much prettier in reality.”

“Same,” you coo with a smile, running the tip of your nose along his jaw. You feel his entire body shudder as you gently graze his earlobe with your teeth. You whisper seductively, “I want you to kiss all of me.”

Neither of you want to break apart. Neither of you want to stop this. But it can’t happen here, not on the tailgate of his truck in the parking lot of your work.

“Come over,” he practically begs before kissing you gently, just once. “I have to install this sand, I can be home in an hour. Meet me there.”

You fake another pout and grind into his hand again. “But I’m so wet for you right now,” you tease.

“I know, sweetheart. Can feel how you’ve soaked through these jeans that hug that perfect ass of yours. Come over, I wanna be able to strip you down slowly, giving every inch of your perfect skin the attention it deserves.”

You feel your orgasm building and you tip your head back to see the deep oranges and purples of the summer sunset forming in the sky.

Joel’s lips find your jaw, his palm pressing harder into your center. Between kisses he says, “Can you come like this?”

“Yes. I’m close,” you say, bringing your eyes to meet his. The deep sparkling chocolate brown of his irises send a flush of warmth through your entire body. You feel like you’re being slowly burned to death and you never want it to stop.

“Show me,” he encourages, then you watch as his tongue peeks out to wet his bottom lip. “Use my hand.”

It doesn’t take much longer for you to come apart. He holds you tightly to his body as your boneless form twitches and shakes.

“Fuck - Joel. Oh…oh my god.”

“That’s my girl. Just let it take you.” His eyes dance along your face.

“K-kiss me,” you ask with a shaky breath as the clenching of your pussy starts to slow.

His lips meet yours tenderly, so soft that you almost think you might be imagining it. If it wasn’t for his scent surrounding you, or his strong arm still wrapped around you, you’d be convinced this was a dream. Your hips slow, but he doesn’t pull away. He kisses you, keeping you pressed to him until you’re ready.

You pull back slightly and he follows your lead.

“Come over tonight,” he states again and tucks your outgrown bangs behind your ear. His cock strains even harder at how blissed out you look. “One hour. Let me taste you properly.”