FABLE OF THE DOG : 4. Figs
Series Masterlist
Pairing: Joel Miller x FMC
Rating: Explicit 18+
Content Warnings: Cowboy/Heiress AU; Explicit Sexual Content; DD/lg Dynamics; Daddy Kink; Spanking; Sub Space; Breath Play; Intense Daddy Issues; Size Kink; Size Difference; Squirting; Brat Taming; Past Child Abuse/Neglect; Mentions of Drug and Alcohol Abuse/Addiction; Mentions of Suicide Attempt; Discussions of Grief; Jealousy; Self Esteem Issues;
A/N: Sorry for the ten month long wait, Iâm a lazy, procrastinating cad. Itâs really freaking long, I know. I wanted to make it up to you, I really missed them, I had a lot to say.
The tags really, really mean what they say, heed them carefully, please.Â
Word Count: 20.5K
Read on AO3
4. Figs
The child sits outside her fatherâs office, waiting.Â
Long curls drip frigid down her shivering back, white nightgown buttoned to the tip of her motherâs own chinâthat likeness which will one day be the cause of all her troubles, though she does not yet know itâand the pink furry slippers which are her most favorite. Theyâre soft and they sparkle, and when she wears them, itâs like sheâs a bunny.Â
âHeâll be out soon, darling, and then we can put you to bed,â Nanny says from the seat beside her. She nods, pressing her small shoulders tightly to the back of the hard bench, wishing the woman silent so that she might better focus on the sound of the deep voice coming from behind the closed door.Â
It is her fatherâs voice, and it is most familiar to her like this.Â
From afar.Â
The fingers she stares down at are still pink from the bath, and she twists them tightly in her lap, sitting very straight and very still, pressing her mouth together to keep all the sound and all the movement inside of herself silent and motionless so as to trick time into moving faster. She is young, only six years old, but she has learnt the strength of her own will already. How she might exert it with the right people to get what she wantsâhow with others, it means very little, if anything at all.Â
Beside her, Nanny sighs a sound full of impatience, and this the child recognizes quite well. She doesnât like it either, that they must always wait for him, that her whole life seems to be filled with waiting waiting waiting. She thinks that she hates waiting. She thinks that if she were a wild rabbit out in the purple mountains she wouldnât ever have to wait for anyone or anything. And she knows that she would like to let it all out, the impatience, the yawn that trembles at her jaw as she clenches her teeth together until it hurts, the cry for him to hurry up because she doesnât want to wait for him anymore.Â
The door opens suddenly, and a man she doesnât know strides out, papers tucked beneath his arm. The girlâs father is a businessman, and this is why he is so busy. He is also a rancher, this is why she does not come first.
 She is young, only six years old, but she has learnt the truth of this already.
Nanny has slid to the edge of the bench, her ankles crossed over one another, long fingered hands folded stiffly in her lap. She is breathing very slowly, her shoulders moving in up and down waves, and the girl knows sheâs forcing herself to do this to stay calm. When the girl doesnât do as sheâs told, this is how Nanny breathes, too.Â
Finally, her fatherâs heavy tread approaches the door, muffled by the thick rug in his office, the hard satin underside of the beautiful boots he wears. And then heâs there, after more than an hour of waiting past her bedtime, he moves past his daughter and the woman he pays to raise her as if they hardly existâtheir wait inconsequential.
âSir?â Nanny shoots up off the bench, voice soft but stern, like when she is ordering the child about in the school room.Â
He is very frightening, her father. And the girl doesnât think that she looks like him at all, which is why he doesnât like her. If she was more like him, he would like her better. But she knows that if she is very quiet and very still that he can be nice, and so she waits without moving, until he looks at her.Â
âWeâve come to say goodnight, Mr. Kelly.â
He sighs a long drawn out moment, a big breath as heâs a very big man with big nostrils that flare widely when heâs found the girl particularly annoying.Â
Once, sheâd tried to put her finger in his nose, to measure how much bigger it felt compared to when she put her finger in her own nostril. There was a great fuss after that, and a mighty spanking. She never tried to touch him like that ever again after.
She is a child who learns her lessons very well.Â
âYes, alright,â he says in his deep voice, and she does love the sound of it, even if it never sounds happy or laughing, even if it scares her, too, for she can always recognize when heâs come back home just by the sound of it rolling through the house. And when he comes to crouch before her, folding all the way down to look her right in the eyes, the little girl has to work hard as ever to make sure she remains very still and very quiet so as not to cry.Â
âHave you been good for Nanny?â
âYes, sir,â she nods. He never calls her Miss Maria as the girl is required to when they are in the school room, learning. Always simply, Nanny.Â
âBill tells me youâve been doing well in your lessons. Soon youâll be riding on your own. That will make me very pleased.â
âYes, sir,â again. She wishes she could make her voice louder so that he might hear her better, but it will just not come.Â
He sighs and his big nostrils flare again, and she knows he is displeased. She can never make herself sound in a way that will make him happy even though she tries as hard as she can. âIâm going away for a few weeks, but when Iâm back, Iâll come watch you. How does that sound?â
And at this oh so terrible news, as hard as she tries to stifle the movement or the sound or the yawn or the cries or anything that might make him bothered in any wayâŚwell, she is still very young, only six years old, and she has not yet learnt how to control all the things he so intensely dislikes about her.Â
âBut you just came back, sir, and now youâre leaving again.â It comes out of her small childâs mouth a whine that grates, and yet, despite this, he is still kind for a moment longer.
âItâll go by like that,â he snaps his big fingers, makes a big sound she has tried to replicate and cannot.Â
âPlease, donât leave, daddy.âÂ
Now she will cry, now the kindness will start to go.Â
âIt wonât be that long, salamander.âÂ
A large hand wraps around her small shoulder, squeezing gently, she flinches and a fat tear rolls over her apple flushed cheek. Itâs hard work, after all, holding yourself so still and so quiet when you are so little, and so finally, the stillness breaks, and she tucks her thumb into her warm mouth, sucking.Â
He looks at her for another long moment, his hand falls away. She watches it carefully, steeling her small body for something bad. âThatâs a filthy and disgusting habit. How many times do I have to tell you to knock it off?â He looks at Nanny with blame, and she says something low that the girl can no longer hear, sheâs watching her slippers like a bunny again, thinking again how a bunny must surely never have to wait or cry over their fathers out there in the purple mountains.Â
âAlways with the goddamn sniveling, girl. Go to bed.âÂ
His voice is angry now. She sucks harder. She can no longer be still. He does not say goodbye.
-
You donât see Joel for three whole days following your afternoon together.
Itâs terrible.
On the lingering rays of the setting sun, a storm rolls in off the Tetons, and with it, trouble and interruptions. As the two of you help peel each other off the living room rug, damp and trembling and laughing like children, you stumble up the stairs together, the rain starting out soft and humid outside. A curtain of warm water falls from the skies as you step into the large, marbled shower stall in your bathroom, the rainfall spout pouring over your closely bent heads.Â
You feel fragile and vulnerable in his hands, a turtle dove on a precarious ledge; like a girl again, watching him ramble about your fatherâs ranch, strong and far away and wholly untouchable, all while he washes soap from your hair.Â
But now, the urgency of adulthood, of being a woman in his hands, not only a dove, rushes in, too. He touches you everywhere, fingers dragging through the soaked locks of your hair, braille mapped over the planes of your shoulders, down your sternum to palm the swell of your belly. So now, youâre woman and girl and dove, something fragile grown into its own strength, anchored here, yet still with the muscle memory of flight ready to take you away. If only because thatâs what youâd always been used to before. The back of your eyes pinch with emotion, overwhelmed by the smolder of your heart, and you canât believe itâs him, Joel, here, lifting your breast into his mouth to suckle at the peak, licking at the seam of your mouth and demanding entrance and the flavor of your tongue.Â
His cock hangs heavy between his thick thighs, half hard, and if you werenât fighting the silly knot of tears in your throat, youâd poke fun at the myth of middle aged men and unbelievable stamina.Â
His wet lips slide across your burning cheek, your own moan trailing after him, chasing another kiss with the turn of your neck, all desperation, and his fingers catch over your bottom teeth, hooked Rainbow, pulling you open, pressing down on your tongue until you gag. Â
âGotta see if Iâll fit here too, baby,â he says against your ear, pressing you back to sit on the icy tiled bench. The steam of the water off his skin, the frigid hard beath your bottom and against your swollen cunt, you shiver all over until it hurts in your spine. His hand threads through the back of your hair, cupping and pulling, stretching you out so youâre wide open with his fingers still too thick and too deep in your mouth. You gag again, harder, thinking of before, when he forced his fingers far enough to make you vomit, eyes smarting at the memory of his rough helping. âThink itâll do.â Heâs teasing you with that half-cocked smirk like a boyâs.Â
Youâre sharing youth here, experience too. So much of one another being poured into the moment and so quickly that if you hadnât known him for as long as you have, if you hadnât been making your way to him with the hope of this for so long, itâd be entirely petrifying.Â
He starts to stroke his length into full hardness, pulling your head forward, mouth open to take him onto your tongue. Heâs heavy like he was in your cunt, but somehow even bigger, your jaw immediately prepares to ache with the stretch. Swiping it side to side on the flat and then sliding in, guiding you by your hair, showing you how he wants you to suck him. Close, he murmurs soft, good baby girl, when you purse your lips around his girth, holding at the back of your throat, instructing you to breathe long and slow through your nose, getting you used to him.Â
He pulls back slowly, until youâve only got the head to suckle on, your tongue sliding over it, the salty taste of his skin as his thumb brushes slowly along the edge of your jaw and then presses hard against the soft and giving underside of your chin, forcing you to open again, throat spasming convulsively. With his grip in your hair he tugs your head back again, and the two of you watch each other, his hazel bright eyes so intense itâs almost unbelievable that they hadnât always looked at you like this. That youâd started all of this only a few nights ago with nothing but a half mad kiss youâd wished on for nearly half a life.Â
You stick your tongue out flat and wide and begging, and he slides back in, holding you still as he pushes deep until his balls are pressed against your chin, rewarding himself with that first full bodied choking jerk from you, little tongue pressing against the base, throat cinching like a fist around the head.
He holds you there, letting you choke around him, and itâs still all so slow, so measured despite your racing heart and tears and spasming throat, wide wet eyes looking up at himâfrightening, possessive want staring back down at you. Pulling back and pushing in again and again until you canât take it anymore, jaw hinged too wide, little tits trembling with the puff of your breath until every other one is a gag and all you are is a wet, open throat.Â
When he finally pulls back, and youâre still missing a belly full of come, you suck in a shaky breath, gagging frog sound in your throat, spit dripping off your chin that he smears down your throat, over your chest and nipples, pinching hard and stinging. You fall against his hip, swollen lips mouthing down to the fat head of his cock, still hungry for your treat, his fist slides down the spit slicked length, following you; a string of drool and pre-come keeping the two of you connected when you yank against the commanding grip in your hair, nuzzling like a puppy, whine at the back of your throat as he pushes it hot and heavy against your sticky cheek, smacks you with it a little.Â
âGood girl. My good baby girl,â he laughs tenderly, and heâs so endeared by you, you can feel it in his eyes and hear it in his smile, that something hot and agonizing pulses through your heart.
When you step out of your shower cocoon together, the rain is a violent gust now, shaking the house on its foundation, windows rattling in their frames. He wraps you in a large fluffy white towel, twisting a second one in your hair, flushed sensitive skin trembling under his touch. His kiss is slow and lazy, all tongue and care as you fall together against the silk duvet, pulling you into himself as his heavy weight settles over you, drawing your thigh over his hip, nothing but cotton and damp dew separating the two of you. You need to make him come again, his fingers sneaking between your thighs to play in his leaking spendâwhen someone bangs urgently on the door downstairs.Â
On his drive in from Jackson, Jesse had come across a large chunk of the northernmost fence that had been taken out by the strong winds and lashing rain. Cattle were already spilling out onto the highway when heâd passed, meandering into the adjoining land owned by the park.Â
Ellie and Dina had been called back in from town, and theyâd all had to ride up and over the mountain to herd the escaped cattle and make repairs to the fenceâand had left you all alone and without him and all the rest of them, too.
It had been a long and quiet three days, just you and Dina, which had made you very worried in a very concerning way, this sudden and immediate melancholy that had fallen over you and the whole house without him. The reality that the ranch is wrong, the house is wrong, you are wrong in it, without Joel Miller here to roam and tend the land. That you may have traveled far and wide, tasted all the flavors and touched all the colors of the rainbow, done all the things your imagination mightâve conjured, but outside of this place there existed not even a fraction of what these people had built here togetherâa family born at the center of a green valley.Â
And so thereâs a part of you now, like a coward, trying to twist away from the reality that youâre still just that girl, in some ways so young, so unsure, sitting outside your fatherâs office with the desperate need to be paid attention to, to be remembered.Â
Still that desperate child turned woman, asking yourself why youâd felt you needed Joel here that morning youâd arrived to meet your last dead parent. Asking yourself why youâd sent yourself into an anger fueled bender when youâd arrived to find him missing.Â
He isnât your kin. Never your confidant. In the past, there was not even that closeness of previously shared intimacy or comfort between the two of you. Heâd been, for all intents and purposes, a stranger to you as a child in all the ways that counted save for those youâd conjured up in your imagination.Â
But perhaps thatâs the thing. In your own imaginary way, Joel is familiar, as part of the ranch as the rock of the mountain, the house in which your mother had birthed you, or even your father, whoâd loved this place more than heâd ever loved anything except his wife, he whoâd also died here; all of them a history of monuments that make up the miasma of what this place really is. The annals of their lives, so closely knit with the land itself that there can be no separating one from the other, and Joel is a part of it all.
Maybe itâs that, in some ways, you feel he has more of a right to be here than you do. That you need him here to remind you that you belong, too.Â
That youâd needed the reassurance of his approval here when youâd come to claim the place as your own once and for all.Â
And you need him now, now that heâd so made you a part of himself in much the same way, in nothing but a single afternoon.Â
But most obvious of all, during their days away protecting and caring for your birthright, what becomes clear to you is that after all these years, they had all very much become your family, too: Ellie, Dina, Jesse, Frank and Bill and Tommy.Â
Joel.Â
It is almost a terrible moment of enlightenment, that realization of how much you truly have to lose now.Â
On the third day of his absence, the sky blooms a clear and startling blue, and in the early afternoon, you hear the commotion of the team making their valiant return. The slamming of truck doors and trailer gates, shouted orders and horses sputtering at the indignation of being kept from home and at work for so many days.Â
Thereâs a single bated-breath-moment of shy hesitancy, a will-he-wonât-he sort of doubt (want to see me want to do it again want me) and then youâre chasing down the stairs and after more of that lightning in a bottle feeling, out the front door in search of him.Â
Chaos bubbles in the yard, hands lifting and hauling supplies and tools from the beds of trucks and the backs of trailers, horses being led to and fro, Dina and Ellie having a shameless snog in the shadow of her open truck door. Your eyes flit from person to person, searching the mess of homesick excitement for his height and breadth.Â
Itâs only been two and a half days, really, after so many years dreaming of him, but anywaysâyou missed him. Really, truly missed him.
From the corner of your eye you finally catch sight of him stepping out of the dark shade of the barn, towering above everyone around him. Heâs got that sweat stained brown hat pulled low over his brow, edges curled with overuse. His hair is long enough it curls slightly over the back of his collar, and his eyes are hidden from you in the hatâs protective shade, but by the swirl of your belly and the shiver across your skin, you think he finds you at the same time as you do him. Something magnetic. You donât think you can even feel your foot still connected to your body when you take a step down off the front steps, stumbling over the gravel of the drive that digs uncomfortably into the soles of your feet through the house slippers youâd forgotten to change out of âwhen suddenly, you recognize the person standing next to him, smiling up at him as she glows bright and lovely.Â
The veterinarian, Tess.Â
Youâre thankful for the absentminded hand trailing behind you, still anchoring you to the stability of the stepâs railing, when you register the swollen round of her heavily pregnant belly, a careful hand cupped protectively around the underside, as she rests her other palm against Joelâs arm.Â
Suddenly the gravel digging into your slippers becomes too painful to ignore, almost overwhelming, you take a frightened step back.Â
He would never. Butâ
At one time, they were together, and her hand on his arm has now moved to his chest, a show of comfort and intimacy between them, and sheâs laughing, her long hair woven back into a neat braid, swinging with the movement of her mirth. She looks really beautiful, and youâre again nothing more than the little girl in her slippers waiting for a man that will not come to you.Â
He would never. Right?
Ellie calls your nameâyou take another retreating step up the stairs, indecision and insecurity sloshing in your bellyâbull sprinting towards you, her lithe, strong body knocking your ribs painfully into the railing, her hands yanking on your hair, babbling excitedly and Dinaâs voice from behind, telling her sheâs worse than the wrangled cattle. Over Ellieâs shoulder and past Dinaâs kind gaze, Joel bends low towards Tess, arm around her shoulders as he steers her towards the three of you congregated on the steps. You feel as you did on that bench outside his office for all those years, waiting for a man to find time to dole out your verdict: kindness or cruelty, a goodbye or worse.Â
Heâs saying something to her still, speaking close into her ear and guiding her buoyant form carefully through the busy yard full of cowboys and animals and danger, and you can see his eyes now as they flit to you, looking so cold and guarded.Â
Thereâs no Nanny here to shield you from the worst of it now.Â
When they finally reach you, Tess embraces both Dina and Ellie with all the warmth of people whoâve worked and laughed and grown together for years. You stand as still and as quiet as you can possibly make yourself. You have all the practice in the world waiting for your turn to be acknowledged, and this is a terrible and small feeling which no grown woman should have to subject herself to. And yet, still, you canât seem to escape the child.Â
Heâs watching you, you can feel him, hungry or angry maybeâsomething else. But you canât tell nowâcanât focus on anything but your stillness and waiting your turn until Ellie finally turns to reintroduce Tess to the adult version of you.Â
âThe new Kelly,â Tess says with easy warmth and an even easier smile, offering you her palm for a strong handshake. Everything about her is so natural, earthen or real. Nothing at all put upon. This is a woman who, whatever the truth of it may actually be, gives every appearance of having always known herself, never had doubts, never had to claw in the grime and gutter for her truth or whatever scraps of self best fit her at the time.Â
âTess. Itâs nice to see you again,â you say as cool and magnanimous as you can muster yourself to be. Ignoring the lurch of nausea being referred to as the Kelly brings on.Â
âI was sorry to hear about your father. He gave me work for a long time, and I was always grateful for it.â Something youâd never understood about your father, how he collected gratitude easy as pennies. It was perhaps his greatest talentâgetting all of them to eat out of the palm of his hand.Â
âThank you. I appreciate it, and I hope weâll continue that work going forward. I wouldnât like anything integral to change for the ranch now. Anything else, that is.â Your voice comes out robotic, businesslike, and she pauses, her head cocking to the side, that easy smile still plastered on her smooth, beautiful face. In your peripheral, you see Ellie move closer to Joel, whispering something in his ear, the click click of Dina chewing on her fingernails.Â
âActually,â Tess says, âIf you have a minute, Iâd like for us to talk.â
Your toes flex in your slippers, the three of them hold their breath, Tess oblivious to their doubt of you, and the imaginary ticking time bomb sound chips away at your mind, demeaning you further. What do they expect? For you to throw a fit? The lover (âex lover?) of the man youâve had sex with once, come here to test you with some potentially incriminating evidence smuggled beneath her t-shirt. And here they are, suddenly orbiting you as if youâve ever been like him âthat explosive anger, that rage, that ability to humiliate and cause fear and insult.Â
Youâve never had a temper like that. Itâs insulting theyâd act otherwise.Â
âGive us a second.â You turn to Dina, it isnât a question.Â
One moment to the next, youâre still in your slippers, but youâre not that waiting child any longer. You remember yourself, and youâre the head of the ranch and all that comes with it now. This is yours. And you arenât your father. And theyâll pretend at respect, whether they feel it or not because itâs your due after the pound of flesh youâd offered up to this place in your childhood.Â
How does one stay ambitious and brave and wild and still become a grown woman?Â
How does a girl stand on her own two feet and become an adult when sheâs never felt any of those things to begin with?
How does one grapple with the terror of their childhood and succeed at a normal and full life?
The girls go and you ponder your existential dread in the face of a woman who seems to have it all figured out.Â
Joel clears his throat, shifting uncomfortably. âYou know, I canââ
âWe just gotta talk some shop, Texas. Weâll be okayâjust a minute,â Tess tells him. Assertive, but with a wink, and she never loses that grin which, if she wasnât so damn likable, would be annoying as hell.Â
You struggle to swallow your cringe. Itâs easy to picture the two of them together, how theyâd look, how theyâd be. Good looking and capable, strong, confident personalities.Â
You finally meet his eyes, they offer you nothing, of course, and with a dip of your chin, you give him his leave. He only goes a few paces away from the bottom step of the deck, unwilling to stray too far from the two of you.Â
âOz was a difficult man. Youâre not really anything like him, are you?â
Oz. Itâs funny to hear the terror of your father referred to so casually.Â
âThe opposite has never been insinuated. But I can be pretty difficult when I want to be, too,â you say, still watching Joel watch you.Â
If you were anything like your father, youâd take her assessment as an insult.Â
Instead, you meet her appraising gaze as steady as you can.
âAhââ she hums,âSure, yeah,â then laughs. âCan see it in the way you carry yourself. If anything, he was⌠a force.âÂ
âHe was that.â
You donât feel now that you can give her too much. Like if you open your mouth, give her more words than necessary, sheâll know everything there is to know about you and what has gone on here. Sheâs got that sort of look about her, those sort of eyes. Already measured you against your father and found you lacking.Â
Even if she didnât mean it badly, the comparison stings.
âIâd like things to continue on as theyâve been so far, also,â she continues. âAnything you need around here, you call our team. Weâll be here. Iâd like to say nothing will change,â and at this she looks down at her bulging belly, sweeping a loving hand over it, âButâŚâ she clicks her tongue ruefully, smile changing to something softer, sincere in a more intimate way. âThings are about to get a little different for me here now pretty soon.â She looks back to you, âMy husbandâll be taking over things, just for a few months. He trained at Davis, and Iâll send over his CV so you can take a look at it yourself. Talk to the boys and Joel, they know him well now. If youâd like, my assistant can get with Dinaâthe three of us can meet and talk over the next few months and what the ranchâll need from us for the rest of the year up into calving season. Iâd rather we have a solid plan before everything gets too crazy for us.â
Thereâs something like vertigo swooping between your ears, ship at sea sort of unmoored. You are so silly. Itâs humiliating. So insecure in ways you have no business being. Husband, of course.
âDoes that sound okay to you?â She presses.
âSureâ I mean⌠yes. Yes, that sounds great. I look forward to it. Just give Dina a call.â
âI hope the ranch wonât forget about me while Iâm out of commission. The Kelly has always been a special place to me.â Thereâs so much genuine sincerity in her voice. You wonder if Joel is part of that sentiment.Â
âWeâll be waiting for you, Tess. Donât worry about that.âÂ
She flushes slightly, looking down at the hand on her stomach again. âThank you. I appreciate that. This is difficult for me, as happy as I am about it all. Giving myself over to something thatâs so out of my control.â
You nod in understanding. âI didnât know youâd gotten married. Congratulations to you and your husband.â You flush deep and embarrassed in return, at your initial assumption, but she makes nothing of whatever fucked up expression you know youâve got your face screwed into. You donât want her to know how you feel about Joel, to suspectâthis woman whoâd had him in her own unique and mysterious way for such a long time. Who shares history and a friendship with him now, admiration and respect and laughter.Â
âYeah, wellâŚâ She chuckles ruefully at this, turning now to glance surreptitiously at the still brooding Joel pacing between Frank and Tommy as they talk at him. âIt happened quick. I wanted things I wasnât going to find other places. Had to go out and get them for myselfâyou know?â
âSure,â you blink once, âOf course.â But her words fill you with more of that nauseating vertigo. Afraid again, that youâre still that child waiting for something that will never come. That you too, are now looking for something in the same wrong place.
-
He watches your profile closely through your exchange with Tess. Since Ellie had approached you, reallyâalways rough housing when she shouldnât be, knocking you in the ribs. The way you grip the deckâs bannister, your knuckles white with strain and the flush in your throat and cheeks, the lift of your brow. You smile often, but not easily. He can tell they cost you something or that you have to remind yourself to respond the way youâre expected to.Â
Heâd seen it on your face, what youâd assumed about Tess.Â
The sun is strong against the back of his neck, and thereâs a line of sweat pouring down his spine, and he wants to go to you, make sure youâre okay and apologize for the three days and the doubt and not being here when he knows you need him.Â
When it seems Tess is finally saying her goodbyeâs, heâs unable to extricate himself from Tommy and Frankâs bitching about the work yet to be done for the rest of the afternoon without having to tell them outright to fuck off. Tess makes her slow way down the steps of the house, her swollen gait bobbing unsteadily from side to side, and he watches as you head around the opposite end of the house, gunning for the back door and avoiding him, he knows. He knows.Â
âHowâs it goinâ, Texas?â Tess chirps brightly, He reaches beneath her elbow to lead her back to her truck, Frank there already, pulling the door open for her.Â
âItâs goinâ well, Tess. You look good, honey. You feel good?â
âGreat. Never better.â
âThatâs good. Iâm glad.â And he means it. Heâd never been able to give her what she wanted, as hard as heâd tried, and heâd been damn happy for her when sheâd found it anyways. âRemind me when sheâs joininâ us?âÂ
âAh, end of August.â Sheâs happier now than she ever looked when sheâd been fooling around with him, and it makes Joel glad to know itâd all ended up as it was meant to. He looks back up at the big house, second to last window on the far left end where he knows your room is.Â
âReal soon now.â
âNot soon enough. Her daddyâs just as restless as she is for it to be time.â
âIâll bet. Iâm glad,â he says again, helping her up into the truck as she huffs and puffs. Frank says his goodbyes and Joel shuts her door for her, leaning against the open window. âHappy?â He asks his friend.Â
The smile on her face tells him all he needs to know. âI am.â
âThatâs good.â A look passes between them, that of two people who know too much about each other, but perhaps, not the most important things they shouldâve known after it was all said and done. And yet thereâs nothing bittersweet about what lives between them. Itâs all as it should be.
âWhat about you? You happy?â
He has to force himself not to look at that window again.Â
âYeah, Iâm happy.â She reaches for his cheek, clucking at him like she might not believe him. But how to tell her that this time it really is true, without giving away his too precious secret?Â
âGood. You deserve it, Joel.âÂ
The curious part is, he thinks he might really believe her.
As Tessâs truck pulls slowly down the long drive, he looks back at that window, thinking of the other afternoon in the sun drenched family room. The wet stretched lycra tight across your sun burnished skin, all reds and pinks and a grotesque splatter of girl shaped desire that had him clawing at the brink of madness. Afraid heâd hurt you, lose his mind so entirely heâd forget how delicate you can be made in his handsâthat scared look in your eyes, that step back when youâd seen Tessâbut then he remembers the tilt of your hips taking him inside your body and the strength in your thighs grounding him, the steady look in your gaze telling him that youâre okay and reminding him of all your fire insideâthat you have always been stronger and more resilient than he could ever even think to be.Â
A woman full of strength.
You are a thing to be loved.Â
He follows you, slipping through the unlocked back door, hunting through the cool, quiet shadows of the sun speared halls of your home.Â
When he finds your sounds of movement at the back of the house, in your fatherâs study, he waits silent and still by the door, heart beating a thunder drum in his chest as he listens to your steps approach and pulling you blindly into himself when you cross the threshold. Banding his arms around your back, knees bent to get at your level and seal his mouth over yours.Â
Three days is too long a time, and Joel is a starving man.Â
You give one appalled squeak before your head is falling back on your neck, opening so sweetly for him, letting him lap at your tongue and sip at your flavor.Â
âYou were thinkinâ strange thoughts out there,â he says against your mouth, and you huff against him, opening to protest, but he kisses you again. Kisses you stupid, knees straightening to pull you up with him, leaving your feet dangling between his spread cowboy boots, the soft thump of a slipper sliding off your foot.Â
âDonât lie, little liar.â He licks at your jaw, reaches down to squeeze the full of your sweet ass. âDid you miss me?â A kiss to your pulse point now and you moan so pretty for him, all soft and breathy, like you want him to fuck you right here, take you into your fatherâs study and have you slick and full of come as quick as he can get you.Â
âYes,â you moan, tilting your head further back to give him more territory to kiss.Â
He pulls back to look at your eyes, cheeks flushed and mouth swollen. He drags his hand gently over the spot of your Ellie-battered-ribs. There is nothing about you that Joel wouldnât notice. Gorgeous fucking thing, he wants to ruin you. Heâs going to ruin you for every other man ever. Squeezing your cheeks together, forcing your mouth into a pout, say it, he ordersâferal, desperate, missing you, too.Â
âI missed you, Joel.â
Joel. He groans at the sound of it, kisses you againâmore, harder, so you know that he really means it.
Hours later, when the sun has set, he finally makes his way into the quiet of his cabin, wondering if itâs logistically more polite to bring his toothbrush over with him so that he can have fresh breath in the morning or simply pray on the effectiveness of toothpaste and a finger, worrying whether youâll be asleep already, if youâve had dinner or if he should plan for that, too. Heâs pulled from his fretting by the sight of your coatâthe worn brown suede one you love that hits just below your knees, light enough for the cool summer eveningsâhung over the hook by his door. He knows itâs lined on the inside with cheetah printed silk, so like you, and that the label says Dolce & Gabbana. Heâd peeked at it the other morning, draped over the breakfast bar in the big house, tested the weight of it. Made in Italy, it says on the label. A fancy thing. Details he has no business searching for or obsessing over, but that he searches for and obsesses over nonetheless.Â
He blinks at the well worn coat, unableâonly for a secondâto understand what it is itâs doing here in his house.Â
But in the kitchen, thereâs a cupboard left slightly ajar, his books on the coffee table misaligned and out of the order in which heâd left them, his mail rifled through, a lone envelope spilled onto the rug beneath. His second set of boots kicked over to make space for a much smaller pair. Heâs sure if he were to open his fridge, heâd find the contents of it picked over, as well.Â
It would seem that a little intruder has come to make herself at home in his space. And when he peeks through the open door of his bedroom, the proof of it is in the shape of a small lump curled in on itself at the head of his bed.Â
He clears his throat and two too large eyes peek out over the edge of his dark comforter, challenging, daring him to question your presence here.
Thereâs also something softly vulnerable there, which he takes careful note of.Â
Crossing his arms over his still sweaty chest, he leans against the door appreciating the sight of you snuggled up in his bed. Something like giddiness eats away at his heart, and he chews on his cheek to keep a shit-eating grin from spreading across his face. The two of you stare each other down, waiting to see who breaks first.Â
Itâs him.Â
Of course.
At the soft sound you let out, some croon that beckons him forward, he pushes away from the doorframe, crossing the room to loom over you as you wiggle deeper into his bed. Your scent fucks with his head. Makes him feel just this close to unhinged. His sheets will smell like you for days now. Sweet, sultry. God-like. Heâs about to become a pious man.Â
Bending over you, he holds himself anchored with one hand gripped around the wooden slat of his headboard and slowly pulls the edge of the blanket covering you, down. Revealing for himself the sweet little morsel of a gift thatâs come to plant itself in his bed so nicely. Youâve wrapped yourself in something lacy and pale for him, some sort of spaghetti-strapped confection seemingly made out of sugarâhis gut goes hot and heavy.Â
And from below, you take him in, gaze roving over his face and arms while he holds himself up and on display. Your hand comes up to ghost soft as petal fingertips over the bulge of his bicep, and he growls some hungry sound that he scares himself with.Â
You turn him into something heâs never been before.Â
A flush creeps down your throat to flood your chest, and he wants to follow it to your breasts. See if he can make you go as red and hot all over as heâs learned your sweet little nipples can go.Â
âHi.â
He shakes his head down at such temptation. No man is this strong. âI gotta wash up before I touch you, darlinâ. Iâm filthy.â
You shake your head back at him, whining softly in your throat, writhing in his sheets, knee hitching higher to push the covers down and reveal more of yourself to himâmatching panties and soft, bare thighs, Jesusâfucking siren girl all for him. His mouth waters. Your fingertips ghost down his chest, catching lightly at the hem of his t-shirt, tugging gently, making his stomach swoop.Â
âNo. Come,â you order. Itâs all a seduction.
But heâs been hauling and riding and sweating all day. He needs to scrub the two inch layer of filth from his skin before he can touch something this perfect. Clutching at the headboard he lets himself lean further over you, stretching the tense muscles of his back, sucking at your mouth once, long and hard, dragging his tongue wet and lewd across your cheek before heâs groaning, heaving himself up and pulling his shirt up over the back of his head to jump in the shower, strict about not turning back to look at you lest he lose himself to your call.Â
In the steamed mirror once heâs done, he takes in the color of his eyes and doesnât recognize the way they stare back at him. Like a boy discovering a woman for the first time in his life, heâs never felt like this before. Itâs frightening, intoxicating.
When he steps back out into the bedroom, dragging a towel through his wet hair, over his chest and sensitive groin, youâve flopped over, covers kicked down to the foot of the bed so he can see the sheer lace of your panties disappear between your cheeks. Scrolling on your phone with your feet kicked up in the air, swinging in a slow motion that hypnotizes. Heâs going to wrap both fists around your ankles and hold you forcibly open, watch you get wetter and wetter and more swollen until neither one of you can take the waiting any longer. Heâs going to drag it out until itâs mean. Heâs going to make it count.Â
His cock is so hard that a delicious heat has begun to pool in his abdomen, seeping down into his pelvis. Heâs heavy between his legs.Â
Dropping the towel to the floor, he catches a swinging ankle, tugging roughly to flip you over and yank you down towards himself. Bracing one knee to the edge of the bed, he leans over, reaching for your phone and tosses it over his shoulder carelessly. The frown you give him is mighty, and he laughs at you. He feelsâhe canât say exactly. A little unhinged, perhaps. Out of control. Like he needs to exert some sort of force here. Expel that jittering energy heâs been filled with the past three days which distracted him from his ride and his work, from wrangling cattle and leading his men. That feeling that made him desperate to run back here into your arms.Â
You give him a peevish, suspicious look, tapping one perfectly manicured finger against the tip of your chin, and ask, âAre you JoelMiller81?âÂ
âDonât know what that means,â he gruffs, running his hands over the silk and lace of the little scrap youâve got on, feeling the hard peaks of your nipples against his palms. His callouses catch and snag, and he has the passing thought that he might be too rough, too nasty, to handle something so fine, but then settles on the reality that he doesnât really give a fuck if he is.Â
You want him.
You want him. And thatâs all that matters, really, you getting what you want. The thought of being the one that gives it to you fills him with a feral sort of satisfaction.
âLiar. Liar liar pants on fire.â
âDonât know what that means neither.â He bends to bite your pretty little tit through the lace. Hard.Â
âOw!â You try to shove him away. âWhyâd you like my picture a bunch of times, huh?â
âDidnât.âÂ
He pushes your knees up around his waist, taking your wrist and pinning it to the mattress by your hip, trapping it with his knee. His heavily hanging cock brushes wetly against the soft inside of your thigh, sending a shiver down his spine, unable to help the soft moan he lets out. Heâs so fucking turned on for you. So hard. The head, red and swollen and throbbing a leak of precum with every beat of his heart.Â
âYes, you did. One of my ass. Like a hundred times.âÂ
He pulls back to glare at you, and you laugh in his face, lovely and bright as a firefly.Â
âGot no idea what youâre talkinâ âbout. But if I did, Iâd say you got no business showinâ whatâs mine to the whole internet.â Thirty-seven thousand fuckinâ people, he grumbles under his breath, fuckinâ ridiculous.Â
You gasp, affronted, âYours?â Glaring back just as hotly.Â
You push yourself up on your elbows, catching him by the mouth with your palm to shove his big head away. He nips at the soft flesh, grunting an affirmative.Â
âExcuse me!â You drag the vowels out all sassy, all provoking. It makes him leak. Makes him want to pick a hundred fights just to enjoy the making up afterwards.Â
âYou heard me.â He kneels back between your legs and pulls your little panties down your long legs.Â
âI do what I want.â
âSure, baby.âÂ
He listens to the click of your teeth, a whine in the back of your throat. Upset âcause heâs not taking your bait. âAre you gonna be mean?â You pout.Â
Joel pauses, as if to consider. âYeah,â he says eventually with mock regret and a sigh.
You heave a big, long breath. âOh, alright,â and let yourself flop back onto the mattress, arms stretching back up over your head.Â
He canât help his chuckle. You really do charm his socks off.Â
âHow was the rest of your day?â You ask as he settles between your thighs.Â
âBad.â
First, he presses a soft kiss to the fleshy uppermost part of your mons, dipping his tongue out just a tiny bit to taste the salty sweet skin there, but not far out enough to taste you where you really want him.Â
âOh?â âA little moanâ âWhyâs that?â
âBecause.â
âBecause what?â Your tone dips into a whine.Â
He leans up on his elbows to get a good look at your face. âBecause I canât seem to stop thinking about this,â he hisses, âAnd itâs damn difficult to tend horses and wrangle cowboys when youâve got half an erection. Thatâs why. Any more questions?â
âNo. Thatâs it. You can continue.â Voice all fucking prim and proper.Â
âThank you.â
âYouâre welcome,â you sass back, digging your heel into his shoulder.Â
âFucking brat.â Now, he kisses you full on, tongue dipping shallowly between your slit for a better taste. He takes a drop of your dew into his mouth and rubs it against his palate, savoring the taste.
âYes. And?â Itâs all a moaning, fluttery sigh now.Â
His hands splay wide, sliding up the underside of your thighs to push you open by the back of the knees, listening to the sticky pop of your lips spreading.Â
âOh my God,â you moan. âSo embarrassing.â Covering your hot face with your arms.Â
âFucking hot,â he groans, going in again, licking into your soft, wet cunt. He comes to the crest of your sex, your clit hot and slippery, suckling at it in quick pulses. Keeping the force of it light enough to not overwhelm you too quickly. He turns his head to deepen his angle, his tongue pulsing against your opening, lapping and lapping, coaxing the little hole to soften for him. Prepping it to take him. He spends a long time there, ignoring your clit, licking around the soft folds, everywhere but where you really need him.
His stomach is hot, his cock full, and he lets himself settle more heavily against the bed, pressing his aching length roughly into the edge of the mattress to relieve the pressure, rutting there slowly. You let out a twisting sob when he finally goes back to focus on your clit, circling his tongue lightly, round and round, and then opening his mouth wide to drag his bottom teeth ever so gently over the swollen nub, watching your reaction intently the entire time. Your face scrunches, a sheen of sweat blooming, all the fine muscles spasming frantically, and all at once, he can feel your cunt pulsing, readying for orgasm against his tongue, as you try to twist away, back of your knee sliding over his face.Â
He holds you down more firmly, pressing a large palm low to your belly, his fingers on your clit, and spears his tongue into your sex, giving you something to bear down on. This is agony, watching you come for him. He needs to fuck you. Â
God. âThought about this all fuckinâ day, baby.â He slurps loudly, lewdly. âYour sweet little pussy, itâs fucking perfect. Made for me.â
You sob into the bunched sheets, hiding your face while you grind against his face.Â
Pressing kisses along the slick curve of your soaked sex once youâve finished, you hiccup above his head, carding your fingers through his hair compulsively, scratching at his scalp, tugging him upwards.Â
âYouâre too good at that,â you sniffle. âItâs annoying.â
He grunts, kissing his way over your belly, scraping his teeth along easily torn skin, tasting your smeared come there. He settles at your breasts, and takes his sweet time giving them both his teeth and attention until theyâre swollen and painful. Rubbing the grey scruff of his beard against the small mounds, abrading your sensitive skin. Flushed little nipples like dark, overripe raspberries for him to suck on even harder, chafed and raw from his rough handling. He pinches and tugs at them, letting his weight go heavy and melting over your frame, suffocated into the bed, his cock wedged between your swollen sex, letting you feel his solid heft there. Every so often it slides against you with his movements, when his mouth moves from breast to breast, but youâre so dripping wet that thereâs hardly any friction, and it makes you cry. Which in turn, makes him pleased, and even harder.Â
Curiously, you donât beg him to fuck you while he tortures your poor tits. He thinks that you know that eventually, heâll give you exactly what you need. That he has a certainty of the steps the two of you need to take here tonight, that he knows entirely what it is he needs to do to get you there, and how that stops you from rushing him. This thing, itâs a little something like trust.Â
That unsettled feeling from before, the jittering energy, eventually it melts away. And Joel is left feeling so steady, so sure of what the two of you are doing here, how he has to handle you. It just feels so right.Â
When he eventually lets your breasts rest, he kisses your mouth, slow and intimate and patient. Wet lips sliding against wet lips, sucking on the top one thatâs just a little fuller than the bottom, licking the tears from your face, mouthing at your cheekbones, nipping at your chin.
âWhy you cryinâ, baby?â
âDonât know,â you mumble. âIâm emotional. Mâsorry.â
âNothinâ to apologize for.â He brackets your skull between his palms, gently tracing the sensitive shells of your small ears with his thumbs and then smoothing over the soft skin of your under-jaw to tilt your chin up to get a good look at you. âYou gorgeous thing, you donât have anything to apologize to me for. Never. You cry if you need to.âÂ
You nod, turning your face into his palm to nuzzle there.
âYou feel good, though? Iâm makinâ you feel good?â
âYes, Joel. Yes, I feel so good.â Your voice is soft, wispy. He imagines he can see the words leaving your parted lips like smoke, and your eyelids sit low and heavy, like youâre drunk on him.Â
When he finally pulls back, you look at him with such deep and moving trust, kneeling between your thighs. He feels a little shaken by it. Thereâs a slight vacancy in your gaze, a haziness, like youâve gone deep inside your mind with what heâs done to you, but itâs a comfortable, secure sort of thing. You trust him enough to let him make all the decisions here in this bed while you lay limp and boneless beneath him.Â
âYouâre beautiful. Youâre so beautiful,â he says, low.Â
His hands smooth over your breasts, your sticky belly, gripping your hips to tug you closer.Â
âNot as beautiful as you,â you say to him, and youâre like a heartbreak. The way you look, the way you speak to him. If it were possible, Joel thinks heâd be able to physically feel the motion of his heart splitting in two for you right now.Â
He stops moving, hands resting on your spread knees, your body open and vulnerable to him.Â
âItâs true,â you say again at the look on his face. His heart throbs in his chest like agony.Â
âStop.â His face goes hot with embarrassment.
âYou are.â Your fingers smooth up your thighs, coming to rest on top of his own hands. âYou're so beautiful to me. You always have been.â
His gaze falls, unable, for a moment, to bear the look of honest love in your eyes. Itâs so much. He doesnât know if he could ever deserve a thing like this. A man could work for a hundred years and never live up to a woman like you. Between your bodies, your sexes are flushed against each other. Your cunt, wet and puffy with his erection resting against it. Itâs the most erotic sight Joelâs ever seen.Â
And youâre telling him these things, being so honest, so vulnerable, while he sits between your thighs with this violent lust he wants to use against your body, and it makes him feel guilty and starved and maybe even a little bit in love with you, too. Maybe heâs losing his mind. How could you ever look at him and not see the broken thing? How will he ever be able to keep you when he wants to do so much to you? How will he ever convince you to let him? What could a thing like him ever give to the girl who already has everything?
âIâm old,â he says and feels it.Â
âI like you like that.âÂ
âYouâre crazy.â
âYou like me like that, too.â
Your fingers flex over his own, and when he feels brave enough to look at you again, youâre still laughing, still looking at him with all that trust. Still choosing him.Â
âIâm gonna fuck you now.â
You only nod, eyes fluttering shut, soft smile across your mouth. A tear slides back over your temple into your hairline, and he can almost see it turn to steam against your burning face. Thereâs a weighted hunger in Joelâs belly. Something thatâs curious to see how far he can take the both of you. He wants that trust to strain, and then he wants to know both you and himself well enough to pull back before it snaps.Â
When he turns you over this time, his movements are gentle, careful. He presses you down on your belly, keeping your elbows braced beneath you and kisses down your back, across the wings of your shoulders. Heâs even more careful when he pulls your tank top away, his fingers brushing the softness of your raw breasts.Â
Settling on widened knees, he pushes your thighs open, tugs your hips up, up, so that your spine is a curve, pressing your head down to rest your cheek against the sheets.
âReady?â He asks low.Â
You hum, that smile still spread across your mouth, and he canât help but lean forward to kiss at it. When you arch deeper, chasing his lips to deepen the kiss, he can feel your slick cunt hot on his stomach, smearing there. His cock hangs long and heavy between your spread thighs, brushing your knee.Â
âEasy. Easy,â he murmurs. âDonât get too excited. Let meââÂ
Petting the crown of your head, he leans backward, slowly dragging his palm from your head down your spine to grip your ass, spreading you apart. Taking himself in hand, he slicks his head against the little leaking hole, continuing his slow caress against the base of your spine, intermittently pressing his thumb against your tailbone to keep you present and aware.Â
With an even greater care than he had the first time he fucked you three days ago, he works his cock into you. Itâs slow, the wide head of his shaft easing inside little by little, deeper and deeper, with nothing but assurances from him, you can take it, youâre so pretty like this, while you gasp and fuss. At a certain point, his wait for you to adjust to the too large fit makes you forget yourself and you try to shove back onto him, trying to impale yourself forcefully, and heâs forced to spank you hard and stinging.Â
He clicks his tongue at you, âNuh-uh, no whining.â
Tucking his hand under your belly, soft and giving, he pulls you up a little, knees sliding wider, making room until heâs fully seated inside of you. He goes still then, holding himself deep and pulsing, feeling the walls of your cunt shiver and contract around him.Â
He wonders how long itâd take for you to come around him, stuffed full of his unmoving cock like this. Reckons itâd be pretty quick by the way your desperate pussyâs already trying to milk the spend right out of him.Â
âYou feel me in your belly right here?â He coos gently, caressing your stomach.Â
The sound you respond with then is more of a loud yowl when he presses down firmly to feel his cock tucked deep in there.Â
Eventually, the wait gets to be too much for him, too. Getting you there in short shoves and grinds, he fucks you through it when you come for the first time, chasing the milking grip of your cunt with those same controlled shoves. But itâs so good, so wet and hot that his tightly leashed control slips. He spanks you again for that, several times, actually. Until your ass is pink and burning.Â
His breathingâs gone rough, hot and bullish, and he can feel himself pouring sweat, his skin burning, too.Â
âGonna give it to you harder now.â
And youâre so good, his pretty little mess, that you do say, âPlease, mâready for it,â so confidently, if a little slurred.Â
Youâre deep down in there, heâs gotten you there, and he feels a sick burst of pride and pleasure to see how well youâre doing for him, how well you give over this perfect cunt for fucking.Â
Through gritted teeth, he orders, âSay thank you, daddy.â
And again, because youâre perfect, âThank you, daddy,â you obey.
He doesnât even really know where it comes from, has never been a place heâs gone to before. But itâs perversely right in this moment with you.Â
His hips gain momentum, nudging against your cervix again, again. He needs to move, to go hard and rough, but this is only the second time youâve taken him, youâre not ready yet. He knows you wonât be able to take this much of him for long, can tell by the tensing of your stomach beneath his palm, the way you grip two of his fingers where he grips your hip, and the breathless whining gasp on every thrust inside. Your little cunt is just too tight to accommodate so much cock, your body simply doesnât have room for it.Â
Bracketing his hand around his impaling cock, his thumb and index finger make a warning point between your ass and his hip to keep himself from bottoming out. But anyways, heâs just on the edge of too rough, can see that warning line where your little body wonât be able to take much more, the slightly pained hiccupping sounds youâre making, but God, GodâŚthe way youâre milking at the cock buried deep inside, tightening around him while he watches himself part you, your walls clinging, the sticky shine of your come and the filmy white trail you leave behind every time he pulls out. His balls slap wetly against your clit he knows must be so swollen by now. The sounds the two of you make together. His big cock fucking in and out of your wet cunt, so soaked and open for him.
Itâs all so fucking intoxicating.
He keeps shoving and shoving against that spot, and itâs so deep, your inner thighs are shaking from the strain of how widely heâs got you spread. And he doesnât give you an inch or a second, just presses harder and harder until he feels a hot wash of wet heat gushing from your cunt, dripping down his thighs and wetting the sheets beneath.Â
âOhâfuck yes. Fuck yes. My good, pretty girl, thatâs so good, yeah. Iâm gonna come inside of you.â
When he does, itâs long and dizzying, throbbing through his whole body so that even his scalp pulses and his vision goes a little dark at the edges in a head rush. Your cunt around him is nothing more than a fluttering muscle.Â
He shoves into you and pulls you back onto his cock by the wrists one last time, grinding deep. And when he pulls out, thereâs a little white gurgle of semen that bubbles out as your cunt gapes.Â
Your arched form sags, knees sliding, unable to hold your weight any longer. But he pinches the inside of your thigh, still wanting more.Â
âLemme see. Show meââ He canât tell anymore, if he sounds like heâs ordering or begging or who has control of who here. He thinks he might really be that liar you said he is if he pretends itâs him.Â
Presenting your cunt, clit a shiny red cherry, sensitive and dripping his come, you ask, âDid I do good?â
He canât help the whining groan that pulls from him, slumping over your wrung out form.
âYouâre only ever good, sweetheart. I told you before. Didnât I? You were perfect.â
He kisses the tip of your snotty nose.Â
Your eyes are closed and you nod, humming happy and soft. Blindly, you press forward, looking for his kiss which he gives gladly, gripping the back of your neck, pressing his fingers into the trembling muscles there.Â
âI want you to look at me and think Iâm good, too,â he admits, then. Your eyes open, that gorgeous and unique color heâs never seen in anyone else, and he realizes he feels like a boy again, full of the strength and potential of freshly minted youth. Like youâre giving him new life. âAnd then I want to actually be good for you.â
âYou are. You are good for me.â
Something like doubt flashes through Joel then. Memories of things you donât know and heâs afraid to share. Terrible and painful memories Oswald Kelly saved him from once long ago and collected interest on until the day he died. Joel wonders if he might owe that debt to you now. Is a life debt a hereditary sort of thing?
âYou couldnât ever be bad, Joel.â
He laughs at the irony of that, disgusted by it, but pulls you closer, burying his face in your sweaty neck, dragging your scent into his lungs, certain he can feel the magic of it swirl through his body.Â
You come out of that deep space in your mind heâd lead you into, slowly. Petting at his skin and twisting his chest hair around your fingers, poking at his belly button and ears. You ask him ridiculous questions he has no answers for, letting the strange rolodex of your mind shuffle and settle until your voice sounds steady and your own once more.
âHow long were you with Tess?â You ask then, and not out-of-nowhere because heâd known, heâd been waiting for it.Â
âKnew it.â
âYou donât know shit.â You dig your little claws into his chest, yanking meanly on the hair around his nipples.Â
âThat hurts, you little shit. Knew you were jealous,â he says smugly, squeezing a handful of your bottom.Â
Ugh. âI am not jealous. What do I have to be jealous of?â
âAbsolutely nothinâ, sweetheart.â His tone sobers, trying to inflect the weight of that into his words. Trying to make you see that after this, there couldnât possibly be any other woman for him but you. You roll your eyes, trying to turn your blushing face away from him, that softly vulnerable look in your eyes again. âYou fuckinâ me just to get all my secrets out of me, or what?âÂ
âYes.â You try to turn your face away further, your chin wobbles just a smidge and Joelâs heart twists in his chest.
âBaby. Whatâm I gonna do with you? Huh?â He says softly, threading his fingers through your tangled hair, trying to get you to look at him again. Youâve got the softest hair heâs ever felt, like the finery you wrap yourself in, but heavy and thick. Perfectly spun crown.Â
Your eyes go all bashful, and you tuck your face up under his chin, hiding. âDunno. Canât play bridge, donât play tennis well. Barely useful at all, I think.â
âIâm sure we can find somethinâ,â he teases.Â
Your head shoots up, clocking him in the chin carelessly, âWell, letâs seeâŚâ you hum, tapping your chin in a three fingered rhythm. He rubs the crown of your head, soothing the bump away, and you duck your head again, trying to bury your face in his stomach, glossy hair sliding over his chest. Youâre trying to deflect, trying to be silly, but he can still see that wet, insecure glaze in your eyes. He wonât ignore it.Â
âLook at me. You have nothing to worry about. Believe me when I tell you this.â He tugs on your chin, being as honest as he can. âMe and TessâŚwe wereâno, no darn it, donât pull away, look at me.â He holds you tight and steady.Â
âI shouldnâtâve asked,â you mumble between your squished cheeks, gaze slanted away from him. âI donât want to know.â
âNo matter what else there was between us, she wanted to be loved in a way I could never give her. Okay? You think I want you to know that about me? Fuck no. But if you need to know anything about how it was between us, thatâs the most important thing. IâŚI couldnât give her all she needed and maybe it was because I wasnât able to or maybe it was simply âcause I didnât want to. But we were friends and then we were physical, but all thatâs done now. Alright? Thatâs it. Has been for a long while and neither one of us has ever looked back. And you have nothing to fret over.â
Your body goes tense and shivering for a moment, he can feel your muscles struggling to keep still before you're pushing away, wrenching your face from his grip. You sit back on your knees and he forces himself to lay still, giving you a moment of space. All the while, he watches you process what heâs said. You need reassurance, you need patience, this is fine with Joel. Heâs got an abundance of both to give you.Â
âWhat?â He says, âWhatâre you thinking?â
Your eyes flit around his face and then jump to the wall behind him, going unfocused.Â
âSo then that's how itâll be with us, too.â
âNo,â he says, without understanding entirely, but whatever it is youâre thinking, he can tell itâs wrong just by the look on your face. âWhat do you mean?â
He sits up slowly, his sticky, wet cock settling soft and heavy in the crease of his thigh. Your eyes flit to the sight of it briefly, face warming and then looking away again just as quickly.Â
âItâll be like that with us too. You wonât be able to give me what I want because you wonât want to, and then Iâll have to leave. I wonât be able to stay here and want you and only get half of you. Iâve wanted you for too long, Iâve waited for too long. I donât care how it sounds, I donât care what you or anyone else thinks.â
Joel takes hold of your face, tugging you in to kneel between his spread thighs, he wipes his thumbs against the wet skin of your cheeks.Â
âNo, baby. I donât think itâll be like anything else, this here thing between you and I. I think this between usâŚI think itâs going to be its own special sort of thing,â he says slow and smooth, like heâs talking to one of the spooked mares, trying to calm her need to flee, her racing heart. âI know you know it, too.â
âHow? How can you know?â
âJust doâthereâs no explaining it. Sâjust a feeling, is all.â You frown at him, huffing out a frustrated breath, still trying to pull away and he clicks his tongue at you, a spike of annoyance zipping through him. âKnock that off, be good. You trust me here, donât you?â He asks, referring to his bed. âThen trust me a little bit out there too,â and he tips his chin at the door.Â
âWhy should I?â
âBecause Iâm asking you to. Because Iâd rather die than ever hurt you.â
âDon't say that.â
âThen donât you go around saying youâre leavinâ anywhere.â
âWould you miss me if I did?â
âNaw.â
âFucking asshole. Let me gââ You try and yank yourself away again and he wrestles you to the bed, slotting himself between your thighs to pin you with his weight.Â
âWant your belly stuffed fullâa me again, little baby? Huh? Thatâs what all this fightinâ is, isnât it?â He begins to rut his quickly hardening cock against you, one hand circling your throat, the other taking your wrists in hand to pin immobilized above your head. âWouldn't miss ya âcause I wouldnât give you the chance to go anywhere. Iâd follow you, drag you back here and keep you just like this.â He pulls his hips back, prodding at your hole with his tip, wedging it there just so and then pushing inside. You hiss at the tender stretch, and he canât help but chuff a low laugh. âThat sting? Did I use that poor little pussy too rough?â
You tip your chin back, lashes fluttering and he smooths his hand up and down the sleek column of your stretched throat, feeling the thin muscles beneath fine skin, the fluttering pulse against the heart of his palm.Â
âTell me youâre mine,â you demand.Â
âIâm yours.â Itâs very much the truth.Â
You shiver beneath him, cunt shivering, too. Moaning softly, saying his name in such a lovely way. Heâs sure youâve never been handled with such certainty in all your life. That itâs only a matter of a little getting used to, of him showing you heâs here for you to depend on in whatever way you need.Â
It seems a little unbelievable that a few days ago he couldâve never even imagined this, having you like thisâhe works himself deeper, watches the way your face moves and changes in fascinationâand that now heâs here, getting to do this with you. Feeling, sure, a little unprepared, but also, so certain that this is the right thing.
Bracing his knee against the mattress he flips the two of you suddenly, in a dizzying rush of muscles and limbs and movement. Your bodies sliding perfectly together, never losing that precious, intimate contact. Settling you across his lap he pulls you forward and close by the hips, grinding his cock as deep as he can inside of you with your clit trapped against the pressure of his pelvis.Â
Ahâ ahâ ahâ too much.
Giving you a moment to rest, he lets you slump against his chest and then pulls you taut again. One hand at your hip to pull your pelvis forward, the other at your shoulder to press you backwards. Palm dragging over your skin, squeezing each breast, feeling the pulse in your throat again. He spreads his hand over your stomach, drippy little girl splayed wide over his thighs, feeling the tense stretch of you, the way he fucks deep, maps the shape of himself beneath the fragile membrane of skin, forcing himself into a place thereâs barely any room in.Â
Joel grits his teeth, breath whistling, and starts to thrust up into you. Taking hold of one knee, he sets your foot flat on the mattress, opening your slick, flushed cunt wide for his viewing, taking no care this time for the way your little fingers press against his hip trying to keep him from going too deep. But you wanted him to be yours, didnât you? Mine, youâd said.Â
âIâm yours, baby. Gotta take allâa me now,â he hisses through his still clenched teeth. âThere you go. Thatâa girl. Take your fucking.â Gripping your hair, he angles your head down, âLook how wide your little cunt stretches for me, nearly splitting it in half. Guess that means youâre mine, too, huh?â
Trying to push yourself away with the foot braced against the bed you try to slide back, away from where heâs fucking you, wailing. âWhyâwhy. Donât take it away from me, itâs mine,â he grunts. âRemember?â Head lolling back on your neck, slurring, sâtoo much, daddy, but then rolling your hips forward anyway, meeting him on the upthrust.Â
Lifting you off of himself slightly so he can control the pace and strength of his thrusts, he leaves you helpless. Your cuntâs so wet and stretched the glide is smooth and unhindered. He fucks up into you, tip against the mouth of your womb until youâre coming with a cry, him, following you immediately after that first maddening clench of overwrought muscles. He watches the thick white of his spend seep out, dripping onto his stomach until he finishes spilling inside of you. And then letting you melt against his chest, finally tapped out. He cradles you against his heart, enjoying the feeling of your soft breaths against his throat as you fall immediately into sleep.Â
He hadnât needed to set an alarm in years. Waking with the dawn well before he needed to be out of the house, in the barn and ready to work, tending horses. Nature keeping him punctual. Itâs the same this morning, even though everything else in the world seems to have changed. Heâs awake in a second, eyes blinking open to find your soft, warm weight cuddled against his side. The sight of your small head tucked against his armpit is so tender, that for a moment, his eyes sting, overwhelmed with a feeling he hadnât experienced in decades.Â
The mountains watch the morning open above them, the dawn barely blueing the air, and he lays in bed for an unusually long time, enjoying the way it feels to wake up with you in his arms. He wonât fuck this up. Heâll keep you here anyway he can.Â
When itâs been long enough he knows heâll be late, that the boysâll be up and out by now, wondering where he is, he starts to stir, trying to be careful not to wake you and failing anyway.Â
âNoooo,â you whine, disturbed. He tries to shush you back to sleep, cooing gentle and soothing. âDonât leave,â you mumble, a lock of hair caught in your mouth that he smooths back behind your ear.Â
âGo back to sleep, darlinâ,â he presses into your hair, soft kiss to the crown of your head. When you look up at him, the happy, sleep creased eyes, all deep and baleful, there are butterflies thrumming in his belly. And he feels a little bit ridiculous with how wrapped around your little finger youâve already got him.Â
Nuh-uh. âNo, no,â you whine again.Â
He can feel your little toes stretching in a splay against his shins, then clenching tightly, trying to grip and tug on his leg hair. âYou canât go yet. No.â
âThe boysâll be waitinâ already, baby. We got shit to do. And I gotta keep an eye on the new kid, make sure heâs learninâ the ropes as he should. Donât trust Tommy not to turn him into as big ofâa dumbass as he is.âÂ
You snicker into his throat, your warm, sleepy scent enveloping him. This just wonât do. This is too good a way to wake up every morning. Heâll never be able to get anything done ever again.Â
âNo. You have to do what I say. Iâm the boss. âNd I say I need you here with me. Youâre so warm,â you mumble against his pec, arm snaking over his shoulder to hug him more tightly to yourself.
His heart beats so hard in his chest heâs sure you can feel it knocking against your own. The soft brush of your mouth against his nipple makes him shiver and harden even more than his morning woodâs already got him.Â
Little fucking witch is what you are. Casting spells over weak and malleable creatures that canât defend themselves.Â
He groans helplessly. âWhatâdya want, huh?â Running his palm down your back he palms your rump, squeezing the soft, supple flesh.Â
You only hum and pout, laughing a little, soft ridiculous noises in the back of your throat that shouldnât make him as wild and out of control as they do. Mouth practically salivating as you grind and pant against him, opening your knee over his hip so he can feel where youâre still wet from him last night. As the two of you push and pull against each other, soft groans and thready whines, he thinks that youâre a spoiled little brat that wonât be satisfied with anything less than exactly what she wants. Thinks that heâll need to show you some discipline eventually. Give you the gentle but firm hand your father never took the time to. Thinks that itâll be one of the most enjoyable things heâs ever had the pleasure of getting to do, teaching you some manners.Â
âDoes the princess need her fucking before she can start her day?â He rolls you over, taking himself in hand to press against your soft, damp hole.Â
âMhmm. Yes, please.â
âPlease, what?â
âPlease, daddy. I need it.â You pout so pretty.Â
âYou're fuckinâ spoiled. You know that?â He really does try to sound put out as he gives into what you want. The boys can wait, the ranch can wait. The whole world can wait. You are the boss, after all.Â
âDonât care,â you sigh, when he finally pushes inside.Â
To be honest, Joel doesnât think he cares all that much either.Â
-
That evening, he comes home to find you in his restroom, perched on the counter with your toes pressed up against the porcelain rounded edge of the sink, painting them a deep purple color youâd stolen from Dina.
He walks with that cowboy swagger, hips swinging in a slow roll, like when he rides a horse. Everything about him is natural, confident, well practiced because heâs been the same sort of man all his life so heâs had decades to grow into himself and settle. It might be one of your favorite things about him, how himself Joel is.
In a way, you can recognize itâs the same thing youâd seen in Tess. That organic earthenness which told you they were fully themselves and comfortable in it. You canât help the comparison, or the little pulse of savage insecure jealousy it inspires in you.Â
âHiâya, cowboy.â
âPrincess.âÂ
On his way to the shower, he presses a soft kiss to your forehead, cranking the water up to sweltering so that soon, the room in filled with hot steam, fogging the glass and curling the hair around your face, supplying an excuse for the heat in your face when he starts to take his clothes off.Â
His body is so wonderful.Â
You watch him through lowered lashes as he lathers soap between his thick palms once heâs stepped behind the glass door, tipping his head back to wet his hair, soaping his chest, under his arms, between his legs, the cock thatâs still thick and long, even soft as it is, makes you burn all over. He catches your eyes as he takes himself in hand, his gaze dark and teasing, knowing, running his fist up and down the length, stretching it. You flush even hotter looking back down at your purple toes.Â
This morning when heâd gotten out of bed after ceding to your demands, the sight of that cock as heâd lifted his arms high above his head, muscles stretching, his sweaty armpit hair, joints popping a hollow, tired sound, itâd hung long and sated between his legs, glistening with your come. And itâd left you shocked enough at the sight of it, wondering how something that big could fit between your legs, but also wet and hungry for more of the same thing all day long.Â
Itâd been all youâd been able to think about as youâd lazed around his house. Picking through more of his things like youâd done last night, trying on his clothes and smelling his shampoo, reading the titles of all his DVDs, rearranging the magnets on his fridge just to put him out of sorts, just to leave your mark. Youâd felt like a girl again, rifling through his things to glean whatever piece of him you might be able to steal for yourself.Â
And going through his little houseâthe woodworking projects, the old, faded picture of him and Sarah and Tommy, reading glasses on his nightstand, and a book on deep space that reminds you how much of a fucking nerd Ellie really isâ youâd seen that there were little details of all the people he cares about in his home. Even you. Picking up the text on art history tucked beneath the one on space, your eyes had smarted. Even you were here.
When he shuts the water off, you look up at him again, and itâs obvious but not sudden because itâs been building for years and years: you love him. You love everything about him. Youâd loved him as a girl, looking up at a man who was steady and dependable, even when heâd never looked at you. You love him now as a woman, while he looks back at you and finally sees you for who you are.Â
It feels like such an ordinary moment for how life altering the thought isâto realize that this is a real deal sort of thing, what you feel for him.Â
But you think that maybe thatâs what youâd always been looking for, something lovely in its ordinariness, something to depend on.Â
âYou have a nice day?â He asks as he runs the towel over his wet hair.Â
âMhmm,â you hum. âProductive.â
âOh, yeah? Whatâd you get up to all day, shut in my house?â
âSnooped through all your shit.â
âFind anything good?â
âNo, youâre boring.â
âI did warn you about that.â
âDid you?â
âSure did.â
Dropping the towel into the hamper, he pulls on a fresh pair of jeans from the closet, no underwear. This guyâŚ
And comes over to you, skin all hot and damp, that big barrel chest, taking you by the jaw to press his mouth, all forceful and demanding, against yours. His possessiveness makes your toes curl.Â
âToo bad youâre stuck with me now,â he says.Â
Against his kiss, you say, âWill you do âem for me?â Holding up the little nail polish brush, if only to stop yourself from spilling all of your romance-addled-brained secrets. You watch him as he sits on the toilet lid and holds each of your toes in his big fingers, slowly and carefully finishing the purple paint job. Humming and hawing while trying to get it just right.Â
When heâs done, his smile is so proudly pleased, admiring his work. âDamn, Iâm good.â
âYou wearinâ my underwear?â He says, taking in the sight of his blue plaid boxers sitting low on your hips when you finally hop off the counter, stretching up on your tiptoes to ease your cramped knees.Â
âDoesnât seem like you get much use out of them. Thought Iâd break them in,â you tell him, looking down at his crotch.Â
âLittle shit,â he laughs, cocking his head to the side to give you a good once over.
âHow do I look?âÂ
âLetâs seeâŚgimme a twirl, gorgeous.â
You spin around, so silly youâre almost drunk with it, and his laugh is smooth and throaty and dark. When he gets up, the look in his eyes is so deliciously threatening, âYeah, you look fuckinâ good.â
You spin away from his grasping hands, moving across the restroom while he circles you, reaching for the toothbrush youâve moved in next to his and pointing it at him like a weapon.Â
âGet away from me with that look. Iâm sore and donât have anything for you right now.â
You turn to face the sink, reaching for the toothpaste and running your brush under the water as he comes up behind you.Â
âPoor little cunt got stretched out last night, didnât she?â He rumbles into your neck, pressing a tiny kiss to the hinge of your jaw. You shiver against him, sticking your toothbrush in your mouth to keep from moaning at the feel of all that hot skin and hard muscle crowding up behind you.Â
You think heâd be scared to know how much you want him. You think youâre a little scared yourself, knowing how much want can fit inside just one girl.Â
His touch smoothes up your outer thighs, circling your waist and squeezing, slipping his fingers under the lacy edge of the bandeau bra youâve got on. He softly grazes the undersides of your breasts with his calloused fingertips, and the sound he makes, like a softly chuffing horse, is so intensely erotic, like he canât even help his reactions to you, that your pussy, which really is so sore and tender, clenches with a soft sting.Â
He kisses your shoulder, turning you by the hips to face him. âLet me,â he says, voice deep and raspy. âLemme do it.âÂ
He takes your toothbrush from you, trapping you between his thighs against the counter, and takes hold of your jaw, forcing you to open.Â
You flush, embarrassed at your sudsy mouth full of toothpaste, growling, trying to get away from him.Â
âYeah, câmere. I wanna do it,â he demands.Â
He brushes your teeth as slowly and precisely as heâd painted your now drying toenails. Pressing your jaw as wide open as it can go and gently scrubbing each and every tooth in your mouth. It is, undoubtedly, one of the most strangely intimate and erotic things youâve ever done with a man.
 He touches you with such certainty itâs almost disorienting for how foreign it is.Â
When heâs finished brushing, he holds the glass kept by the sink to your mouth, making you rinse and repeat twice before heâs satisfied. And when heâs done with that, he forces your jaw open again, appreciating his job well done. You can feel his erection hard and throbbing against your belly when he sticks his fingers deep into your mouth, feeling the smooth insides of your cheeks with his thumbs. Pressing his pointer and index fingers flat against your tongue, so far back he makes you gag. His other palm holds your head immobile so you canât escape, canât do anything but take his training. Your heart beats between your legs. A slow, stinging throb that tries to convince you youâre not really as sore as youâd thought you were, that you can definitely take him again right here and now.Â
As he presses down on your tongue again with more pressure, your throat spasms, gagging violently, your abdomen clenching, then lurching. He pulls back, relieves the pressure for a moment, but still doesnât pull out of your mouth.Â
âNo, no. Hold your breath. Good. Now breathe through your nose,â he orders. âSlow and deep. Good, yeah. Yeah, just like that.â He presses down on your tongue again, making you gag again, pulls back, gives you a second, and then does it again and again. Training your throat and your reflexes to do what he wants.Â
When he finally decides youâve had enough, youâre left panting and shaking. Your cunt leaking into the seat of his boxers. You cling to him weakly, and he pets your hair, soothing you with soft sounds in his throat.Â
âYouâre such a good girl,â he murmurs between kisses to your hair.Â
Clawing at him, you press up on your toes, desperate for his kiss, licking at his mouth and then reaching for his hard cock, trying to tug his jeans open.Â
Ah, ah. âThought you said you were sore.â
âNo, no. IâI lied.âÂ
You reach for his mouth again, pressing up on your toes, pulling his face towards yours as he laughs at your struggle, getting only a brief taste of his mouth, the tickle of his mustache against your lips, before heâs pulling out of your reach again.Â
âDid you? Letâs see. Little fuckinâ liar.âÂ
He spins you around by the hips, fast and dizzy, bending you over the sink at the hips so your face is pressed right up against the mirror. Your hot breaths form little clouds of condensation against the glass, and you canât help the ragged, humiliating moan you let out when he pulls his own boxers down over your ass, letting the cool air soothe the sting against your hot pussy as he crouches down behind you.Â
He tuts and coos, clicking his tongue as he spreads your cheeks wide enough it worsens the already deep sting. Saying things like look how soaked she is, so fuckinâ red and pretty. âNaw, baby. Donât think we can,â he tells you, peering around your hip to look at your face.Â
âOh, Joel, please. I swearâitâsâŚâ He kisses you right over the tender ring of your hole, losing your train of thought as you moan at the feel of his mouth there. Then moves to smatter kisses over your thighs and ass, down your legs to the sensitive backs of your knees.Â
While heâs distracted, you try to snake your hand between the counterâs edge and your hips, attempting to press your fingers against your needy clit.Â
He smacks you, hard, right against your poor and tender sex. A mean hiss follows.Â
âThatâs mine. No touching.â
You do wail at that, trying to stomp your feet and kick back at him when he does nothing more than continue to kiss down the back of your legs and the cheeks of your bottom. What a horrible, nasty old man youâve caught for yourself.Â
âNot gonna hurt you worse when youâre already hurtinâ. Sorry, baby, but thatâs not how this works.â
He pulls his boxers back up your legs, giving your hip a condescending little pat and pulling you back by the hair to kiss your mouth while you pout and spit curses at him.Â
ââSides we got somewhere to be. Donât got time to fuck you proper right now.â
âYouâre absolutely horrible,â you tell him, trying to stomp on his bare foot and missing. âWhere are we going?â
âThinkinâ we should go up to see Miss Leigh. How âbout it?â
The drive down the 89 towards Leigh Lake is dark and peaceful. Windows down, he goes way too fast, playing Bob Dylan off an old cassette player heâs got rigged into the 12-volt plug because he refuses to modernize his music collection. Every so often, youâre rewarded with the lovely sound of his voice humming along to Knockinâ On Heavenâs Door.Â
Itâs a real strange thing, feeling like youâre getting everything youâve ever wanted, like youâre finally in the right place at the right time. You feel so happy.Â
You switch spots once you enter the park, taking the driver's side so that he can get out at the roadblocks to lift the bar gates for you to sneak the truck through, making your slow way up the mountain through the service roads until you make it to the lake. Your last name wonât stop you from getting arrested if youâre caught trespassing on federal property, and the idea of it is sort of thrilling.Â
The two of you hike the short way left from where you park the truck, and the dark wilderness would be terrifying if not for the solid wall of muscled man you have showing you the way through. You love that heâs so dependable, so capable. That you can do something wild like this and remain carefree because you know heâs here to watch over you.Â
The last name wonât stop you from getting eaten by a bear either, but youâve got Joel for that.Â
In the bright moonlight, the surface of the lake is like a silver quarter, shining so brightly it blinds. There isnât a single cloud in the skyâall stars. The waterâs glass face ripples intermittently, the movement of fish beneath the surface gives it life in the dark. And the butterfly flutter of the aspen trees sounds in the night timeâs wind, while the mountains loom pitch black and menacing, rising up towards the sky.
âI love it here so much,â you tell him. âMaria used to bring me all the time when I was a girl. She was so young when she taught me, took care of meâall those years raising me. You never realize, when youâre a kid, how young the adults around you actually are. It was nice to hear sheâd gotten with Tommy.â
âSaint of a woman. Puttinâ up with that idiot.â
You laugh softly, wrapping your arms around yourself at the chill coming off the water. âDonât be mean to him.â
âWere you bad? When you were real little⌠misbehavinâ sort?â
âGod, no. He wouldâve killed me.â
The joke lands stilted and ugly. No one laughs.Â
âNo, I wouldnât think you wouldâve been. Not in your nature, I donât suppose.â
âAt least not then. But I promise, I can be real bad now.â You turn to give him a hot look over your shoulder, and his lopsided smirk is so, so sexy. Hands in his pockets and chin tipped back so you can see his face just right in the moonlight.Â
âI remember you used to come up here with him sometimes, too.â
You scoff a bitter noise, turning back towards the water. âHow could you possibly remember that? You werenât here yet. And it hardly ever happened. Certainly not once I got older.â
âHe told me.â
You have nothing to say to that. Nothing nice, at least. Thereâs something that bothers you about knowing your father shared things like that with Joel. Things that youâd always seen as sacredly intimate, infinitely painful.Â
âOh.â
âOh?â He mimes back.Â
âLetâs not talk about that. Youâll ruin it.â
âRuin what?â
âThis. I donât know⌠Everything.â
You pace away from him, chewing on your fingernails. You catch the lifting edge of the gel manicure on your thumbnail, biting down and ripping off a huge chunk of it. It hurts. Your fingernail smarts from the vicious peel. Pointer finger next, catch and rip, spitting out the little flakes of polish into your other palm. Itâs a filthy and disgusting habit.Â
âI didnât bring you here to fight, but we can if youâd like to,â he says provokingly.Â
Rolling your eyesâ âI donât want to fight.â
âAlright⌠if you donât wanna talk about it we donât gotta. Think we should anyway, though.âÂ
Youâve drifted towards the waterâs shore, and you hear his heavily booted footsteps come up slowly behind you.Â
âI want us to be honest with each other.â He doesnât reach for you and it makes your anger even hotter, that you can sense the intimation of his warmth but not actually enjoy it. âTell me what youâre thinking,â he whispers.Â
âNothing. I donât knowâŚâ Finally, his palms come to your hips, the touch is so comforting, too comforting. He tucks his thumbs beneath the hem of your t-shirt, rubbing slow circles against your skin, resting his forehead against the top of your head.Â
âThought we decided you were trusting me.â
âI donât know what you want me to say. You want to hear that Iâm angry? Iâm angry. There.â You take a deep breath, closing your eyes to really savor the feel of his hands on your skin, the taste of the clean, sweet air. You can smell the leaf rot and the chill of the water and that achingly specific mineral scent that comes off the mountain rock. A scent you could recall anytime, anywhere in the world when you were far away and especially missing home. âIâm sorry, too,â you tell him. âI should also say that.â
âFor what?â
âThat Iâm angry at you, too. Or that I was.â
âWere you?â
You try to keep the broken crack out of your voice but it comes anyway. âHe cared about you. And I was so jealous.â
He sighs, âI think youâve got the wrong sort of idea about how we were or what he thought of me. At the end of the day, I was still just someone who worked for him.â
âI know there was more. I know he did something for you that no oneâs ever talked about. I know thereâs more here that youâre not saying, Joel. And itâs not fair that there are things you know about my own father that I donât get to know, too. Itâs not fair that you were with him in his last days and I wasnât. Itâs not fair that you got all that time with him and now Iâm the one thatâs left to miss him when I didnât even really know him. When he didnât even like me.â
âDarlinâ...â You step away from him, away from his comfort. The water of the lake laps at your boots.Â
âYou know itâs true. How can I miss him when I didnât even know him? When you, who knew him so much better than I did, wonât. You said that, remember? That you wonât miss him.â
âI did, yes.â
âWhy not? I donât understand.â
ââCause I didnât give a fuck about him.â He laughs. âI donât know what else to tell you. Oswald Kelly thought the earth began and ended with him, and ten years is too long a time to be the right hand of a man like that. Is that what you want to hear? Does that make you feel better?â
âI donâtâ I feel like I need to understand what it was that was between you two. Why he left you the money. Can youâŚDo you even know how fucking despicable I felt, being angry that heâd left you something? Because it wasnât about the money. I want you to have that. I want you to have everything. If you let me, Iâll share every single thing I have with you, but I canât understand what it is, or whatâwhat there was⌠I canât understand why. If you say he didnât see you as a son, then why?â
He runs a palm flat over his mouth, hand on his hip, thinking, then the backs of his fingers against the edge of his jaw.Â
âWe were similar, in certain ways. We understood each other.â
âYou are nothing like my father, Joel. Donât ever say that again. He was cruelâhe was terrible. A terrible father. He ran me off from this place. And itâs horrible, feeling like you canât ever go home.â
âI know.â
âDo you?â
âBetter than youâd believe.â
He goes to sit against a log low on the ground, and you wander towards him as if led by a tether.Â
âItâs complicated, ainât it?â He says. âBusiness of beinâ a good man. No oneâs all the same of a single thing forever. There are parts of us that arenât so good, others that are better. There were pieces of your daddy that I think tried to make up for the rotten parts. He helped a man he knew jack shit about, backed by nothing but the grace of my brotherâs good word. Gave me a place, saw something in me worth a damn. He saved my life. But⌠the way he was with you? That overshadowed any sort of good he mightâve ever tried to do. You get me? No one is perfect, and thatâs fine. But I reckon itâs important where a man chooses to place that finite goodness afforded to him. Thatâs what you gotta remember.â
âIt shouldâve been me,â you tell him. âHe shouldâve given that little goodness he had, to me.â
âIt shouldâve been you,â he agrees.
âBut youâre wrong. Youâre nothing like him, Joel. Youâre so full of goodness.â You go to him then, kneeling between his parted knees, and he takes your face in his palms, smoothing back your hair so lovingly. âI know it. I recognized it from the first moment I laid eyes on you. Trust me. You can tell, when youâve seen a lot of bad, whoâs good and whoâs not.â
He shakes his head at you, still stroking your hair, your face, and the look in his eyes is unfathomable, heartbroken.Â
âThereâs something I never told you about Sarah. About how she died.â
You jolt at that. âWhat?â
âI was too young when I had her, only twenty-two. And it was hard for Tommy and I, harder than anything. He helped me, you see, Tommyâs always been there. God, we were basically kids, trying to take care of this tiny, defenseless thing, just the two of us. And what do you know at twenty-two about how to live? Basically nothinâ. It was so fucking hard, but she was like a miracle anyway. Gummy smiles and milk breath and she didnât like formula, had a hell of a time feeding her âcause she wanted a mother and I had none to give her. She struggled to put on weight, was constantly at the doctor which meant constant bills. It was the single most terrifying, most stressful thing Iâve ever lived through,â he says.Â
âFor a few years it was fine, or not so fine, but we managed. She was small, though, skinny and sickly. And things got progressively worse, harder. There was so much I wanted to give her, the whole world, and I just couldnât. And I wanted Tommy to have a life too, I didnât want to have to depend on him forever. My brother got involved with some real rough sortsâSarah was threeâŚmaybe four at the timeâthey called themselves The Fireflies. At first it was muscle work on the weekends and such. Watch a door, drive âem here or there, fuck up some guy who owed money for God knows what, but it sure as shit wasnât my business, right? I kept my head down, tried to look the other way. They were sellinâ shit. On the streets in Austin, college kids in bars with too much of daddyâs money.â You flush deep and ashamed. âPills, oxys, that sorta crap. The muscle work turned into stuff I never, ever shouldâve gotten involved in. It started small: a favor, an errand, drop this off, pick this up. And then I woke up one day, and I was so deep in filth I couldnât see the way out.â He looks at you then, and his eyes are so wide and dry, so clear, you can see all of him right there in that moment. âBut Sarah was fed, she was at a good school, new clothes and a dance class. I wanted to give her even more than just that. It felt easy, even when it was terrifying. Or it felt worth it. And I did it for longer than I shouldâve. Thatâs the thing about doing what you shouldnât. Itâs hard to quit once youâve started, itâs hard to get yourself out.â
âTommy'd weaseled his way out a couple years before, smarter than I had the foresight to be. Itâd gotten seedier the more time passed, and heâd spooked. He wasnât good at dealing with the violence the way I was, couldnât stomach it as easy as I did. Theyâd been fine with letting him go âcause they still had me doing their dirty work, hurting people when they needed me to, trained dog.â
When he leans down to press a small kiss against your mouth, your heart beats in adrenalized panic.Â
âI knew itâd end badly eventually. So I said to myself, destroy the dog and be the man, but itâs hard putting the animal down.â He breathes one long chuff of rough air before he continues. âThey came to our home one night, she was supposed to be asleep, safe in her room. The guy pulled a gun and I panicked, seeing a weapon in her house like that. She was supposed to be in bed, safe in her room. She was supposed to be safe.â His voice breaks, and you can see the silver line of old grief at his waterline. âIf Iâd died, it wouldnâtâve mattered. Tommy wouldâve taken her, been a better father than I ever couldâve been. She wouldâve survived without me, but I was never going to survive without her.â
He takes your hand in his, pressing your fingers to his scarred-over temple. A violent, horrible little thing youâd always been suspicious of.
âJoel. Oh, Joel.â
âI was never going to survive without her. They were going to get me for involuntary manslaughter, possession and trafficking. Lock me up and throw away the key. But Tommy had come here when heâd gotten out of Austin. He told your father about me and Kelly came down to see me. Iâll never know why he chose to do thatâwe never discussed it afterâwhat he mightâve seen in my brotherâs face, in my own, that convinced him to save me. Iâll never forget that feeling, sittinâ in that orange jumpsuit in front of that man that didnât even seem real. A little bit like a thing out of a nightmare. Coldest eyes Iâd ever seen in a man, like there was a shadow around the edges, something not right. Reckon that was your mother in there, haunting him. And I think he mustâve seen the same shadow in my own eyes âcause he made some calls right then and there. I was out the next morning and on Kelly property that evening. Your father, he gave me my life back. He brought me here and he saved me. This place saved me.â
Youâre crying uncontrollably, tears spilling down your face in a hot, sick rush.Â
âSo you think he was good to you. Youâre saying it was your faultâSarah. Thatâs what you think. And he saved you from it.âÂ
âIâm saying that thereâs bad and good in all of us and that life is complicated and strange and people even worse. Look at what I did to my own child. Iâm sayinâ sometimes youâre grateful to the monster, Iâm saying sometimes youâre sad heâs dead. Itâs okay, baby.â
âBut you would never hurt me. I know that as well as I know my own name. And he hurt me.â
âNever intentionally, I wouldnât, no. Butââ
âI met this woman,â you cut him off. âUh⌠last year? Two years ago, maybe. I canât remember anymore. In Sedona. It was aâwell⌠they called it a spa,â you laugh humorlessly. âWellness thing, that sort of bullshit, but really if youâre there, you know itâs just rehab. I was drinking too much, snorting all sorts of junk I shouldnât have been. She recognized me.âÂ
Youâre looking for some sort of recognition in his face, too.
âShe saidâfrom the photograph on my fatherâs desk. She knew all about me, she showed me pictures of the two of them. Sheâd been with him for twelve years, and I never even knew she existed. She knew all about me. She knew my mother, her name. She even mentioned you. You knew her.â
âI did.â
âYou know who Iâm talking about?â
âI do.â
âTwelve years, Joel. His partner or hisâhisââ
âWouldnât really call that mess a partnership,â he says with a small, ironic scoff.
âDonât be annoying. Donât joke.â
âI know, honey. Iâm sorry,â he says with a sigh. âI know what youâre tryâna say, I get it.â
âI didnât even know him. He was a complete stranger to me. And this womanâŚshe was nice to me. She told me sheâd always wanted to meet me and that heâd never let her, and then he just sent her away. Cut her off from one day to the next once heâd decided he was sick of her, a pile of cash and Dinaâs well wishes. You know she tried to kill herself? She was in that place for a mental break.â
Joelâs face looks shaken. âNo, I didnât know that.â
âThatâs what he did to the women in his life. He had a vision that stretched halfway across the world. And nothing ever stopped him. Especially not something as insignificant as a daughter or a woman that loved him. My mom died on him and he punished us for it for the rest of his miserable fucking life, and I hate him. I hate him, and Iâm glad heâs dead.â
You really do sob then, after those spit words. A broken wail like an animal lost in the wilderness and left to die. Or like a child, forgotten and abandoned by her father. Joel holds you very tenderly while you finally let that old grief settle inside you.
âYou canât ever say youâre like him again. You canât. It hurts me to even think about.â
âItâs alright. Itâs okay, baby girl. Let it out. Iâm sorry,â he soothes. âI think⌠I think that your father mistreated you because there was something fundamentally broken in him, and I think he thought he saw that same broken thing in me, and that maybe that comforted him somehow. That what he gave me wasnât goodness, much as you might want to see it as such.â
âBut he saved you. He never, ever saved me. He hurt me so much. He threw me to the dogs. He cared about you, Joel.â
âYouâre not understanding me, sweetheart. Iâm saying that I did bad before, that I was broken, and Kelly saw that. But you never stay the same way forever. I was able to let it go, to move on. We always change eventually. Growinâ or regressinâ or whatever direction it might be you choose to move in, but we always inevitably make another move. He saved my life, and I was grateful to him, and yet, when I watched him die, I felt nothing but relief for you. Iâm sayinâ that I know you feel defined by this, by him, but eventually youâll move past this moment of struggle, eventually you'll let him go and then itâll be different, that next place you step into will be different.â
You surge up on your knees to hug him fiercely and you sob and sob onto his wide shoulder, giving him all of your grief because you know heâs strong enough to bear the weight of it.
âMaybe every man is destined to fail his daughter at some point. But you wonât be defined by his failure of you forever. I know that youâll let it go eventually. Youâre so strong, so resilient, my girl.â
âI donât want to step into any other place. I want to stay here with you and the ranch forever,â you cry.Â
âWeâll always be here, darlinâ,â he says with a kiss to your temple, a soothing hand on your back. âI was a roaminâ dog, and I found my place to roost, here. Wyoming and the ranch will always be your home. I will always be here for you. Youâve never gotta worry about that changinâ. What Iâm saying is this, love is complicated and if you miss him or youâre glad heâs dead, itâs okay. Itâs okay to be wrong and to change or to be right and go bad for a little bit. Tell me, whatâs the point of livinâ and feelinâ so loveless? There ainât none. Nothing is the same forever except for this, here, your home and the care youâll always find here. You understand me?â
âI think so.â
âI canât promise you that thisâll be a normal sort of life, you and I together, but I promise itâll be a good one. Iâm going to try my damndest, anyway.â
âMy mother was buried under a holly bush the day I was born, this has never been a normal life.â
He presses another kiss against your mouth. âI donât want you to carry this sadness around with you forever. If you let it, this land will heal you. Itâll fix whateverâs broken in your heart. It did mine. I need you to be happy here.â He presses a tiny kiss to your jaw, tucking his face into your shoulder. âCanât you try to give me that?â
The water laps gently at the shore at your backs, and the presence of the mountains is so strong they feel almost sentientâwatching the two of you bear your hearts at their feet. Youâd felt, for so long, like youâd loved him. And even if itâd been only the idea of him, itâd served as such a comfort for you when youâd been young and lost and growing into yourself. And in some curious yet kismet touched way, it felt right, fated, that the two of you had been so changed by the man that was your father.Â
You ask him the same question as before, hungry for the sound of it: âIf I left, would you miss me?â
âIâd follow you. Thereâd be no missinâ.â
âBut you love this place.â Your heart throbs with the idea of that word, the potential.
âBut I need you now.â
âMaybe Iâll run away, come back when you least expect it just to keep you on your toes.â
âYouâd be a wild horse if you could, wouldnât you?â
âMaybe.â You muse his hair, tugging his face to yours, kissing him slow and deep and full of love.
âYouâre a good girl. You be wild if you need to, Iâll be here for you when youâre ready. Thereâs always gonna be someone in the world that loves you, you know. Even when it feels like there isnât, or youâre all by your lonesome. Thereâll always be someone out there who thinks of you with love in their heart no matter how far you go. You just gotta remember that.â
âItâs hard.â
âMost good things are, sweetheart.â
The two of you hold each other for a long time, listening to the mountains grow, the water and the aspens.
âYou know, I knew this was going to happen when I came back.â
âOh, did you now?â
âYes.â
âAnd howâs that?â
âIâd been seeing eleven-eleven every single day for weeks. So I knew something big was happening soon.â
âDarlinâ, I donât got a clue what the hell that means.â
âItâs a sign. It means something good is on its way, Joel. Something really, really worth it.â
-
The Tipsy Bison is loud and hot, and Ellie watches the girl she loves dance and laugh with her best friend, in the middle of the packed crowd. She prefers it here to The Mushroom, too many stupid Jackson tourists over there. The sight of them blinks in and out between the sweaty bodies, hands grasping each other close and then spinning out to twirl wildly in opposite directions. Their heads thrown back in loud laughter.Â
âShe really is something,â Joel comes up beside her to lean against the high top.
âYeah,â Ellie says, âShe really is.â Though she doesnât think theyâre talking about the same girl.Â
âFf-hatâre we talkân âbout?â Jesse says, mouthful of pizza bulging his cheeks while he tries to chug his can of Natural Light at the same time. âWhatâre we lookinâ at?â
âHey, chucklefuck.â
He swallows his too large bite, wincing, beer dribbling out the corner of his mouth. âI do have a name you know.â
âSure, buddy,â she pats his head, slaps his cheek a little. âWhatever you say.â
Beside them, Joel is silent. A little hypnotized. The look on his face is so intense he looks like heâs about to pounce. Probably ready to get violent if anyone gets too close for his liking.Â
Jesse looks between his face and the two girls dancing in the crowd. âMiss Kellyâs lookinâ mighty fine tonight, Joel. You old fuckinâ dogâgood job, man.â
He tries to slap him chummy on the shoulder, but the glare Joel throws his way looks like it could quite literally kill. âDonât look at her, dumbass. Who the fuck do you think youâre talkinâ to?âÂ
He pushes away from the table, sauntering towards the dance floor. Ellie sees the moment when your eyes catch sight of him, the way they brighten. Fucking heart-eyed love-sick look, ugh. And they say her and Dina are gross about it. Ellie still hasnât recovered from what sheâd seen in the barn the other day. Electroshock therapy or fucking church is what sheâll need to forget that shit.Â
âHeâs so mean to me,â Jesse whines, peeved, kicked-puppy look following Joelâs retreating form.Â
âOh, Jesse, Jesse, Jesse.â
âWhat? What now? Havenât even done anything wrong today.â Heâs so sulky, it makes Ellie laugh.Â
âYou have so much to learn,â she says absentmindedly, watching Joel meet you on the dance floor.
âThatâs still so fuckinâ crazy to me,â Jesse says when Joel bends to kiss you. Itâs passionate, too intimate, and Ellie has to look away.Â
âIt doesnât have to make sense to anyone else besides them.â
âI guess so.â
âCuriosity is a constant happiness. Go out and find something worthwhile, Jesse.âÂ
On the dance floor, Dina has separated from the horde, and she weaves in and out of the pack of crowded bodies making her way over to their table. Her cheeks are flushed, her curls wild and frizzy from dancing. Ellie feels her heart beat in her throat, this is what love is. She knows that now, is able to recognize it easy as day.Â
This is what Wyoming, what this land had given her. A family, a home. Dina.Â
âDonât know what that means. Doesnât even make any fuckinâ sense,â he mutters. âYouâre so fucking weird sometimes.â
Ellie reaches over, yanking on his ear, hard, before walking away to meet her girl.Â
âNothing is cooler than being yourself, weatherboy. Remember that.â
Dina meets her at the edge of the dance floor, falling into her. Her arms are strong and lithe, her kiss tastes like cherries. She whispers that she loves her in her earâI love you, Ellie, she says. Over her shoulder, Joel looks like heâs happier than sheâs ever seen him in all the years sheâs known him, and she thinks that this is it, the real deal, what all those lonely people thatâd grown up on the ranch together had been looking for all their lives.Â
No lonely dogs left.Â
-
Having Joel Miller fall in love with you turns out to be the easiest thing in the world.Â
You watch as it happens day by day. Easy to read on his face, obvious as the man isâdespite what he might think about himself. You watch the story of it play out on his face as the days turn to weeks turn to months. In the things he does, the ways he takes care of you, tending to the land and your legacy and your heart. The way he makes you the beating soul of the ranch in a way youâd always dreamt of being, but had never really thought possible. He makes the place a real home for you.
One evening, waiting for him to come to bed, he brings you a bowl of split figs. Dark purple skin, brilliant red center. Beautifully shaped. There are three of them heâs cut perfectly in half to make a circle of six pieces precisely arranged in the center of the bowl. Each one is perfectly formed, perfectly chosen and set for you.
He puts it in your outstretched hands and goes to his side of the bed, tucking his glasses tight against the bridge of his nose, lamp on with the shade turned towards his open book because he says his eyes are going bad. Heâs reading Flannery OâConnorâs book of short stories again, and you know heâs missing home, hungering for a reminder of life in the South and memories of his daughter. You know he only picks this one up when heâs missing it all something desperate.Â
You know so many things about him now, the way he knows them about you, too.
And looking down at the bowl of perfectly split figs, thatâs when you know for sure, this isnât your wishful heart, not a fableâonly something normal, lovely in how ordinary it is. This is love.Â
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