writing my life away

Tattoo artist Simon! who felt like a fool every time his cock hardened when you’d send through a picture of your healed up tattoo, with a sweet little thank you message always accompanied by a heart that pathetically made him want to cum in his boxers.

Tattoo artist Simon! who insisted you were just another client, even as he fucked his fist to the images of you engrained into his mind. He felt like a desperate mess, cock achingly hard as ropes of cum shot out, splattering across his stomach all from the slithers of skin that he’d seen when tattooing you. God, how easily you made him feel like an inexperienced virgin.

Tattoo artist Simon! who messaged back embarrassingly fast when you asked if he ever wanted to meet up outside of just a tattooing session. He cringed afterwards, noticing the typos and the awkward combination of emojis used.

'A thumbs up and two smiles?' he thought to himself, 'Real great Simon, should've thrown in the entire happy categories of emojis whilst you're at it'

Tattoo artist Simon! who couldn't believe his luck when you and him wound up on your sofa after dinner and a few drinks at a local pub but makes no move to question it as you both kiss messily, tongues dancing and hands reaching everywhere they can with the current restriction of your clothes.

"Wow- this is actually happening, huh?" he mumbled as you kissed messily, hands grasping at each other, "God, you've no idea how long I've been waiting for this"

Tattoo artist Simon! who had to bite down on your shoulder to muffle the groan that escaped him as he bottomed out in you for the first time. Hands gripping your hips tight enough to bruise as if he was scared you'd disappear if he let up.

"Fuuuck-" he whispered shakily as he tried to remind himself you had neighbours and very thin walls, "God that feels so good."

Tattoo artist Simon! who quickly gave up on any attempt to be quiet once he heard how pretty your moans sounded, selfishly wanting them to grace his ears with every thrust as he tilted your head back, not wanting you to stifle your moans with the cushions underneath you.

"Shit- no, keep making those sounds," he murmured, breath hot against your skin, "Wanna hear every single one of ‘em, don't go quiet on me, doll"

Tattoo artist Simon! who honestly felt like he'd never experienced sex this good, even on a less than comfortable sofa that he knew would leave him sore in the morning, it was worth it as he felt your pussy clench around his cock, so warm and tight, milking him for all his worth.

"Fuck- so...so, good-" he almost whined, punctuating each word with a thrust, his balls slapping against your skin as he increased tempo, "Could stay like this forever."

Tattoo artist Simon! who kissed you with so much more care than you'd ever expect as you both came, you gushing around his cock as his cum shot out, painting your walls, before slowly oozing out from where you were both connected.

Tattoo artist Simon! who had to take a moment to admire the sight of your blissed out face as you lay back on the sofa, slick with sweat and his cum running out of you.

Tattoo artist Simon! who laughed as he lay beside you on a sofa that was way too small, the both of you talking about everything and nothing at all before realising you'd both denied wanting this for so long.

Look at them. All dolled up for the club, short dresses and long legs, bright make up and sparkling glitter on their chests and arms. In an hour or so they’ll look different — the make up will be smudged, the glitter will fade after sweating on the dance floor. They’ll lose their previous shine and leave the club in various stages of ’drunk’. This is when Joel will get them.

He doesn’t deal with too drunk ones. He’s not into it. He might help their friends to load them into a cab but nothing else.

Joel loves the tipsy ones though. Their glossy eyes, their constant giggling, their wet pussies. Of course, he still needs to work his charm, flash them a playful smile, run his big hand through his salt and pepper curls, flex his strong forearms. They don’t even know it but he’s got them the moment they stare at his bulge. He adjusts the prominent lump shamelessly, attracting their attention to it. Not that they can miss it anyway.

The only visible flaw of Joel is his age. Not every 20 or 30 year old wants to fuck a guy who’s pushing 50. That’s when the alcohol they drank at the club comes in handy.

Here’s one. She stumbles out of Paradise in her high heels like a newborn lamb, tapping on the phone, probably trying to get an Uber, and a few moments later Joel steps out of the shadows and into the pink neon light.

"Hello, miss. You seen my daughter in there? M'supposed to pick her up but she's not answerin."

The young woman blinks at him with confusion so he continues,

"Long curly hair, green dress...No?" Then he pulls his phone out and pretends to check his messages.

"Ugh... Says she's gonna be there for another hour. She always does that." He shakes his head with a deep sigh. "Woke me up in the middle of the night to get her and now..."

It works wonderfully. The hottie sings a long 'Awwww‘, cooing at the older man the same way she would at a cute kitten. He's the world's best dad in her eyes - sweet and devoted, horribly underappreciated by his ungrateful daughter. He's got his hook in and now it's time to reel her in.

"Oh! I can give you a lift. My truck's right here. Can take you to your place and then return to get Bunny."

"Oh my godddd," she squeals, melting at the cute nickname for his daughter. In reality if he called Sarah Bunny she'd probably throw something heavy at him and tease him till the end of times, but this chick instantly believes him and in a minute hops into his car.

Now it's time for the catch. Joel is confidently stirring the wheel with one hand, driving her to the address she's given, and talks her pretty ears off. Not that he needs to do a lot of talking. A few phrases are enough —

'S'not easy bein’ a single dad’

‘Yeah, it's two of us against the world.’

'She means everything to me.'

BOOM!

The girl's panties are on the car floor and she's bouncing on his cock in the back seat. Her whole tit in Joel's mouth, he's swirling his tongue over the salty skin of her erect nipple. Her pussy is tight and soft, the juices are flowing generously around his shaft, her slick is all over his balls, but it's ok — he'll ask her to clean them with her tongue later before she swallows his huge load.

Joel never plans what exactly he’s gonna do to them. He wings it, sees where the mood takes them. Nothing’s off the table but only if the girl’s into it.

Tonight he’s a little tired after managing his contracting company but still drives to Paradise to treat himself. He gets a fresh pack of condoms on the way and a bottle of water. For her. His girls are always thirsty after he’s done with them.

As soon as he sees the pink neon lights of the sign in his windshield, his cock twitches in excitement.

“Shh, calm down,” Joel grumbles, adjusting himself. “S‘too early. Haven’t found anyone yet.”

He knows he will. If not the first will say ‘yes’, then the second. He’s patient. He’s got the whole night.

Ten minutes after he’s here, a group of four women exits the club. Joel is watching them from his truck— their animated chatter rings loudly in the empty street. Joel narrows his eyes, carefully studying the women through the haze of cigarette smoke surrounding them.

He’s not religious but at this moment he prays for one of them to split up from the group. You.

They’re all hot, besides Joel doesn’t have a type, but damn you’re gorgeous. There’s something so captivating about you that even from the distance Joel feels your magnetic pull. “Fuck,” he mutters, palming himsleft, imagining what he could do to a sweet thing like you.

C’mon, ditch the others, baby. Come to daddy.

He fidgets in his seat, seeing the three women hug you, hopefully saying goodbye, and almost fist pumps when they go back into the club, leaving you outside.

You’re alone.

Here’s his chance.

You slowly walk away from the entrance, pulling out your phone out of your bag, and Joel hurries out of his truck.

Show time.

Joel strides to you, not hiding the sound of his heavy steps on the pavement, but when only a few steps separate you and him, his legs freeze. He takes you in and suddenly feels like a nervous teenager who’s about to talk to the hottest girl in school. A doubt crawls into his chest and he frowns.

Should he approach you?

No way you’ll go with him.

Probably waiting for your boyfriend to pick you up..?

”Hello.”

You address him first and Joel’s heartbeat skyrockets, when you set your beautiful eyes on him. They’re full of curiosity, and nervously shifting on his feet, Joel clears his throat and croaks a low ‘Howdy.” You give him a polite smile, waiting for him to talk, your expression calm and warm.

For a second Joel contemplates turning around and leaving, but a playful glint flashing in your gaze puts him back in the game.

He takes a step towards you and starts bullshitting you about his daughter being in the club, but your eyes throw him off immediately. They aren’t droopy or hazy like other women usually have after a night of partying. No, they’re intent and seemingly stare right into his soul. Joel doesn’t like it. A weird feeling is gnawing at his stomach, like his gut’s telling him to back off, but acting on autopilot he pulls out his phone and lies,

“Oh…got a text. She’s not leaving yet.”

His heart is pounding in his chest, sweat beads on his temples, when you tilt your head to the side, your piercing gaze fixed on him.

What the fuck is happening?

All the girls he picks up are hot, what’s so different about you, that he can’t get his shit together?

He’s not getting any usual reactions from you, not a single ‘aww’ follows his deceitful words.

“Would you like a ride?” Joel finally blurts out, not believing for a second you’ll say ‘yes’ after this failure of a performance.

You stare at Joel for a few long seconds, making him hold his breath, until you say something that completely pulls the rug out from under his feet,

“That would be great, Mr Miller.“

…….

‘Mr Miller?’

Fuck!

Fuckfuckfuckfu….

Joel feels like a mouse when kitchen lights turn on - scared, anxious, caught.

He fakes a smile, his hands curling into loose fists, and asks, feigning calmness,

“Do we know each other?”

You put your phone in your little purse, nodding and smiling,

“Yeah, Sarah and I were friends in high school.”

Shit.

“For some time,” you add and tell him your name. He doesn’t remember you but ’Sarah’s friend’ is more than enough for him to back off. You might be sexy as hell but he’s got principles. He chose Paradise specifically because it was far away from his neighbourhood, the risk of running into someone who knew him seemed minuscule, yet apparently it still existed.

“Sorry, it doesn’t ring any bells. I guess I'll get going. Nice meetin you. Have a good night.”

Joel offers you a polite smile and starts walking away. He can’t wait to drive off and forget this fuckup has ever happened.

“Mr Miller!”

His heart plummets into his stomach as he turns back to you.

“Yeah?”

“You offered me a ride.” You remind him, looking at him with those pretty eyes of yours. They lure him in but promise trouble.

“Oh!” Joel rubs his scruffy cheek and curses under his breath. “Yeah, sure.”

Your face lights up and you hurry to the truck. Joel trails after you, leering at your gorgeous ass, but then turns his eyes away with a grunt.

Of course, there was a possibility that someone would recognize him hanging around that club but he didn’t expect it to happen today. Maybe that’s why he felt so uneasy moments before talking to you — his intuition was telling him that you were bad news.

And you are bad news alright — your dress is too short not to stare at your naked legs, your neckline is too low not to ogle your tits, but Joel keeps his eyes on the road with determination, driving you to the address you’ve given.

“Thank you for the ride, Mr Miller,” you interrupt his thoughts, sitting in the passenger seat, and add, “It’s very kind of you.”

Joel shifts his jaw, his gaze piercing the darkness outside. If you talk about him being at the club, it all could end very badly. He has a good reputation in town, he doesn’t need any rumours spreading around. And if it reaches Sarah? The thought makes his stomach turn.

For a few minutes it’s completely quiet in the truck, except for the growling of the motor. Joel’s glad that you don’t wanna do small talk — driving along the empty road calms his heartbeat, taking the weight off his chest. ’It’s gonna be ok,’ he thinks, he'll drive you to your place and then go home. And no hook ups tonight. He’s too agitated.

”Mr Miller?”

He swallows hard.

“Hm?”

“Is Sarah in town?”

“No, she’s in college. Out of state,” Joel mumbles, glancing at you, and sees your brows shoot up as you ask,

“But you said she was at the club.”

Shittttttttt!

Joel kicks himself in the nuts in his mind, his knuckles whiten from how hard he’s gripping the wheel.

How is he so fucking dumb?!

“I… got confused I guess,” he mumbles, trying to dig himself out of the shit hole.

“You said she sent you a text. From the club.”

“No, yeah.. I ..”

Joel’s trying to come up with a plausible explanation, but his brain is an anthill on fire. Nothing comes to mind, his thoughts are a mess.

“You lied to me?”

Joel side eyes you — your brows pinched, lips in a pout, suspicion loud in your gaze.

“No! Why would I do it?” he gruffs but the ire in your tone burns him when you press,

“Exactly. Why would you?”

He turns his head to you and your eyes lock. He should concentrate, should come up with an excuse, but your beauty turns his brain into mush, and trying to shake off the spell, he breaks eye contact.

“I saw that you needed a lift. Wanted to help out.”

The silence that follows his words doesn’t bring him comfort now, it’s ringing loudly in his ears. You must be thinking all of it over and it can’t be good. He’s actually glad when you finally talk, yet his joy is short-lived as you conclude,

”You created that whole story to lure me into your car.”

Fucking bingo!

When you put it like that, Joel starts feeling like a giant creep. But are you wrong? You’ve just described what he’s been doing for weeks.

Your next question hits him like a punch in the gut.

“Are you a serial killer?”

“No, damn! ‘course not!” Joel raises his hand, palm to you, and searches for your eyes, fast to reassure you. “I’ll never hurt you, sweetheart.”

His heart is pounding in his ears —what if you call the police on him…? Tonight feels like a never ending nightmare, and he offers, his voice strained,

“I’ll pull over right away and get you an uber.”

All of a sudden you start laughing,

“No-no-no. I’m not afraid of you, Mr Miller.”

You continue giggling as he’s staring at you, realising that you’re fucking with him.

“I watch true crime to relax, I’m not afraid of serial killers anyway.”

“I’m not a serial killer,” he insists passionately but you continue,

“Besides, if you were” — “m’not!”— “you’re much stronger than me and if you wanted to kill me, — “Jesus, I don’t!— “I wouldn’t be able to fight you off.”

“I don’t wanna … ugh..” Joel huffs, feeling annoyed and frustrated. How the hell did the conversation get here? You’re fucking trouble. He should’ve left you on that street.

“Mind if I smoke?” he gruffs, pulling a pack out of his pocket.

“Go ahead,” you purr, and completely unaware of Joel’s inner tsunami of thoughts, get comfortable in your seat — throw off your heels, put your purse in the back and slightly turn to him, crossing your legs. Joel lights a cigarette and throws a glance at them. Ugh, he’s too irritated to appreciate your naked thighs.

”Then what was it all about?” you ask softly in the darkness of the car.

Joel doesn’t say anything, he’s already said too damn much. Instead he takes a drag in hopes of calming down.

”Did ya wanna hook up?”

Joel scoffs and glares at you.

“No. I— I just wanted you to get home safe.”

“Mmm really?” Your tone’s dripping with doubt. “So you just appeared out of nowhere and lied to me so you could give me a ride? Because you’re such a good guy? No hidden intentions?”

Joel feels that the more he talks the deeper grave he’s digging for himself, so he decides not to respond again and brings the cigarette to his lips.

You sigh.

“Mr Miller. We’re both adults. Tell me the truth.” Honey in your voice sends a shiver down his spine. Are you flirting with him? Damn minx.

”I promise I won’t tell anyone.”

Joel’s ears perk up.

“Anyone?” He repeats.

“Not a soul.”

He stops the truck at a red light, throws the half finished butt out of the window and gives you a long look. You’re fumbling with your necklace, inviting him to stare at your cleavage. Your lips are glossy and enticing, they must feel amazing, the idea of tasting them sends blood to his cock. You’re batting your lashes at him, gaze soft and intimate.

Yeah, baby, you definitely want this cock.

No! He can’t!

Joel averts his eyes and drives. He shouldn’t believe you. He should calm down and shut up. But like a magnet you pull him back with a quiet hum. His gaze involuntarily travels back to you and when he sees your brows pinched, your sparkling eyes pleading, your lips in a little pout, something flips in his brain. He wants to give you whatever the fuck you want, wants to confess all his sins to you. The words jump out of his mouth as if by themselves as he admits,

“I meet women this way.”

Joel braces himself for your reaction but hears none— for a few seconds it’s just silence. When he turns his head to you, you pang his pride with a smirk.

“I knew it,” you state, not a trace of surprise.

Joel frowns at you and grumbles,

“Good for you.”

Looking pleased with yourself you continue,

“So you give them a ride and then get their number?”

“Nah, I don’t do numbers.” He rubs the back of his neck, not saying anything else, letting you come to the understanding by yourself.

“Woahhh.” Your brows rise up as you say, “you just fuck them.”

Clever girl, you got it fast.

Joel’s head darts to you — a playful glimmer shines in your eyes. You both know you crossed a line when that word fell from your lips. And damn, he loves the way you say it.

“Yeah, we have sex.”

You’re nodding slowly and Joel might be mistaken but you look almost impressed. He feels a strange mixture of guilt and pride at your unexpected reaction.

”You take them to your place?”

“No, never. We do it in the car.”

“Ewww!!” You squeal, sitting up and lifting your arms off the seat, as if the whole car is covered in bodily fluids. “You fuck them in this truck?!”

“Jesus, relax, I clean up after.”

Joel shoots you a glare and you lean back, giggling,

“Still eww.”

For some time you don’t say anything, your eyes are sliding over the night outside the truck window. Joel runs his hand through the greying curls as fear tugs at his heart. What if you lied to him about keeping it a secret? What if you’re disgusted by him? Of course, you are. Sticky feeling nests in Joel’s stomach as he’s driving you to your place, but your next phrase makes him forget all about his gloomy thoughts.

“Tell me about the last time.”

Joel turns to you to see if you’re serious. Seems that way — a little smile curves your pretty lips but your narrowed eyes are pushing him to answer. Joel shakes his head with a chuckle.

”No way.”

“Pleaseeee, Mr Miller,” you beg. “I’m so curious. I’ll keep it to myself. Girl Scout honour!” You raise three fingers in the air, and your charming smile disarms him.

Joel rubs his scruffy chin with a sweaty palm, the other steering the wheel. For a few moments it’s just silence until he speaks,

“Promise not to tell Sarah that you saw me today.”

”Mr Miller, I’ve said it already and I'll say it again. I won’t talk to anyone about you and your… hobby. In fact, I got a cab home.”

“Good girl.” The words slip out of his mouth on accident and he curses but the damage is done. When your eyes meet, he sees fire in them. Biting your lip you tut,

“Mr Miller.”

“S’not like that,” he rushes to explain. “I meant ‘good’ that you won’t talk.”

“Rightttt,” you smirk. “So?”

Joel shifts his jaw contemplating his response. If you get what you want, maybe you’ll keep your promise. He needs you to. So he caves in.

“Saw her outside the club. Offered a ride. She agreed. We talked. Then I parked at the side of the road and ehm.. we fooled around. Then I drove her to her place.”

“Fooled around? Nah-uh! I need details.”

Joel scowls at you but your eyes bend his will in seconds. He stares at the road ahead and talks, his voice soft, as if someone could overhear him,

“She was sexy. Was wearin a short dress— kinda like yours. I told her a little about myself… this and that… she —,” Joel clears his throat and continues, “she gave me head. Bent over and sucked me off —right here — and I fingered her.”

He feels blood rushing to his cock, but not only because of the memory. The woman was hot, yeah, but telling you about it— that’s what’s turning him on to the maximum.

Your voice is breathy and barely audible as you ask,

“Did she swallow?”

Your sensual tone together with the question makes Joel’s cock throb, he’s probably leaking into his boxers already as he rasps,

“Yeah.”

“Good.”

The air in the car is now heavy and electric. Joel can’t help but throw glances at you while headlights of the passing cars light up your face, your tits, your legs — the vision sends a lustful shiver through his body. He needs to jerk off when he’s home.

You don’t give him a respite and your next question almost pulls a groan out of him,

“Did you make her come?”

He doesn’t tear his eyes off the road as he replies,

“Yeah.”

In his peripheral vision Joel notices you squirming in your seat and a corner of his lip curves up— he loves that the story’s making you horny. If only he could see you needy, begging for his cock right now.

Damnit! What’s wrong with him? You are Sarah’s friend. He mustn’t think about you this way.

“Ok. That’s enough.” He gruffs and takes a deep breath, trying to smother his own arousal.

“Do they wanna meet you again? After…” You ask, ignoring his last sentence.

“Usually, yes. I give them a random number. Don’t wanna offend..”

You gasp exaggeratingly with your hand on your chest.

“Oh my god! You’re such an asshole!”

Joel can’t help but chuckle and at the back of his mind for some strange reason he wants to impress you. Even with his depravity.

“I’m just not looking for anything serious, darlin. We have fun and never see each other again.”

“Fascinating,” you mumble, your eyes on the road.

“Hmm?”

You seem to be thinking out loud, talking more to yourself than him,

“How d’you do it? Yeah, you’re a hot dilf, but … How do you make them sleep with you so fast?”

Joel grunts but his chest expands when he hears your praise.

“I don’t make anyone do anything. It’s all consensual.”

“Well, they are drunk.”

“Not drunk. Tipsy.”

You hum again and he hates it. Hates how smug you’re looking… how hot.

“You can judge me, I ain’t stoppin you,” he throws with a shrug.

“Who said I’m judging?”

His eyebrow flies up and you shrug your shoulders mimicking him.

"No one's perfect. We all do questionable shit from time to time. Doesn’t mean we’re bad people.”

Joel doesn’t say anything. Your words make him feel warm in his chest and he glances at you, saying softly,

“You can call me Joel.”

“Yeah, I bet you’d want me to, Mr Get-into-my-truck.” You immediately shut him down with a smirk and Joel scoffs,

“S’ not like that with you.”

“Sure, Joel,“ you giggle, sitting up straight. “Can you stop over there?” You point at the corner of the street with your hand. “I’ll walk the rest of the way. Don’t want my dad to wake up and lecture me.”

Wanting to taunt you back, Joel asks, “Ain’t you a bit old to be lectured? Or is he overprotective?”

You clear your throat and nod,

“Yeah, something like that.”

He pulls over and you unfasten your seatbelt.

“I’m gonna watch you, make sure you’re home safe.“

“Yeah, right. Probably gonna stare at my ass.”

He huffs with annoyance but your giggle makes him smile, too.

“Good night, Joel,” you purr, looking him right in the eye. The way you say his name sends more blood to his stiffening cock.

”Night, sweetheart,” he gruffs and you laugh again.

Then you get out of the car and walk to your house.

Just like you predicted, Joel stares at your perky ass. Your hips are swaying so seductively, Joel palms his cock, and a groan falls from his mouth.

He’s definitely going to jerk off.

On the way home Joel’s mind is occupied by you. Your questions and his answers are swirling in his head on a loop. Why has he told you so much? He should’ve been more careful, more reserved. But damn, your eyes, your body, your soft voice… He’d like to do so much more than talking. But, you’re off limits. You know too much about him. Make him feel too much. He must forget about ever meeting you, let alone looking for a way to see you again.

Unfortunately for Joel, you give him no choice when a week later you show up at his doorstep.

Thank you for reading! Please comment and reblog if you enjoyed the chapter! Let me know if you want to be tagged in the future parts💞

MASTERLIST

Tag list: @milla-frenchy @harriedandharassed @iamasaddie @nervousmumbling @bbyanarchist @stevie75 @puduvallee @mountainsandmayhem @senoratess @flamingochick55 @theoraekenslover @schnarfer @mermaidgirl30 @staywildflowahchild @yesjazzywazzylove-blog @evolnoomym @keylimebeag @thedilfdiaries @pascaltesaye @meetmeatyourworst @callmebyyournick-name @tateypots @pedrofan

Series tag list: @pedrofan

It had been three weeks. Three fucking weeks since you last saw Joel. No more booth reservations, and the silence was deafening.

And now? Now he was standing by the front desk, his hat in his hands like a goddamn apology.

“Booth six,” he said quietly.

You caught the receptionist’s glance and rolled your eyes. You didn’t even look at him when you stepped into the booth, just slid in beside him like you were already bored. Of course you weren’t, you’d missed him like crazy.

“You don’t get to disappear and then stroll back in like you just forgot to tip me last time.”

Joel winced. “I didn’t know what to say.”

“You could’ve said Hey, I’m not coming back. Or this is too much for me. Or even fuck off would’ve been better than nothing.”

“’M sorry,” he said softly. “I really am. I was conflicted, an’ hurt, an’… I know it’s no excuse,” he said, voice low, heavy with guilt.

You looked at him—steady, unflinching. “No, it’s not.”

You kept staring at him, at the way he looked smaller than before — not just older, but more worn out, like the guilt had taken up permanent residence in his body.

“You came here just to apologize?” you said flatly. “Is that it?”

He opened his mouth — and then closed it.

You let out a bitter laugh. “Yeah. That’s what I thought.”

And before he could say another word, you swung your leg over him and dropped into his lap.

His hands immediately went up in a defensive way, “I didn’t—”

“You didn’t ask for this?” you said with a sharp tone. “Well, that's too bad."

Your hips pressed down, grinding slow and firm over his jeans. You felt his thighs stiffen beneath you and his breath caught.

“You don’t get to ignore me for three fucking weeks and then sit here like I’m supposed to pretend it didn’t happen.”

“Darlin’—” he breathed, hands still raised, still trembling, like he didn’t know what the fuck to do with you on top of him.

“Don’t darlin’ me. You wanted to feel something real, huh?” you growled, lips brushing his ear, letting your breath ghost down his neck. “Then feel this.”

You rocked your hips harder—firm, deliberate, grinding down right where he was hard and aching, the friction of your soaked panties under your skirt against his jeans was sending sparks through both of you. You moved your body in the only way you knew. Rhythmic. Unrelenting. Precise. Joel’s jaw clenched, hard enough you could see the muscle jump. He gripped the edge of the seat like it might anchor him, but it didn’t, you were pulling him under.

He let out a sound, a strangled, guttural groan, like a man trying not to give in, trying not to beg, but failing anyway. It was low and raw, and it shot straight between your legs.

“F-fuck,” he breathed, his voice barely audible, strangled in the back of his throat.

You rolled your hips again, slow this time, just a filthy, deliberate drag that made his eyes squeeze shut, and his hips twitch beneath you, completely out of his control.

“I didn’t come here to—” he gasped.

“Come?” you hissed. “Too fucking late.”

Your hands slid to his chest, fingers splaying over that soft, worn flannel. You ground down with full weight, cunt pressing into his cock, feeling how it throbbed, how fucking desperate his body had gotten just from that brutal, slow press of you against the bulge in his jeans.

He was rock hard. Straining, desperate, painfully swollen beneath the thick denim, and you felt all of it, every throb, every twitch, every bit of heat he was holding back. You had done this to him, even fully clothed, angry, straddling him like you could grind the apology out of his mouth, like you could ride the guilt out of his soul.

And beneath it all laid the helpless truth:

He liked it, even if he tried too hard to hide it, even if he tried to walk away from it, even if the guilt ate him up. He still needed it, and he wasn’t strong enough to stop you.

“Come on,” you whispered, slowing your hips just enough to make it mean more. “Let go. You already ruined your jeans once, ruin them again.”

“Stop,” he begged. “Please, I—” You knew he didn’t mean it, you knew he didn’t want you to stop. And so you didn’t.

Not until his whole body tensed beneath you, every muscle going rigid, like he was trying to hold back a scream in the back of his throat. His hips jerked, once, twice, subtle but unmistakable, like his body couldn’t help itself anymore.

And then he came. Silently. Shamefully. You felt it pulsing thick beneath you, soaking into the fabric between your bodies, the mess of it caught in his boxers, in his jeans. You stayed right there, straddling him, grinding down with slow, punishing rhythm, not letting him shy away from it, not letting him pretend it didn’t happen.

You leaned in close, lips brushing his ear again. “That was for disappearing.”

Then you climbed off, smoothing your skirt. Not a single glance back. You left him siting there with the mess in his jeans and the guilt in his gut. He deserved that.

He was back the next Friday. Same flannel, same tired eyes, but this time, he didn’t book a booth right away, he just stood near the bar, hat in his hands like every week, shifting his weight like a man who didn’t belong in his own skin.

You saw him the moment he walked in, of course you did, you felt that unmistakable ache behind your ribs you’d learned to ignore. You still didn’t go to him right away, you were still pissed, so you let him approach you, and when he finally did, he stopped in front of you with that awkward, broken expression.

“I booked booth five,” he said. Voice low. “If you’ll come.”

You said nothing. Not yes. Not no. Just turned away, like you didn’t feel his eyes crawling after you, and slid into the booth across from him. You didn’t sit beside him this time, you weren’t giving him that comfort, not yet.

He looked older tonight, not because of his age, but because of something else — something that weighed heavy behind his eyes, like he’d spent the last week in a fight with himself, and lost every round.

You didn’t smile at him, didn’t offer a lap dance. You just sit there waiting, keeping your arms and legs crossed. The air was heavy with the weight of unspoken things, of the misunderstandings hanging between you, of the things you both tried hard to ignore and the feelings you were trying to bury, feelings you’ve tried to ignore for months cause you couldn’t yet admit.

Until he finally broke the silence.

“Y’know I didn’t mean to disappear.”

You raised an eyebrow. “But you did.”

He nodded. “I know. An’ I felt like shit about it every day. But that’s the thing, I feel like shit comin’ here, and I feel like shit if I don’t.”

You didn’t reply, just let the weight of the silence stretch.

He sighed, rubbing the heel of his hand over his jaw like it ached. “I ain’t good at this. Feelin’ things. Talkin’ about ‘em. It ain’t how I was raised, and I sure as hell never learned how.”

You tilted your head slightly. “That why you ghosted me?”

“No,” he said. “I ghosted you because I didn’t know what the fuck to do with myself. Because I kept sittin’ here, in this booth, starin’ at you, feelin’ like I was losin’ somethin’ every time I left. But I didn’t, cause you were never mine to start with.”

That made your throat tighten.

He swallowed, his eyes finally meeting yours. “You’re not just some girl workin’ a stage. Not to me. You never were.”

You looked away, that hurt more than it should have.

“So what am I, Joel?” you asked quietly. “Some fantasy you think you’re not allowed to touch?”

He shook his head. “No. You’re someone I want to know without these goddamn rules. Outside this place.”

You stared at him, long and hard. “You still want something real,” you said.

“I do.”

“And you want it with me.”

“Yes.”

“But you couldn’t handle it when you realized it was only ever going to happen in here, on a couch you don’t even want to sit on.”

His jaw tightened. “I left because it felt wrong. Because payin’ for your time made me feel like I was stealin’ it.”

You leaned forward now. “You think I give this to just anyone?”

“No,” he said immediately. “I know better. I just… I wanted you to want me outside of all this. An’ I knew I couldn’t ask for that. Not without breakin’ every line you’ve drawn.”

You didn’t speak for a long time, but he didn’t push or beg, he let you sit with it, just waiting. And something in that — the stillness of him — told you this wasn’t a man who said this kind of thing often. Maybe not ever.

You let out a long breath, looking at him straight in the eyes. “I’ll go out for coffee with you.”

His brow furrowed.

“But,” you added quickly, “only once. And only because I want to. Not because you wore me down or said the right thing.”

He nodded, slow, as if every word needed to be carved into him.

“And you don’t tell anyone. You don’t ask for my number here. You don’t hang around the door. You act like I’m just another girl in this place, and you keep it quiet.”

“I will,” he said. “I swear.”

“You better,” you said, standing. “Because I am breaking the rules for you. And I don’t do that for anyone.”

He stood too, almost cautiously, like he didn’t quite believe what he was hearing.

“I’ll find a place,” he said. “Somewhere quiet. Daytime.”

You nodded once. “Next week.”

Then you turned and walked away with your heart pounding and your legs shaky, but eyes straight ahead.

Because yeah, you were breaking the rules. But somehow, with Joel?

It didn’t feel like losing. It felt like finally choosing.

You met in the early afternoon in a small, quiet coffee shop tucked away from the busier streets, the kind of place with mismatched chairs and half-burned candles stuck in old wine bottles, no one here gave a shit who you were or what you did after dark.

And Joel? He looked different in daylight. Less guarded but still heavy, still carved from something hard and weather-worn, but quieter somehow, like the weight on his shoulders was just a little more bearable with the sun on his back.

“Didn’t think I’d ever see ya in the daylight,” you said as you sat across from him, coffee warming your hands.

Joel gave you a crooked little smile, tired, but real. “Didn’t think you’d let me.”

“I almost didn’t.”

“You do have clothes that cover your belly button. That’s a surprise,” he said, smirking, taking an appreciative look of your body, not a lewd or obscene one, he always looked at you with soft eyes.

“Hilarious,” you deadpanned, rolling your eyes, but the corner of your mouth still twitched like you wanted to smile.

The quiet stretched, but it didn’t sting this time. It settled between you like a blanket, it felt familiar, safe. You both nursed your drinks for a while. Talked about nothing, music, food, how shit the weather’s been lately. You learned he liked carving little wooden statues in his free time, hated phones, and used to play the guitar when his hands didn’t ache so damn much. He learned you liked thunderstorms, collected old postcards, and once dyed your hair blue on a dare. It wasn’t much, but it was yours.

At one point, you caught him looking at you, not the way your clients usually looked, not the way men in booths watched, but like he was studying you, trying to memorize something he didn’t think he deserved.

You tilted your head. “What?”

He blinked. “Nothin’. Just… you look different.”

“In a good way?”

“In a real way,” he said softly. “Like ’m actually seein’ you for the first time.”

You swallowed hard. That one landed deep, because you weren't sure if you’d ever let a man see the real you before.

He walked you to your car after, even though it was just two blocks away. His hand didn’t brush yours and he didn’t lean in close to kiss you, he kept space between you like a man still afraid to want too much.

You stopped beside the driver’s side door, turned to him, and let yourself say what was already hanging in the air.

“Do you want to come back to my place?”

He froze, like you’d just handed him something too fragile to touch. Joel looked at you for a long moment, like he didn’t quite trust it, like he wanted to say no, just out of habit, but couldn’t.

Then he gave you the smallest, saddest smile.

“I’d like that,” he said.

⸻

You lived in a quiet building on the third floor. No elevator but he didn’t complain about the stairs. Your apartment wasn’t much, it was clean but lived-in, warm lighting, soft blankets, a shelf full of books and mugs. Joel looked around like he’d stepped into something too soft for a man like him.

You dropped your keys in the dish and turned to him. “You want a drink?”

He nodded once. “Yeah. Whatever you’re havin’.”

You poured two glasses of whiskey, you both needed something to ease the nerves. Then you settled onto the couch beside him. Close, but not touching, not yet at least.

The glass was cool in your hand, in contrast with the hot tension between you two.

“You okay?” you asked.

Joel stared at the floor. Then: “I don’t remember the last time I was in a woman’s place.”

You didn’t say anything, just let him sit with that truth.

“But this—” he said quietly, looking at you, “—this feels different. And that scares the hell outta me.”

You set your drink down and reached out to touch his knee gently, grounding.

“It scares me too.”

He looked down at your hand, his rough fingers curling around your wrist, not pulling it away, not holding it there, just feeling it like he didn’t quite believe you were real.

Then his voice dropped lower. Hoarse. “What happens now?”

You leaned in, your forehead brushing his.

“That depends,” you whispered. “Are you gonna kiss me, Joel Miller?”

His breath hitched.

And then, finally, finally, he did.

His mouth was on yours like he needed it to breathe, like something in him had snapped the moment you said his name, the moment you tilted your chin and invited him in with that low whisper and the weight of weeks behind it.

And suddenly Joel’s hands were everywhere, on your waist, your face, your thighs, grabbing you like he didn’t trust you to stay in his arms otherwise. You climbed into his lap without hesitation, knees bracketing his hips, hips grinding down against his already hard cock pressing up through his jeans, just like you had done many times before at the booth in the club, except this time it felt different, it felt real.

“Fuck—” he muttered against your mouth, his voice so low it was barely there. “You sure bout this?”

You nodded, already tugging his flannel off his shoulders. “Been sure since the first day.”

He groaned when you rocked your hips again, hard enough to make him jolt, hips bucking up against you like he couldn’t help it. His fingers dug into your ass, holding you there, trying to slow things down even as his body betrayed him.

“Jesus,” he grunted. “’M not—not gonna last if you keep doin’ that.”

You grinned against his jaw. “Who said you had to?”

Joel’s head dropped back against the couch like he was suffering, his breath was so ragged it looked like he was struggling to breathe. “Shit.”

You rolled your hips again, slower now, grinding yourself against the thick outline of him. His hands were trembling. Actually trembling.

You kissed his throat, bit it. And that’s when he snapped. He grabbed you by the waist and flipped you, laying you down on the couch, covering your body with his own as he kissed you again, deeper now, messier, no more hesitation. Your shirt was gone in a second. His mouth was on your collarbone, your chest, sucking a bruise just above the curve of your breast like he needed to leave something behind.

“Been thinkin’ bout this every damn night,” he rasped, dragging your pants down. “Bout you. Bout the way you look on top of me—fuck—bout your voice in my ear.”

You reached for his belt, yanked it open with one firm pull, and he groaned like you’d punched the air out of him.

“Please,” you whispered. “Need you.”

“I, uh… I’ve got condoms. In my wallet,” he said softly.

“Well, look at you coming prepared, Miller.” You gave him a sly smile. “I thought this was just a coffee date.”

Joel felt heat creep up his neck. “I—uhh, sorry.”

You chuckled, reaching for him. “I’m just messing with you.” Your voice dropped. “Forget the condoms. I wanna feel you.”

Joel let out a low grunt, his mind racing. “Ya sure?”

“I’m on the pill,” you reassured him. “Don’t worry.”

That’s all it took. He shoved his jeans down just enough, hand fumbling, frantic, and then he was lining himself up, gripping the base of his cock, and pushing into you in one rough, hungry thrust.

You gasped, body arching, nails digging into his shoulders. He was thick, hot, too much all at once, stretching you open like he couldn’t wait another second.

Joel grunted, loud and raw, his whole body already shaking, barely holding himself together.

“Jesus—fuck— I can’t—baby, ’m gonna—fuck, I’m gonna—”

You wrapped your legs around his waist, dragging him deeper, your hips tilting up to meet every frantic thrust. Joel groaned loud and desperate as he slammed into you, it was fast and clumsy, but so fucking deep it knocked the air from your lungs. He wasn’t polished or slow, it was messy, hungry, fucking real. All breath and sweat and need, his forehead pressed to yours, panting like he couldn’t catch up to his own body.

He was already close from the second he first pushed inside you. You could feel it in the way he couldn't keep his rhythm, the way his thrusts stutter, erratic, frantic— and then it all snapped.

Less than two minutes, just enough to fuck you through a handful of brutal, uncoordinated slams before his whole body went rigid. He buried his face in your neck, a growl got caught somewhere between his teeth and your skin. He shuddered hard as he came, cock pulsing inside you, hot and thick and helpless.

“Fuck—fuck—’m sorry—” he gasped, voice cracking as he came inside you, still grinding slow thrusts through it.

You held him, one hand in his hair, the other pressed flat against the center of his back. “Don’t be. That was great.”

You weren’t lying, it had felt amazing, maybe you’d want it to have lasted a bit longer, sure, but that wasn’t what mattered. You knew how touch-starved Joel was, how desperate, so you found it heartbreakingly sweet.

Joel let out a shaky breath, still buried inside you, forehead pressed to your shoulder.

“Didn’t mean for it to be like that,” he murmured. “Wanted to take my time with you. Make it good.”

You turned your face into his hair.

“It was good. It was you.”

He didn’t answer right away, just lay there, catching his breath while feeling your heartbeat pounding under his cheek. The air was thick with sweat and sex, your skin felt tacky, your heart was thudding in your chest like it hadn’t quite caught up with the fact that it was over, that it had happened, fast and rough and honest.

“Hey,” you murmured. “You good?”

His voice was muffled in your shoulder. “I shouldn’t’ve cum that fast.”

You smiled, threading your fingers through his hair.

“Joel, it’s okay. I liked it.”

He pulled back just enough to look at you with his cheeks flushed and brows furrowed, something like guilt swimming in his eyes.

“Don’t feel right, leavin’ you like that,” he rasped. “Was s’posed to take my time. S’posed to… fuck.”

Your lips twitched. “So do something about it.”

That was all it took. Joel slid down your body without another word, his big hands trailing along your waist, thumbs brushing your ribs as he settled between your thighs. He spread you open like he was starving, not rushed now, but determined.

You propped yourself up on your elbows. “What are you doing?”

He glanced up at you through his lashes.

“Makin’ it up to you.”

Then his hot mouth was on you, so slow you couldn’t stop a whimper from escaping your mouth as soon as you felt him. Joel kissed your aching cunt like a man trying to worship it, like he could erase the shame in his chest by drowning in you. His tongue wasn’t rushed, he licked like he had all night, like he’d crawl inside you if it meant you’d let him stay.

“Oh my god,” you gasped, head falling back. “Joel—fuck—”

It was clear at first that he was a bit out of practice, but as soon as he heard your moans, his confidence grew, finding a delicious rhythm. Long, dragging strokes, each one deliberate, from the bottom of your cunt to your clit, he lingered there, lips parting, sucking gently like he needed to pull something out of you. He dragged his nose against your clit, breathing you in like he was starving for it, before flattening his tongue and pressing up again, harder this time, wetter, letting it slide slow and deep.

You felt his hands on your thighs, holding himself steady with you as his anchor, like he couldn’t stand the idea of you pulling away. He wasn’t just eating you out, he was devouring you.

One hand slid between your legs, slow at first, thick fingers parting you with a kind of aching tenderness, like he needed to feel everything, memorize everything. And then he pushed them inside you in one deep and firm motion, in perfect time with the flick of his tongue over your clit, methodical and filthy and so, so focused.

The rhythm he found was unhurried, like he wasn’t just trying to make you cum, he was trying to undo everything he’d done wrong, one wet stroke at a time. Each curl of his fingers brushed your walls, dragging slow and deep while his mouth worshipped every inch of you he could reach.

“Feel that?” he murmured against your heat. “That’s how you should’ve been cummin’.”

Your moans cracked, high and broken, and it made something in Joel snap, not with panic, but with pride. Your thighs clamped tight around his shoulders and he growled, sounding like a man who’d won, who’d found the part of you that came undone for him.

He added a third finger, easing in beside the others like he already knew you could take it, like he’d felt the way your walls clenched around just two and begged for more. He curled them up, just so they were hitting that spot that made your breath hitch, that made your whole body go tense and trembling. And still his mouth was on you, his lips soft, tongue deliberate, sucking just enough to keep your eyes rolling back.

You were panting now, begging him.

“Joel—Joel please—fuck I’m—”

Your hands flew to his hair, your body arched, and when it hit you, it hit hard. A wave of heat rolled through your belly and crashed between your legs, your muscles clenching around his fingers. You came with a helpless and wrecked cry and even after that, he didn’t stop. He helped you ride it out, his tongue still working your clit through the aftershocks until you were gasping and pulling harder at his hair, feeling too sensitive to keep going.

When he finally pulled away, his lips were shiny, beard damp, pupils blown wide as he looked up at you.

“Feel better now?” he asked.

You reached for him, tugging him up until he collapsed onto the couch beside you. You kissed him, long and messy, tasting yourself on his tongue.

“Yeah,” you whispered, grinning against his mouth. “You’re forgiven.”

Joel smirked, a little cocky now, a little proud of himself. “Next time I’ll last more than a minute.”

You rolled your eyes. “Talk big after round two, cowboy.”

He kissed your temple. “Challenge accepted.”

⸻

A few hours passed like that, you had moved to your bed, your limbs tangled together, sheets kicked down to your waists, the hum of your heater filling the room. Joel had fallen asleep for a while, and so had you, drowsing in and out with your head on his shoulder.

But at some point he rolled around, and his hands were back on you, subtle at first, warm palms skimming your back, down your hip. Then they got firmer and hungrier, like his body had finally caught up with everything it had wanted hours ago.

You shifted, slid one thigh between his legs, and felt him, already half hard and getting there fast.

You grinned against his collarbone. “Didn’t think you had another round in you, old man.”

He let out a low, gravelly chuckle. “Takes me a minute. But yeah, darlin’. ’M ready now.”

His hand gripped your hip, and he rolled you gently beneath him, mouth finding yours again, softer now, unhurried, but still heavy with want. He kissed you deep, one hand cupping the back of your neck, the other sliding between your thighs to check if you were already wet.

And of-fucking-course you were.

“Christ,” he muttered, dragging two fingers through the slick mess between your legs. “Already?”

“You’ve been sleeping on me all night,” you teased. “But I’ve been waiting.”

Joel groaned like he was in pain. His cock, now fully hard, pressed against your thigh. “Turn around f’me,” he said, voice low and rough. “Wanna see your back. Wanna fuck you slow.”

You didn’t even hesitate, you rolled onto your stomach, your cheek pressed to the sheets, allowing your knees to part just a little wider. Your breath caught when you felt his hand on your hip, and those strong, grounding fingers curling tight as he pulled you back, lifting your ass just enough to arch your spine.

Joel knelt behind you, silent for a moment, except for the sound of his breathing already ragged, already thick with need. You felt the heat of him, the weight, the head of his cock nudging at your entrance, spreding your wetness all over him.

One hand stayed firm on your waist, anchoring you, while the other slid between your thighs, his fingers spreading you open, giving him that glorious sight of your dripping pussy ready for him to take.

A groan rumbled out of him, guttural and rough, as he sank into you in one long, endless thrust. Your mouth parted in a gasp, nails digging into the sheets as he filled you, completely, unbearably. Joel stayed there, buried to the hilt, savoring the feeling of the stretch, the heat, of how tight and deep he was inside you.

“Goddamn, baby,” he panted. “You feel so fuckin’ good.”

This time, he did last. It wasn't rushed or desperate, it was measured and every move fully intentional. He moved slow, achingly slow, each stroke dragging out like he was trying to etch the feeling into memory, like he wanted to learn every reaction you gave him, from the way you gasped when he pushed in deep, to the way your back arched when he hit just right, or the way your breath caught every time he bottomed out and stayed there.

His hands were strong, gripping your hips just tight enough to steady you, to keep you exactly where he wanted you, but his mouth, God, his mouth was so delicate. He leaned over your back, his soft lips brushed your skin as he whispered into it, half-words, half-sighs, things like “so fuckin’ good” and “can’t believe you’re mine right now” and “don’t want this to end.”

You could feel him shaking, trying to hold back, trying to savor it. By the time you came, face buried in the pillow, moaning his name like a confession, your body trembling and twitching under the weight of him — Joel was wrecked. You clenched around him so tight he choked on a groan, hips stuttering as he tried to hold on, tried to give you every last second of it. But he couldn’t, he couldn’t stand another pulse of you around him, couldn’t bear the heat and the slick and the way you pushed your hips back into his like you needed him even deeper.

And then...

"Fu—Shit—baby, s’goddman tight," Joel moaned. "Gonna cum.. gonna fill this pussy… fuck you feel too fuckin' good."

With a low, broken growl and one final, sharp snap of his hips, he came. It was slower this time, letting the pleasure drag through him, pulse after pulse as he buried himself to the hilt and stayed there.

You both stayed like that for a long time, your bodies sweaty and spent, letting the quietness surround you. Joel lay down beside you, arm curling around your waist, one hand stroking your thigh.

“I’m not goin’ anywhere,” he murmured.

You didn’t say anything, didn't feel like you had to, you just reached for his hand and held it against your chest, right where your heart was still pounding.

You didn’t notice the shift at first, the club was loud as ever, music pulsing, lights dim and heavy. The usuals were there — the old creeps, the quiet loners, the birthday blowouts. You worked the floor like you always did, smile painted on, skin shimmering under the low glow.

But the eyes were different tonight, they were sharper. The manager’s assistant, Stacey, was watching you like a hawk from the bar. Her arms were folded tight across her chest, lips pursed in that I know something way that always spelled trouble.

You tried not to let it rattle you, until she called you over.

“You got a second?” she asked flatly, already walking toward the back office. The way she said it didn't sound like a question, like you had a choice. Your stomach twisted, but you followed her anyway. The hallway behind the dressing rooms felt colder than usual, the hum of bass music faded behind the door as it clicked shut behind you.

Stacey didn’t sit. She leaned against the desk, arms still folded.

“So,” she said. “You been seeing clients outside the club?”

Your mouth went dry. “No.”

Her eyes narrowed. “That’s funny. ’Cause a little bird said you’ve been real close with that older guy. The one who keeps booking you, every week. The one who disappeared, then came back all moody and soft. And now, apparently, you've been out and about with him.”

Your heart thudded.

Stacey’s tone turned clipped. “That is against policy. You know that.”

“I didn’t sleep with him for money,” you said quickly. “It wasn’t a session. We just… got coffee.”

She gave you a look that could cut glass. “We’re not his fucking therapist, sweetheart, and we’re not a dating agency. You know how this works. Doesn’t matter if you got paid or not, you still broke the boundary. If a client finds out they can see you outside the club, what happens next? We lose control.”

“I didn’t mean to—”

“You did. You made a choice and now you gotta deal with it.”

You swallowed hard. “Am I fired?”

She didn’t answer right away, she ust stared at you for a long, heavy beat.

“Take a week off,” she said. “Come back and we’ll talk.”

You nodded, blood rushing in your ears.

“Leave now.”

You walked out with shaking hands.

⸻

Joel was waiting by his truck in one of the farthest parking lots, tucked away beneath the shadows of the night, where no one from the club could spot him. It had been like that for weeks now, your routine. He’d wait for you after work and drive you out to a diner on the edge of town, somewhere quiet, so you could grab a bite after your long shift. Most nights, you ended up at his place, or he’d crash at yours. Just to crawl into bed and hold each other until sleep came. He hadn’t touched you since that first night at your apartment, you had a feeling part of him was still carrying the guilt. Guilt over how things started, over keeping it quiet, about the fact that you still worked at the club, and this, whatever this was, had to stay a secret.

When he saw your face, he stood up straighter “What happened?”

You didn’t speak, just walked up to him, gripped his shirt, and buried your face in his chest. He wrapped his arms around you instantly, warm and steady.

“They know,” you said into his shirt. “About us.”

Joel’s arms tightened. “What d’you mean?”

“They know we saw each other outside the club. I broke the rules.”

You felt him go still.

Then: “Do I need to talk to someone?”

You looked up, brow furrowing. “Joel—no—”

“I ain’t gonna let ‘em treat you like shit. Not over me.”

You shook your head. “It’s not about how they treat me. It’s the rules. I knew what I was doing, I just didn’t care.”

He exhaled, jaw clenched. “But I care. I never wanted to get you in trouble.”

You smiled weakly. “Well, it’s a little too late for that.”

Joel cupped your face, calloused thumb brushing your cheek.

“Joel, I don’t think I can see you anymore.”

Joel’s brows drew together.

“What?”

“I broke the rules,” you said, your voice tight. “And it’s not just about time off. If I go back and someone’s still watching me, if they think we're together then I’ll lose everything. Not just a paycheck but my safety, my freedom. I’ve worked too damn hard to get where I am.”

Joel’s jaw tensed.

“I never wanted to take that from you.”

“I know you didn’t,” you said. “But that’s what’s happening, whether you meant to or not.”

He exhaled, rubbed a hand down his face. “Then don’t go back.”

You blinked. “What?”

“Stay with me.”

The silence that followed was so loud it hurt.

“I’m not some wounded bird you get to rescue, Joel,” you said, eyes sharp now. “I don’t want a man with a house and a truck and a savior complex to fix me. That’s not love, that’s a cage.”

Joel flinched, just barely, but you saw it.

“I’m not tryin’ to fix you,” he said, his voice so low you could barely hear him. “I’m tryin’ to keep you safe.”

“I’ve kept myself safe,” you snapped. “For years. Before you even walked in that club lookin’ like you hated every second of being there.”

Joel swallowed, but said nothing.

You stepped closer. “I like you. God help me. But I don’t know you. Not really. And if you really cared about me, you’d understand why that matters.”

He looked at you, like he was trying to memorize your face, then he nodded, just once.

“Alright,” he said quietly. “If that’s what you need.”

You stared at him, heart hammering.

“I need time,” you said. “And space. And maybe… someday. But not now. Not if the price is my freedom.”

Joel didn’t argue, didn’t beg, he just stepped forward, tucked a piece of hair behind your ear, and kissed your forehead.

Then he got into his truck.

And let you go.

You thought space would help, but all it did was open the door to silence. Joel didn’t text you, didn’t call you. You told him you needed time and he listened, you should’ve been grateful, should’ve felt respected.

Instead, it felt like being left behind. Who were you trying to fool? Maybe you were only ever a fantasy to him — the poor stripper who needed rescuing. And once he realized you didn’t want saving, that you didn’t need it… he got bored. Left you behind.

But then he showed up again — four days into your week off — standing at your door with a stiff jaw and tired eyes, and the wrong words came out before you could stop them.

“You really didn’t think I meant it, huh?” you snapped, arms crossed in the doorway. “That I’d just cave and come running back?”

"What's gotten into you?" Joel’s eyes narrowed. “I came to check on you.”

“Yeah? Bit late for that. Don’t you think?”

His nostrils flared. “You said you needed space.”

“I said I didn’t want to be rescued,” you corrected. “Didn’t mean disappear off the face of the fucking earth.”

He took a step closer. “Ya wanted time. I gave it to you. Now you’re mad I respected that?”

“I’m mad you didn’t fight for me!” you shouted.

That stopped him cold, and the worst part was that you didn’t even plan to say it. It just spilled out of you — the cold, ugly truth. You’d tried to push him away, building walls as high as you could. But deep down? You didn’t want him to walk away. You wanted him to break through those walls, to prove he was willing to fight for you. That he could take it all, the mess of your life, the fear and the damage — and still want you anyway.

“I don’t understand you. First, you want me to leave you alone—say you need time. An’ when I give that to you, you get pissed at me,” he said, voice tight with frustration. “I think you’re the one who doesn’t know what she wants.”

You flinched. Not because he was wrong, but because he wasn’t. You were truly lost, you wanted Joel, but you didn't want to lose everything you've worked so hard for.

You both stood there for a second, breathing hard.

Joel’s voice dropped cold. “You said no and I listened. Ain’t gonna chase someone who thinks bein’ wanted is a threat.”

You flinched, but Joel didn't stop.

“You think I’m tryin’ to own you? Tie you down? Maybe I just wanted to make sure you had somethin’ solid for once. A soft bed. A goddamn quiet night.”

“I never asked for that.”

“No,” he growled, “but you liked it when it was my hands between your legs and my arms around you when you slept.”

That landed like a slap. You stepped back, fury rising like bile.

“Fuck you, Joel.”

Joel’s eyes burned. “Yeah, fuck me, darlin’.”

Your chest rose and fell with heavy, panicked breaths. He looked furious and hurt, but so were you.

“You think because you came back that it means something. But you only did it to feel good about yourself.”

Joel’s jaw ticked.

“Maybe you’re right,” he muttered. “Maybe I shoulda stayed gone.”

You stared.

“Yeah,” you said. “Maybe you should have.”

He slammed the door shut without looking back.

⸻

You didn’t expect him to come back again. After the door slam and after what you said, but around midnight, there was a knock. You told yourself you wouldn't answer, but you opened it anyway. Joel stood in the hallway, still wearing the same denim jacket, like he hadn’t gone home, like maybe he’d been pacing around your block for hours, wrestling himself.

“‘M not here to fix anythin’,” he said, voice rough. “Not here to fight.”

You stood in the doorway, arms crossed tight against your chest, trying not to tremble. He looked exhausted, but his eyes were wild and pinned on you.

“I shouldn’t’ve said what I did,” he added. “Any of it.”

You bit your cheek, but your voice still cracked. “Right.”

Silence stretched between you, until Joel exhaled, stepped past the threshold without waiting for permission.

You didn’t stop him, couldn't even if you tried, because your chest was tight, your eyes burned, and your whole body ached with it, not just the fight, but the way it felt after. The emptiness that came when he walked away, the helpless, the hollow guilt after having pushed him away again and again. So when he stepped closer, you didn’t argue, you grabbed his jacket, dragged him in by the collar, and kissed him like it hurt, like you needed to make it hurt.

Joel groaned against your mouth, hands already rough on your hips, walking you backwards into the wall with the weight of him pressing into you like a punishment.

“Still mad?” he rasped.

You nodded. “So mad.”

“Good.”

His hand fisted in your hair. His mouth crushed yours, teeth grazing, tongues colliding, unsteady and unrepentant. You didn’t bother with the bedroom, just yanked his belt open and dropped to your knees right there in the hall.

His back hit the wall with a dull thud, hands twitching at his sides like he didn’t know whether to touch you or hold on for dear life. You pulled him free, thick, hot, already half-hard and twitching with need, the head flushed dark and glistening with precum. He groaned when the cool air hit him, when your hand wrapped around the base and your lips slid over the tip in one long, deliberate pull.

You sucked him slow, with purpose, your tongue swirling lazily, lips tight and warm, working inch by inch down his length while your eyes never left his, you wanted him to see it, to feel the way you worshipped every inch of his glorious cock, to feel the way your jaw went slack just to take more of him.

His fingers finally found your hair, not yanking, not forcing, just curling in tight, like it was the only thing tethering him to earth. You hummed around him, let the vibration run down the length of him like a promise, and then sank deeper.

“Fuck—” he groaned, bracing one hand on the wall above you, the other still gripping your hair. “Don’t deserve this.”

“No,” you whispered, tongue dragging along his slit. “You don’t.”

You pulled back just enough to tease the tip with your tongue, just a soft flick, a slow circle, and then took him deep again, letting him feel all of you, the heat, the pressure, the control. Your fingers gripped his thighs as you worked him, unrelenting but tender, every motion a deliberate promise.

“Jesus—shit—you got the most perfect mouth, baby.”

You pulled off just before he could finish, stroking him slow, then fast, eyes locked on his while you licked your lips.

“Fuck me,” you said. “Right now.”

Joel grabbed you without warning, hauling you up like you weighed nothing. He spun you around and bent you over your couch, shoving your chest into the cushions, your ass up and waiting for him, you were already dripping wet from just sucking his cock, from just hearing the little moans and groans he let out.

He yanked your panties to the side and drove into you in one brutal, desperate thrust. You cried out, the sound half-pain, half-shock, your body stretching around him so fast it burned.

“Fuck—” he growled through clenched teeth, already slamming into you again, harder this time, deeper.

Your cheek was crushed into the cushions, breath punched out of you with every thrust. One of his hands pressed between your shoulder blades, keeping you down, pinning you in place like he couldn’t risk you pulling away. The other gripped your hip, bruising, fingers digging into flesh as he used your body like it was the only way he knew how to say I’m sorry, like if he fucked you deep enough, hard enough, fast enough, he could undo everything.

There were no words, just the sound of skin slapping skin, your soft gasps, his low groans, and the thick, obscene drag of him inside you.

“What bout now? Mad?” he growled, panting against your neck.

You whimpered. “Yes.”

“Stay mad. Want you like this.”

He was thick, and heavy, and deep, splitting you open with every punishing thrust, your soaked pussy was gripping him tight, fluttering around him like your body couldn’t help it. You clenched down every time your name spilled from his lips like a curse, broken and breathless.

“Oh, fuck, Joel—Don’t stop.”

"’M not stoppin’ till I’m fuckin’ empty. Gonna fill you up n’ make sure you feel it f’days."

He snarled low against your skin, teeth grazing your shoulder hard enough to make you gasp, not quite biting, but just a warning. His rough and hungry fingers found your clit, rubbing fast, sloppy circles that made your hips jolt against his.

You came with a loud and uncontrollable cry, your back arching like a bow, hips jolting as your body clamped down around him, dragging him over the edge with you. Joel lost it, he cursed, pulling you back hard onto him with a bruising grip as he spilled inside you, painting your insides with warm ropes of his thick cum.

“Ngggh. Fuck—fuck—take it, baby—”

He collapsed over your back, his chest heaving, arms wrapped tight around your waist as if he could hold the moment there, keep it from slipping away. You were both slick with sweat, still trembling, your breaths coming in uneven bursts.

Neither of you spoke for a long time, when he finally pulled out, you felt the slick mess of him dripping down your thighs. Joel turned you, cradled your face with his rough palms, his thumb brushed your lip.

“I’m still mad too,” he whispered. “But I’d rather be mad with you than nothin’ at all.”

Your chest ached, and you nodded, letting him kiss you soft, letting him stay. No matter the uncertainties clouding your mind, tonight you needed him by your side, the doubts could wait until tomorrow.

You didn’t sleep much, Joel did, eventually. His breath heavy against the back of your neck, his arm slung over your waist like it had always belonged there.

You watched the ceiling, because even with his body tangled up in yours, nothing was fixed, the rules hadn’t changed, you were still on thin ice at the club. You’d broken the unbreakables: no dating clients, no seeing them outside, no taking anything personal. The kind of rules that got people dropped fast.

He stirred just after dawn, grunting softly, pressing his face against your shoulder with a raspy, “Mornin’.”

You didn’t answer right away. He felt it, the tension creeping back between you, no longer fueled by sex or anger, just reality.

“Y’okay?” he murmured.

You turned slowly to face him. Joel blinked at you, brows pulling together, voice low and tired but sincere.

“You regrettin’ it already?”

“No,” you whispered. “It's not like that.”

His hand brushed down your side. “Then what?”

You sat up, pulling your knees to your chest.

“I can’t do this.”

Joel sat up too. “You just did.”

“No, I mean I still can’t… be with you.”

“Because of your job?”

You nodded. “If we keep this up It's not gonna be a week off next time I show up, I’m probably gonna get fired.”

Joel frowned, voice sharp. “Then don’t go back.”

You turned your head to glare at him. “It’s not that simple.”

“Sure as hell is. You don’t owe them shit.”

You scoffed. “I owe myself. That job pays my rent, my phone, my groceries. It’s mine, Joel.”

“And what, I’m supposed to just sit here while you get punished for bein’ with me?”

You looked away.

His voice softened. “I can take care of you. It ain’t charity, it’s me wantin’ you safe, wantin’ you happy.”

You laughed bitterly. “So what, I quit, move in with you, and what? Let you pay for everything while I sit around hoping I don’t piss you off someday and get left with nothing?”

Joel’s jaw clenched. “That what you think I’d do?”

“I don’t know!” you snapped. “I don’t know you that much, Joel..”

That shut both of you up, the room went quiet except for the hum of the heater. You rubbed your hands over your face and whispered “I want you. That’s not the problem.”

Joel’s voice was low. “Then what is?”

“I want you without giving everything else up.”

He watched you carefully, his fingers twitched like he wanted to reach for you, but he didn’t.

“I can’t go from surviving to being saved,” you said. “Even if it’s you.”

He nodded slowly, a heavy kind of understanding in his eyes.

Then: “You ever think maybe there’s a way it ain’t one or the other?”

You blinked, and Joel leaned back, hands braced on his knees, thinking out loud now. “What if you quit the club, yeah? But not for me, for you. And in the meantime, we figure out somethin’ else. Some other way you work, stay on your feet, and on your terms. I help, sure, but not as some white knight. Just… someone who gives a shit.”

You stared at him, he looked tired but sincere. No pride or ego in his voice, just the warmth of someone who cares.

“You’d really be okay with that?” you asked, wary.

Joel huffed. “You think I want you miserable just so I can say you’re mine?”

Your heart tugged. He didn’t want a damsel in distress to rescue just so he could play the hero and soothe his ego. No, he wanted to help you without taking away the independence you’d fought so hard to build. All your life, you’d believed that relying on other people made you weak, that needing someone was a flaw, a crack in your armor, because they could leave at any moment, but maybe… maybe accepting help from someone who genuinely cared didn’t make you weak at all, maybe it made you stronger.

“Let me help without takin’ your power from you,” Joel said. “Please.”

You looked up, finally.

“I’ll try.”

Joel reached for your hand and you let him hold it, for the first time since all this started, hope felt real.

⸻

The next morning, Joel came back. He knocked like it was his house already, with a bag of diner coffee and two breakfast sandwiches that were too heavy on bacon and eggs.

You blinked at him in the doorway, still in a tank top and underwear, sleep in your eyes.

“I don’t remember asking for greasy meat in my mouth before 9 a.m.,” you mumbled, but took the bag anyway.

Joel smirked. “Don’t tempt me.”

You rolled your eyes and stepped back to let him in.

He looked… energized, like he’d actually slept, like his wheels had been turning all night, and he’d finally settled on something.

“So,” he said, sitting at your tiny kitchen table while you sipped your too-hot coffee, “I had an idea.”

You raised an eyebrow. “Uh oh.”

He ignored that. “I got a renovation job comin’ up. House flip, just outside of town. Empty place, full gut. Nothin’ fancy, just sweat work. But it’s mine start to finish.”

You nodded slowly. “Okay…”

Joel leaned back. “Come work it with me.”

You blinked. “Come what?”

He looked dead serious. “Work for me. With me.”

You laughed out loud. “Joel, I don’t know how to build houses.”

He didn’t even flinch. “Don’t need you to. There’s all kinds of work on a job site. Cleanup, paintin’, hell, I’ll teach you how to lay tile if you want.”

You stared at him. “This is your big plan?” you asked. “Make me your construction intern?”

Joel shrugged. “It’s a job. One that don’t involve you bein’ gawked at by drunk assholes or threatened with rules that ain’t fair. You said you wanted independence, so here, work with me. I’ll pay fair n’ you'll learn somethin’ new. An’ we don’t have to pretend not to care about each other.”

You looked away, unsure what the hell to even say. It sounded ridiculous, you, swinging hammers and hauling trash bags, Joel in his beat-up flannel, wiping sweat off his brow while you fumble your way through using a power drill.

It also sounded… oddly nice, maybe even safe, safer than you've ever been in your entire life.

“You really think I could do it?” you asked quietly.

Joel’s voice softened. “I know you could.”

You let the silence stretch while you stared at your coffee cup, the steam curling upward like it might hide your thoughts.

“Listen, darlin’, it doesn’t have to be forever if you don’t love it. Just somethin’ steady f’now. Safe. It can give you time, y’know? Time to figure out what you really wanna do with your life. I’ll be here while you do.”

Finally, you said, “If I’m terrible at it, you can’t fire me.”

Joel smirked. “We’ll put that in the contract.”

“You’re gonna make me sign a contract?”

“Damn right, can’t have my newest hire causin’ HR problems.”

You grinned, and for the first time in what felt like days, the weight on your chest lifted just enough for you to breathe.

Joel leaned across the table, his fingers brushing yours.

“Let me build somethin’ with you,” he said softly. “Even if it’s just drywall n’ sawdust for now.”

Your heart thudded stupid and loud, and you nodded once. “Alright, boss.”

"Don't start callin' me boss, darlin’." He chuckled warmly, the kind of sound that made you feel like everything was gonna be okay. "If you do, there won’t be any work gettin’ done."

You weren’t his to save, and he wasn’t your hero. But maybe, just maybe, there was something worth building between you. Not out of pity or guilt, but out of something real. Something honest. For Joel, you were willing to try. Willing to let him in, piece by piece.

A/N: I’m seriously head over heels over the amount of sweet comments the first part got, seriously like ????? You guys are amazing and I love y’all sososososo much. Not exaggerating, you made my entire week, month, year🥹🩷

I really hope you enjoyed this second (and final) part too!! And if you were expecting a sad, angsty ending… well, too bad, because I’m simply incapable of writing that.

Thanks again for all the likes, reblogs and comments, it’s so nice to know you enjoyed it!!

Might do an epilogue one day? We’ll see, I’m not opposed to the idea.

taglist: @pillow-princess-69 @glitterspark @maiamore @sophiagladiator @lostboys1987girl @thecatgurly @pedrofan @untamedheart81 @billionairecowgirl @bueschibaby @babyangelc @cloudywithachanceofcrisis @joelsslvts @pinkiec6-rubi @preciosapascal @aquanatalie @elanorasdiary @littledes1re @bit3mebabyx @glitterfartz08 @lunarlilith @theoraekenslover @danika1994 @chrrypascal @puduvallee @ainhoetaaa @yournameiswhat @idfkimhereforsmut @millercontracting @professional-fangirrrl @athena-shifterx @havensucks @wand-erer5 @thaliagracesgf @ashleyfilm @warmdragonfly @pedros-wifey @ivyinthesun so sorry if I forgot anyone.

Yet, there you were, tangled together in the worn mattress of your queen-sized bed. His right arm was folded below his head. His left was slung over your waist, holding you close to him as your head rested on his firm chest.

His heartbeat thudded softly beneath your ear. Steady. Familiar. Like a wordless promise to you that he was there. That last night, whatever it was, meant something.

Growl.

You froze.

Even more insistent, groooowl.

Apparently, there were three people in your bed: you, Joel, and your appetite.

As carefully as you could, you freed yourself from Joel’s embrace. He frowned, grunted petulantly in protest, and muttered your name in his sleep, before turning on his side. 

And then, you pulled on a ratty old shirt and a pair of sleep shorts before quietly making your way downstairs, careful to avoid the second-to-the-last step of the staircase that always creaked.

The kitchen was still bathed in the golden glow of the early morning, light filtering in through the blinds in soft stripes. You padded across the cold floor and got to work.

Coffee, first. Then, as the machine did its job, eggs.

Eggs for two, just like before.

You stared down at the sizzling pan as if you were waiting for it to answer the question you were too scared to ask.

What now?

Because last night, Joel told you he still loved you. 

Because you had kissed him, and he kissed you back, and he made love to you in your bathroom, of all places. 

Because, instead of kicking him out, you pulled him to your bed and slept in his arms. 

Because this morning, you wanted everything back. You wanted him back.

You rubbed your hand down your face and gave the eggs a stir. And then you turned toward the staircase at the muffled sound of soft, sleepy footsteps.

Speak of the devil.

Joel appeared by the doorway, hair dishevelled from sleep, gloriously shirtless, eyes half-lidded and tender.

“You makin’ us breakfast?” He said, voice low and slightly raspy.

“No, all this is just for me. But I’m sure the McDonald’s a few blocks down is open if you’re hungry.” You deadpanned, smiling to yourself and returning your attention to the eggs.

“Ha-ha.” Joel hummed sleepily and ventured nearer.

The two of you fell into what had been your daily routine. Joel fished out two mugs from the cabinet above the dishwasher and finished the coffee (milk and sugar for yours, black for him), right as you scraped the eggs off the pan onto two plates.

And, there you were, sitting across the kitchen table from the man you thought you’d lost forever.

“So.” You poked at your eggs with your fork.

“So,” Joel echoed, glancing up at you as he brought his mug to his lips.

“Are we gonna … talk about it?” 

Joel blinked, then set his mug down. “What, last night?”

“Yeah. Last night.” You pushed around a clump of your breakfast. 

“What about it?” His brows furrowed.

“Did you mean it?”

Your mind flashed with his sweet nothings. His confessions of longing and love and all else. 

Joel’s gaze softened. “Every word.”

“Okay.” Your heart felt a little lighter. “Well, then, I’d like for us to try again.”

Smiling, he replied, “I’d like that, very much, baby.” 

“Okay,” You said again, smiling right back at him.

“Okay.” He repeated, reaching across the table for your hand, softly lacing your fingers together.

And at that moment, you wanted to thank the stars above and the ineffable mercy of the universe for giving you a second chance. 

For letting you find your way back to him, and him to you.

You shook your head, laughing. “My lawyer’s gonna have a field day.”

“You think you’ll get a refund?” He raised an eyebrow, lips pulling into a grin.

“Nope.” You clicked your tongue. “Maybe I’ll get my next divorce half-off, though.”

Joel chuckled and looked at you with this quiet, reverent warmth floating in the richness of his dark brown eyes that said he was falling deeper in love with you all over again.

Because he was. And, god help him, he didn’t remember how not to be.

Scooping the last of his eggs off his plate, he then pushed his chair back and stood.

“I’m gonna take a shower.” He walked by you to press a kiss to the crown of your head. “And then… well, we can sort the rest of this out.”

“Okay.” You smiled.

He then shot you a quick wink, and you watched as he disappeared up the stairs, basking in the afterglow of his lips still tingling on your scalp.

And the house went quiet, save for the occasional creak of the pipes and faint sound of running water from the upstairs ensuite.

You stared down into your coffee.

It was still slightly hard to process the dramatic turn of events hurled very suddenly toward you at full force. Just last week, you were negotiating which major holidays you’d get to spend with Sarah (no, Joel could not get Christmas in exchange for St Patrick’s Day—when in your life have you all celebrated St Patrick’s Day?), and now you were very eagerly ‘trying again’.

Not that you were complaining.

You’d try again a hundred more times if that were what it took to be with him again.

Smiling like an idiot, you rose from your chair and collected your plate in your hands, reaching over to stack it on top of Joel’s.

And, at that exact moment, the front door swung open, and a voice called:

“Mom? I’m home!”

You froze in place.

A few seconds later, your twelve-year-old daughter strolled into the kitchen.

“Oh, hey, mom.” She passed you a weary smile, setting down her duffel bag on the table.

“Sarah! You’re home early.” You breathed, voice an octave higher and excessively bright. “I thought your grandparents were still keeping you hostage at the lake house.”

“Yeah, well, Papa threw his back out trying to reel in a muskie.” She rolled her eyes, then walked over to the fridge to pull out a Capri-Sun. “Grandma had to drive us home so he could get checked out quickly. Nagged him the whole way back ‘cause her license expired back when I was still teething, apparently.”

You forced an overly responsive laugh.

It sounded less like a laugh and more like a startled cough that got lost halfway through a choke.

Sarah arched a brow, stabbing into the juice pack. “What’s up with you?”

“Nothing, bug.” You shook your head, glancing at the staircase. 

“Okay.” Sarah dragged out the syllables, eyeing you over suspiciously. “How was your date yesterday?”

You choked. “Fine.” 

And that was when Sarah’s eyes landed on the two plates you were holding tightly to your chest. Then they moved over to the two mugs sitting opposite each other on the table. And then, over to the pan on the stove littered with fresh egg residue.

“Right.” She made a face, then trudged over to sling her duffel bag over her shoulder. “I’ll see myself out until your guy leaves.”

“Sarah–”

“It’s fine.” She marched back toward the entryway. “I’ll go play outside, for once, or something. Aren’t you always saying that I should do that?”

Should you tell her?

You pressed your lips together, watching her shove her feet back in her worn Converse. “Sarah, would you stop for a second?”

Yeah, you should probably tell her that her dad’s ‘the guy’ upstairs.

Sarah bent down to tie her laces. “Mom, I don’t want to be traumatised by—”

And then her eyes widened.

She straightened up and shot you a look that was some amalgamation of disbelief and extreme confusion, nodding towards the welcome mat.

“Are those…dad’s boots?”

Shit.

To make matters worse, apparently, amidst all the kerfuffle, you had failed to notice that the shower had stopped running a good few minutes ago. And, right after Sarah’s astute observation, Joel descended the stairs. Hair slightly wet and wearing the flannel from yesterday evening.

“Good news, sweetheart, your sink’s  still busted, but your shower’s—Sarah?”  

The colour drained from his face.

“Dad?” She gaped back at him.

And suddenly, you somehow found yourself locked in what appeared to be a modern-day Western Standoff, except, instead of the threat of gunfire, there was the threat of someone saying something to make this situation even more unbearable.

For a good few seconds, there was absolute stillness.

No one moved. No one spoke. A bird chirped from somewhere outside, completely unaware of the domestic chaos unravelling within the house.

Ultimately, Joel decided to break the silence.

“Hey, kiddo.” He said casually, attempting a relaxed smile. “What are you … doin’ here?”

You held yourself back from facepalming into an early death.

“I could ask you the same thing.” She narrowed her gaze at him. “How long have you been here?”

Joel looked at you. You looked at Joel. Joel looked at Sarah. Sarah looked at you. Everyone looked at the boots.

“Not long.” You cleared your throat. “My sink was broken. Your dad was just helping me. With my sink.”

Smooth.

“So, you called him at eight in the morning and he took a shower in your bathroom?” Sarah said slowly.

“Well, you know your father. Always up at the crack of dawn.” You breathed, trying to sound breezy. Your voice was nothing of the sort.

“Just can’t help it.” Joel nodded.

Sarah blinked once.

Then twice.

And then looked between the two of you, wholly unconvinced, crossing her arms and somehow adopting the role of higher authority in this predicament.

“You two are being weird.” Was her final verdict.

You sighed and glanced at Joel before turning toward your daughter.

“Look,” You began, gently stepping toward her. “This is new. Like, very new. But … your dad and I are just figuring things out.”

“As in,” Sarah’s eyebrows knitted together. “You’re un-divorced?”

“Not really a word, pumpkin.” Joel offered helpfully. “But we’re back together, yes.”

He caught your eye and gave you a small, reassuring smile.

Sarah’s expression softened.

“Jeez. I’m gone for three days, and this is what I miss?” She shook her head and waltzed back inside, past you and Joel, toward the stairs. Before she could set foot on the bottom step, she paused and faced the two of you. “I’m glad you two are whatever you are, but can we talk about this after I’ve taken a nap?”

Joel let out a huff of laughter. “Go and get some shut-eye, pumpkin.”

Sarah shrugged, already halfway up. “Cool. Just, like … warn me next time, maybe. I don’t wanna see things I can’t unsee.”

Your face heated. “Sarah!” 

“What?” She called over her shoulder. “It would be extremely harmful to my development!”

And with that, she headed upstairs.

You turned toward Joel, wincing. “Think that could’ve gone better?”

Joel crossed his arms and leaned against the wall. 

“Probably.” He sighed. “But, at least that’s over with. Telling our kid, I mean.”

“Right. Next up is telling family.” A shudder ran through your spine.

Joel smiled softly and beckoned you closer with a curl of his finger.

You acquiesced, moving to stand right in front of him. His hands immediately settled on your hips, softly caressing whatever exposed skin his thumbs found.

“We don’t have to tell everyone just yet, if you’re scared, baby.” He said, voice low and sweet and reassuring, his eyes holding yours like a lifeline.

“I want to.” You placed your hands on his chest, fingers fanning out and feeling the steady rise and fall beneath them. “Just … not how we told Sarah.”

“Agreed.” Joel leaned forward to kiss your forehead, closing his eyes as he did so.

You felt yourself smile.

“Next time I stay over, I’ll hide the evidence,” Joel mumbled.

“Stay over?” You pulled back to look up at him.

Joel looked back at you quizzically, a wrinkle making itself known in between his eyebrows.

“Yeah…?” He blinked. “We … well, we aren’t embracin’ some form of celibacy, are we?”

“No, I mean—I thought you were gonna move back in. Eventually.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah,” You inhaled, suddenly feeling your chest tighten. “Or, not. You know, it’s a very big thing, and I’d completely understand if you wanted to keep living in your apartment. I’m just offering it since, you know, we’re working things out and maybe it’d be easier to share a single … living space. Eventually. Not, like, tomorrow. Unless you want—”

Joel smiled. “Baby?”

You winced. “Uh-huh?”

“You’re ramblin’.”

“Am I?”

“Yes, ma’am.” Joel hummed fondly, bringing a hand up to trace his thumb along your lower lip. “‘Course I’ll move back in.” He then pulled you into him, wrapping an arm around your waist, and kissing you like it settled the matter.

Your lips moved slowly against his, savouring the tenderness of his touch and the warmth of his body against yours.

Before you knew it, he spun you around so that your back hit the wall, all but caging you in against it.

A breathless gasp slipped from your mouth, so he took the opportunity to slip his tongue past your lips and—

“Seriously? I leave you two alone for one second.”

You both tore yourselves apart like you were struck by lightning, finding your daughter shaking her head at you.

“Came down to get my bag.” Sarah coughed, holding up her duffel.

“Sorry, kiddo.” Joel ran a hand through his hair.

“Gross.” She muttered under her breath, retreating back to her room.

You held back a laugh, returning your attention to Joel and trailing a hand down his impossibly broad chest.

“You wanna … take this somewhere else, big guy?” You tilted your head, a certain glint of mischievousness dancing in your eyes.

Joel’s eyes darkened, and a smirk carved through his scruff. Right when he opened his mouth to respond to your suggestion, however, an exasperated grunt echoed down the stairs:

“I can still hear you!”

You both burst into laughter.

It had been a few weeks since you and Joel decided to get back together—a very good few weeks, at that. 

Life seemed to fall into place perfectly.

Joel moved back in, you two were attending Sarah’s soccer matches at the same time, and nothing at all was going wrong.

Until it all went wrong.

“Dad,” You balanced the phone between your ear and your shoulder as you wiped down your bathroom mirror, already regretting your choice to heavy-clean your ensuite on your day off from work. “Aren’t you afraid you’ll pop out one of your hip replacements or something? 

“It’s just fishing. Besides, why have a lakehouse if you can’t even use it this often?”

“The doctor said—”

A hearty chuckle sounded from the other line.

“Peanut, you sound just like your mother. The doctor can say all she wants, but nothing gives her the right to dictate my life!”

“No, no, just a fancy little medical degree.” You grumbled, rubbing at a particularly stubborn smudge in the glass.

“You only live once.” Was his fortified argument.

You resisted the urge to roll your eyes, opting to let out a long sigh instead. 

Evidently, he heard it.

“I’m fine. Really.” Your dad insisted. “In fact, better than fine. Reeled in quite the catch yesterday.”

“Oh yeah?” You said distractedly, spritzing the mirror with more glass cleaner.

“Oh yeah.” Your dad parroted, a big, proud grin in his voice. “Caught myself a whopper yesterday—a big ol’ largemouth bass that fought me tooth and nail. Then there was that sneaky little crappie hiding under the dock. Darn slippery fella. Literally. Almost slipped right through my hands. Oh, and don’t get me started on the catfish. Little guy had the longest whiskers I’d seen, too.”

You tried to focus, but your stomach twisted with a sudden sharpness. You set the rag and glass cleaner bottle down.

“Dad, hold on—” You started, but he wasn’t done.

“Had to wrestle that sucker outta the mud, muddy as all get-out, slime glistening in the sun, gills flapping like a crazy bird. It was a damn enthusiastic fighter. I swear, Peanut, if I weren’t as strong as I am, I would’ve lost.”

Your vision blurred a little, and your hand flew up to your mouth.

“Dad, wait, hold on—”

Before you could say anything else, your stomach flipped violently, and you dashed to kneel in front of the toilet, dropping your phone as you felt yourself give way to what had been your breakfast.

The sound of your dad’s voice echoed faintly over the phone. “You alright, darlin’?”

Holding yourself up with an iron grip on the toilet seat, you let out a long breath.

Don’t puke again. Don’t puke again. Don’t puke again.

“Yeah, just—can I call you back, Dad?” You managed, slowly reaching for your phone.

“‘Course. I'd better get back to the lake, anyway. Give Porn Stache and my little Sarah-Banana my love.”

“He has a name, Dad.” You smiled weakly.

“He’s gotta earn it back after the divorce.”

“We’re not divorced anymore.”

“You know what I mean.”

And, with the routine exchange of ‘I-love-you’s, you ended the call, squeezing your eyes shut and letting your head hang above the toilet bowl.

This wasn’t normal.

‘This’ being, spontaneously hurling your guts out without preamble or provocation. And people don’t just throw up for fun.

A tiny, traitorous voice elbowed its way to the front of your mind. Unless…

No.

No, you couldn’t be. There was no need to panic; you had an IUD.

Sitting yourself on the toilet seat, you very ungracefully spread your legs and felt your way up your walls.

No strings. No IUD. 

Maybe there was a need to panic.

You sighed, angling your head up at the ceiling. There was only one way to test the very realistic hypothesis you didn’t dare say, let alone think, aloud.

So, you cleaned yourself up, grabbed your car keys, and headed to the nearest drug store.

When Joel came home a few hours later, you were already waiting for him at the kitchen table.

He stepped through the doorway, boots heavy against the hardwood, and froze mid-step upon seeing you there. Because you were stone-faced, worrying your lower lip with your upper teeth, and clasping your hands over the table like you always did when you had to get something off your chest.

Joel’s eyebrows knitted together. “Sweetheart? You okay?”

He tentatively neared you.

You didn’t answer. Not right away. You hadn’t exactly prepared a speech in all the hours you had before Joel ended work.

“Baby, you’re scarin’ me.” He whispered, taking another step.

And then, he knelt down in front of you, taking your hands in his and gently running his thumbs over your knuckles.

“Don’t get mad.” You bit the inside of your cheek.

“Now, why would I get mad?” A delicate kiss to your left wrist.

“Because…”

You took a breath. No sense in sugarcoating this.

“I’m pregnant.”

The words slipped out like they didn’t belong to you.

Understandably, Joel’s eyes widened to the size of saucers.

“You’re pregnant?” He repeated, slowly, voice barely surpassing that of a whisper.

You nodded and pulled away to reach to the side, pulling a little brown bag from the drugstore onto the table and tipping it over. Three sticks clattered out.

All positive.

“Before you say anything,” You hugged yourself, watching as Joel’s mind buffered. “Yes, it’s yours. Yes, I thought I had an IUD. Apparently, it fell out. No, I didn’t know before today.”

Joel was still oddly quiet.

Your heart violently pounded against your ribs like it was trying to break free.

“Say something.” You whispered. “Please.”

“I don’t quite know what to say.” Joel shook his head, his eyes meeting yours. 

“Anything. Say anything.” You braced yourself for the worst.

“I mean, I’m thrilled—”

What?

“You’re thrilled?” You echoed, not entirely convinced.

“Yeah, fuck, sweetheart. I am. Thrilled, but awfully caught off-guard.” Joel ran a hand down his face.

A breathy laugh escaped from his mouth, and he leaned slightly back on his heels.

“I mean, one minute I’m patchin’ drywall in someone’s guest bathroom, and the next, you’re tellin’ me I’m gonna be a dad again.” His voice cracked a little on the last word, but the big smile growing on his face told you that he harboured no trace of fear or devastation at all.

You blinked.

“So… you’re okay with this?”

Joel’s smile widened.

“I love you, baby. ‘Case that weren’t clear enough.” He took your hands in his again, your fingers dwarfed in his big calloused palms. He squeezed your hands gently in a wordless reassurance. “And, I’ve already been fortunate enough to have one incredible kid with you. The thought of doin’ it again … well, that ain’t somethin’ I’d complain about in a million years.”

You were speechless for a moment, lost in the magnetic pull of his impossibly warm, sincere eyes.

God, you loved him.

“This was not how I thought this conversation would go.” You admitted.

“You really thought I’d run for the hills?” Joel chuckled, shoulders bobbing.

“Fifty-fifty.”

He grinned even wider, the wrinkles creasing the edges of his eyes disappearing.

Then, he opened his mouth to say something. And then, apparently, decided against it, pressing his lips together. 

You tilted your head to the side. “What is it?”

Joel shook his head and ran a hand through his hair, hesitating again.

“Ah shit,” He eventually muttered. “I was hopin’ to make this a little more special.”

“Make what more special?” You arched a brow.

“Stay right there, sweetheart, don’t you move.”

Before you could ask another question, Joel turned on his heel and bolted out of the kitchen. Judging by the quick, dull thuds ascending the stairs, he had run off to the second floor.

You sat there, stunned.

A full minute passed. Then two. The faint sounds of drawers opening and shutting drifted down the stairs. Almost a ruckus enough to drown out a muffled string of quiet curses. 

It didn’t take long for Joel to return after that.

And when he did, he held his hands behind his back and smiled brightly.

“Joel, what are you…?” You laughed.

But the breath from your lungs was stolen for you when he slowly knelt in front of you, revealing what he was looking for upstairs.

Small. Silver. Studded with a single shining diamond. Princess-cut, of course, you picked it out yourself.

“Is that…?” You whispered, covering your mouth with your hands.

“Yeah,” Joel nodded, eyes soft. “Yeah, it is.”

You shook your head slowly. “You were supposed to sell it.”

“Well, I didn’t.” He gave you a sheepish little look. “Y’know, for safekeepin’.”

You didn’t know what to say. Your eyes kept flicking between his face and the ring.

Your ring.

“Are you … proposing again?”

“Is it that obvious?” He raised his eyebrows, gasping slightly theatrically.

You lightly smacked his shoulder, rolling your eyes, but failed to disguise the wide beam forming on your face. “You don’t have to—”

“I know.” Joel interrupted softly. “I want to.”

He drew in a breath, steadying himself and glancing down at the ring in his hands.

“I was gonna wait a little while longer ‘til I did this again. Let things settle, maybe find the right moment. But, well, I feel like this is the right moment.”

And he looked up at you.

And, seeing the tenderness on his face, you already knew the answer to the question he hadn’t even asked yet.

“I love you. And I am dead-set on doin’ things right, this time around. I’ll take out the trash more, cook on weeknights, hell—I’ll even go to those damn parent-teacher meetings. Long as I get to be with you again. Because you’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me, and I ain’t lettin’ you go this time.”

You blinked fast, attempting to overcome the emotion swelling in your chest and threatening to leak out of your eyes.

“Meant what I said that night,” Joel murmured, bringing your knuckles against his lips, eyes still holding onto yours. “You’re it for me. You’re everything. Always will be.”

He exhaled, the tension in his shoulders softening as he held your gaze.

“So.” He cracked a shy little smile. “If it weren’t clear enough until now, I’d like to marry you, if you’ll have me. And I’ll spend every last breath I have lovin’ you like you deserve. And you deserve far more than I can give, but I’m willing to try my damndest, anyway.”

Joel raised the ring, the jewel catching the fluorescent lights of the overhead lighting and shimmering softly.

“So … will you marry me, sweetheart?” He asked, voice low and vulnerable and hopeful. And then, he added through a light laugh, “...again?”

His eyes held yours as if the world had narrowed down to just this moment. An entirely fitting simile, because the truth of the matter was that you were his world. And such a fact was written plainly in every line of his face, in how he wore every piece of his heart in his eyes.

You didn’t give him an answer.

Instead, you leaned forward, cupped his jaw with trembling fingers, and kissed him.

You pressed all the feelings you had accumulated over the past day onto his lips. Fear, wholeness, but most potently—love.

And Joel gave the latter and more back to you, curling a hand into your hair and holding you against him, his brows furrowed.

When you pulled back, a smile tugged at your lips.

Breathless, he asked, “That a yes?”

“What do you fucking think?” You outstretched your left hand.

“Just checkin’.” He grinned, gently took your hand, and slid the ring onto your ring finger. It fit just as perfectly as the first time.

Joel turned your hand slightly, admiring the way the diamond glinted, how it sat there like it had never left. 

“Looks real good on you,” He murmured, his thumb brushing across your knuckles. 

Your heart was full and thudding as you stared down at it. And then at him.

“Always did.”

Through a love-drunk smile, he slurred, “is that right?”

Then you leaned in and kissed him again. Slower this time, but just as deep. His hand came up to cradle your cheek, the other still holding yours, and for a few seconds, the rest of the world vanished.

You were so lost in the kiss, you almost didn’t notice how Joel’s jeans grew tighter, giving way to a hardness in his lap caused by the sensation of your body against his.

However, you did notice how Joel snaked his big hands under your thighs, lifting you onto the table.

You gasped against his lips. “What—?”

Urgently, “Where’s Sarah?”

“Sleeping over at a friend’s house. Why?”

You pulled away just enough to catch the almost depraved grin that split his mouth, heightened by a certain dark glint in his half-lidded stare.

Almost too casually, almost as if it was incredibly obvious, Joel replied, “Gonna make sure it sticks, baby.” 

And he pushed you down, causing you to lie flat on your back, a half-baked protest swallowed by his mouth and dying on your tongue. Or rather, his.

He hitched your shirt up, up, up, until the fabric gathered just below your collarbone.

“Oh, sweetheart.” Joel tutted. “Need to show these tits some love before I gotta share ‘em.”

Well, fuck.

With that, he trailed a messy line of kisses down to your sternum, nipped at the peak of your right tit like he just couldn’t help himself, and closed his mouth around your nipple.

You gasped, a hand clinging to his messy curls, holding him to you as he took and took.

He alternated between swirling his tongue around the sensitive bud and sucking it into his mouth, brows knitted as if he couldn’t decide whether pleasure was pain or salvation.

And it wasn’t long before he gave the same amount of attention to your other tit, moaning against your tender skin in desperate need, unable to get enough of you.

You were practically drowning in a pool of your own arousal from Joel’s ministrations, feeling a demanding wetness grow in your underwear by the second.

If he didn’t touch you there, you were very sure you’d—

But your hazy mind was robbed of finishing that thought when Joel came off your tits with a wet pop, leaving a light sheen across your cleavage, and dipped his fingers under the waistband of your sweats.

With an impatient yank, he pulled them down, revealing the dampened seat of your panties. An airy curse left his lips.

“Can I—?” He breathed.

“Yes.” You nodded, instantly.

Feverishly, he shredded the material in half with eager hands, leaving the halves to hang loosely on your hips.

A low growl escaped from his throat.

You were drooling for him, puffy folds glistening with your wetness and beckoning him to indulge himself in the most irresistible of temptations.

And Joel was nothing if not a sinner.

“Fuck that’s pretty.” He sighed. “Need me that badly, huh?”

You whined restlessly in response.

Taking such a noise as assent, Joel easily slid a thick finger into your crying mound, stroking your pulsing walls.

He gave no time for acclimatisation and, shortly after, sunk a second finger alongside the first, curling both again and again and reaching that spot of yours that summoned little black dots to dance in your vision.

“One more, baby.” He cooed. “One more and I give you my cock, hm?”

A third soon joined his motions, and you flung an arm up to grasp his bicep, feeling it tense as he pumped his fingers and dragged down your walls at an erratic pace.

Sweet words spilt in a loose mumble from his mouth, easing you into your orgasm. His lips worshipped you with whispers, ceaselessly praising:

That’s my girl.

C’mon, baby, just like that.

So pretty for me.

And other such gentle murmurs.

He continued fucking you with his fingers, relentless in face of your writhing, until, with a scream of his name and your clint grinding against the heel of his palm, your stomach tightened, fluttered, and let go.

“There we go. Oh, so good for me.” He sighed, breath tickling the hollow of your ear as he worked you through your climax.

When the tingling pleasure had fully subsided, he slid his fingers from you and kissed a path up your neck to your lips, licking into your mouth almost greedily.

As if it were second nature, your hands flew to undo his belt, desperately trying not to break the kiss and feeling Joel smile against you.

Just when you found the outline of his hardness in his boxers, Joel groaned and took your wrists in his hands, pinning them over your head against the cool oak of the table.

“Let me.” He said, breathing raggedly.

And he shifted to take hold of both your wrists with his left hand, while his right hurriedly fished himself out of his jeans.

You never quite got used to the obscene sight, and you doubted that you ever would; thick and tanned and dribbling slightly with pearls of his precome.

And, lord help you, he was big.

Joel hovered his mouth above your needy cunt as he slowly pumped his drooling cock. You held your breath, mistaking his position for a hesitant desire to taste you and fuck you with his tongue. 

To your surprise, Joel, instead, spat directly onto your quivering pussy.

You gasped as if it was betrayal, clenching on nothing as his glob of spit slid down your already-dripping mound like a soft caress. 

“Please.” You whined pathetically, hands still stubbornly restrained and held captive by the broad span of his left hand.

He lined himself up, nudging his flushed, almost angry tip against your soaked entrance. And, with a firm grip around his base, he dragged his cock through your puffy folds once, then twice. And the creamy blend of his precome, your arousal, and his spit smeared over his head, staining it in a pale blur.

“You don’t gotta beg, sweetheart.” Joel shushed you, dipping down to press a lazy kiss to the corner of your mouth. “You know I’ll give you whatever you want. I’ll give you everything. Give you the whole damn world if you asked for it.”

Despite the almost painful dawdling, his words were a soothing reassurance.

Another pass through your soaked folds. And then another, his tip catching onto the seam of your cunt for a single delicious second.

And then, in a low, possessive rumble, “Anything for the mother of my children.”

You squirmed against his hold, feeling a bolt of heat run through you, unable to stifle a moan bubbling up your throat. 

The mother of my children.

Your moan, however, quickly graduated into a shrill wail of his name as he chose that exact second to sink his drooling cock into you, forcing himself in until he was seated fully inside.

A sharp inhale came through his clenched jaw.

“Fuck, you feel perfect.” He whispered, more to himself than to you, but you were happy for the praise.

He was a tight fit; this, you knew.

Oh, you knew.

Every slow push in of his thick cock against your tight walls caused you to choke his length. Every slow drag out pulled a shaky breath from your parted lips.

“Yeah—” His breath caught in his throat as he felt you clamp down on him after an especially rough thrust. “—that’s it, mama, let me in. Jus’ like that. We’ll take it slow, for now. Then I’ll fuck you full of my come, again. Make sure I put a baby in you.”

You felt yourself flutter around him in response, pulling a breathless expletive from his lips. His dick twitched inside you, practically begging to make good on that promise.

And there was that depraved grin again. “Oh, you like that? ‘S true, mama.”

He rolled his hips into you again. 

And again.

“I’d give you ten more if I could.” He grunted, cloudy, lust-drowned eyes locked onto yours. “Love knowing that it’s my come in there, swelling you up. My baby. My woman.”

And, with that assertive claim, Joel picked up the pace, setting a tempo that had you on the verge of passing out.

You were overwhelmed by the sensation of his cock pounding in and out of you, the insistent sound of his balls slapping wetly against your ass, the feel of being held in place by his grip on your wrists—powerless to the force of his adamant desire.

Joel’s gaze fell to your tits, which were helplessly jostled by every persistent thrust of his hips.

“And these…” He all but growled, his free hand coming down to brush a thumb over one of your nubs. You shivered in response. “Fuck, they’ll look so pretty, all swollen up.”

A familiar warmth pooled in your gut; your eyes fluttered uncontrollably; your heartbeat sped up against your ribs as if it were going to burst out.

You were going to come. And hard.

“Joel—Joel, I’m close.” You bleated.

He grunted from above you in acknowledgement, stray curls falling over his forehead as he rammed into you. And he brought his hand to press against your belly, feeling the faint outline of him sawing into you.

“Let go for me, then, beautiful. Let me feel you come on my dick.”

And you did. 

And it was toe-curling and back-arching and forceful. So forceful, in fact, that it managed to steal your consciousness away for a moment or two.

Your eyes fluttered open after you had ridden out the entirety of your orgasm, finding Joel breathing heavily through his nose above you, his pace paused.

“Shit, that was pretty.” He said, in awe, releasing your wrists from over your head. “You got one more in you, baby?”

Unable to speak, you nodded.

Smiling proudly, Joel whispered, “Attagirl.”

He carefully pulled out of you—which made you involuntarily whine at the sad feeling of being so empty—and gently turned you over, your stomach pressed against the table and your feet planted on the floor.

Not wasting another second, Joel fed you his entire cock in one steady thrust.

You hissed as your walls once again struggled to accommodate his generous size, but were ultimately helpless to the throes of his white-hot need.

His arms came around you, hugging you to him and pinning you flat to the table under his crushing weight as he slowly built up a rhythm that matched his earlier manic tempo.

The carpenter of the table that had stood in your kitchen for over a decade probably hadn’t foreseen that such craftsmanship would be instrumental in the ferocity of Joel dicking you down. But you were, nevertheless, thankful for the sturdiness of his creation.

Because Joel fucked you into that table like he wanted to break it.

Every thrust had his tip kissing your cervix.

Every thrust sent the table knocking against the hardwood floor.

Every thrust had you seeing stars.

“Make some noise for me, mama.” Joel’s voice was in your ear, low and absolutely wrecked. “Show me how good it feels.”

Obediently, your mouth fell agape. An incoherent string of moans and mewls of his name spilt from your lips, tumbling out in a staccato rhythm that was emphasised by every snap of his hips as he frantically chased his release.

It took a dozen more before you felt him seize up.

“I’m … shit, I’m almost there, baby.” He gasped shakily. 

And, miraculously, so were you. You would’ve alerted him of such a fact if he hadn’t already fucked your brains out.

Oblivious to your predicament, Joel continued. “You’re gonna take it, aren’t you? S’all you can do, baby. Lay there and look pretty while I stuff you full of my come.”

“Please.” You whimpered. “Please, Joel—”

He came like he had been holding off for an eternity, shooting pearly ropes of his seed inside you, eyes screwed shut in pleasure, and face desperately buried into the crook of your neck.

Thankfully, his orgasm sent you toppling over the edge for what felt like the thousandth time that night, and you fell completely limp against the cool surface of the table as Joel rode out the last of his climax.

He recovered after a minute, pressed a sweaty kiss to the spot in between your shoulder blades, and delicately pulled out, wincing as he did so.

“That enough for you? Hm? Let me see.”

Tiredly, you spread your legs and pushed your ass out. Needless to say, Joel was entranced by the filthy sight of his milky come oozing slowly out of you.

“Oh, baby.” He tutted. “As beautiful as that is, we can’t let that go to waste, now can we?”

He didn’t wait for a response and gingerly plugged your cunt with two thick fingers, pushing his come back inside. You blew out a breath at the sensation.

“That’s it,” Joel cooed, eyebrows furrowed. And then, softer, “that's my girl.”

Satisfied that he probably gave you twins, Joel gently took your chin in his hand and leaned down to press his lips against yours.

It was tender and slow and felt like home. Because, as you finally realised all those weeks ago, Joel was your home.

“You okay?” He mumbled into the kiss.

You pulled away, a dopey grin on your face. “You know, we should really do this on a bed, sometime.”

Joel laughed, the corners of his eyes crinkling as he did.

“Good thinking.” He smiled.

It was (and is) a well-known fact that one in three marriages ends in separation. And of course, you—being the lucky duck you were—found yours rapidly accelerating toward that destination.

You and Joel had agreed that you’d be better off apart. Joel got his own place while you kept the house. And Sarah lived with you every other week.

All you needed to do was send your attorney the signed divorce papers.

Outside of the sympathetic comments you received from acquaintances and relatives almost daily, you were doing just fine.

In fact, tonight you had a date.

A date. The kind that made you choose a tight-fitting dress that hugged your curves just right. The kind that inspired you to wear your hair in something other than a claw clip. The kind that provoked you to shave places you haven’t shaved in a long time.

The lucky bachelor was a fellow divorcee named Mark, whom you had met on a single-parent dating app. He had a full head of hair, a decent sense of humour, and two rescued Labradors. He offered to bring you to his favourite Italian restaurant, bringing up the fact that he’d pick up the bill no matter what, much to your protests. Needless to say, you had a good feeling about him.

After one last check in the mirror, you grabbed your coat and slung your purse over your shoulder, ready to head out the door.

Then, you heard it.

A faint gurgling. 

You blinked twice, trying to zero in on the sound. Proceeding a few moments of intense concentration, you followed the sound into the ensuite bathroom.

The faucet was running. Had you forgotten to turn it off?

You reached for the handle. Twisted it. It spun freely, and nothing happened. 

You tried and tried again, but all your efforts were in vain. You could only watch the tap stubbornly defy you as the handle jutted uselessly, loose in its socket.

“Shit.” You breathed.

The faucet sputtered out a particularly heavy spurt of water as if to say: shit, indeed.

You sighed, staring helplessly at the sink as it stared contumaciously back, water that couldn’t be swallowed by the drain toppling over the edge of the sink.

A quick Google search informed you that you needed to turn off the principal water pipe—the mains. Which you didn’t know how to do. 

So, you resolved to delegate the problem to more capable hands. Like, a twenty-four-hour plumbing service. No, they could easily overcharge you. You could call your dad? No, he was too far.

Or…

Sighing, you dug out your phone from your purse and called your only remaining option. Someone who was a seasoned contractor, someone who dealt with this sink before, and someone who you just so happened to be divorcing. 

He answered on the third ring.

“Hey—everything okay?” Joel’s concerned voice filtered through your phone.

“No.” You inhaled. 

“No?” Joel echoed hesitantly, then waited for elaboration.

When nothing came, he cleared his throat.

Slightly confused, slightly wry, he continued, “This is the part where you tell me what’s wrong.” 

“Um, my sink’s busted.”

“Your sink… is busted?”

“Yeah. Faucet won’t turn off. It-It’s a lot of water.” You bit the inside of your cheek, leaning on the wall. “I didn’t know who else to call.”

A moment of silence, then:

“You need me to fix it?” 

Was that annoyance? Exhaustion? It definitely wasn’t exhilaration at the prospect of doing manual labour at eight o’clock on a Friday evening.

“You know what? Forget I called. This was stupid. Sorry to bother you—”

“I’m on my way.”

Despite the gravity of the situation, after he hung up, the smallest of smiles began forming on your face. 

Fifteen minutes later, a knock came from your front door.

You swung the door open, and there he stood. Tool bag in hand, flannel shirt stretching tightly over his broad shoulders, salt-and-pepper hair just a little bit unkempt.

It had been a good few months since the two of you went your separate ways, but there he was—still at your beck and call. What that meant, exactly, remained to be seen. 

But you were glad to see him, nonetheless.

“Hi,” You said breathlessly.

Upon seeing you, Joel’s brows shot up, and he blinked a few times.

“Hi.” He said back slowly, then cleared his throat. “Am I… interruptin’ something?”

You glanced down. Right. Tight dress and makeup.

“I have a date in…” You raised your left wrist and winced as you looked down at your watch. “Five minutes ago.”

“A date.” He clicked his tongue, nodding to himself. “Well, I’ll try to make this quick, then.”

You hummed a noise of agreement, pivoted, and, with a wave of your hand, invited Joel inside.

He stepped through the doorway with a quiet grunt. And, as he bent down to undo his boots, his coffee-brown gaze landed on a pile of unopened mail by the entryway table. A few envelopes had slipped to the floor, and he crouched to gather them without thinking. 

But, as he straightened up to his full height, his eyes lingered on the recipient line.

“Mrs Miller?” Joel read aloud.

“What?” Your breath caught in your throat, and you spun around to meet his stare.

Joel wordlessly held the envelope up with two fingers, the corners of his lips slightly upturned.

“Oh.” You cringed inwardly. “Yeah.”

“Didn’t, uh, realise that you were keepin’ the name.” He shrugged offhandedly, tossing the stack of mail onto the entryway table.

“I’m not. I just…” You ran a hand through your hair. “Paperwork isn’t final.”

For the divorce.

Joel’s eyebrows pinched together. “I sent you my signed copies, if—” 

“I know you did. I just haven’t sent the papers to my lawyer yet.” You pressed your lips into a thin line and avoided his gaze. “Just got a lot on my plate, recently.”

That was very unconvincing.

Joel hummed a noncommittal noise.

“Well…” He huffed sheepishly. “You know I always liked my name on you.”

You swallowed, feeling your stomach do a funny flip and your ears burn up. Why were your ears burning up?

“C’mon. The problem is upstairs.”

The faucet, to your dismay, hadn’t stopped. It was worse now, if that was even possible, spitting little rogue sprays of water alongside the main stream. Great.

You checked your watch again. Fifteen minutes late. You would no doubt have a few missed calls from your poor suitor if you had the guts to check your phone.

Joel sank to one knee as he inspected the sink, squinting at the appliance and shaking his head. Miraculously, he reached in and, a few rusty squeaks later, the water stopped.

“You fixed it.” You blinked.

“Far from it,” He muttered, frowning. “The cartridge’s shot. And the valve stem’s stripped. Who installed this?”

Without missing a beat, “You did.”

“…Right.”

You leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed over your chest. “So?”

“So, this isn’t a quick fix. I need to pull out the whole assembly. Maybe replace the handle, too. And judging by the corrosion around this nut—” He held up a discoloured metal hexagon like it had personally offended him. “You’ve probably had a leak back here for a while.”

You blinked. “And you didn’t notice that when you lived here?”

Joel turned to shoot you a look. “I was your husband, not your handyman.”

“Really? I could’ve sworn I married you for that toolbox of yours.”

“And here I thought it was ‘cause of my radiant personality.”

“Definitely not that.” You huffed out a laugh.

Despite his back being turned to you, you could just about make out a reluctant smile forming through his slightly greying stubble.

You watched as he rolled up his plaid sleeves, exposing tanned forearms that were entirely too bulky for someone in his mid-forties. He then dug into his bag, fishing out an Allen Wrench.

“You can go on your date,” Joel added, not looking at you. “I’ll be out of here in an hour. Two, tops. But… if you feel like gettin’ frisky, maybe do it at his place. Just in case.”

Right, your date.

Biting the inside of your cheek, you took out your phone. Six missed calls and a flurry of concerned texts.

Decidedly, you typed out an apologetic message mentioning a water-related emergency and stuffed your phone back in your purse.

“I’m staying with you.”

Joel froze and turned to look at you from over his shoulder. “No, you ain’t. I’ll take too long.”

“Well, I can’t leave you to fix my problems while I’m out eating overpriced ravioli.” You shrugged and, with a soft grunt, took a seat against the wall near him. “You’re not a plumber, you’re a… you’re my…”

Ex-husband.

You cleared your throat, then emphasised, “You’re not a plumber.”

Joel let out a slow exhale. “Do whatever you want, but I doubt watching me fix your sink is gon’ be as fun as your date.”

“I’ve got a full bottle of Pinot Noir in the fridge.” You tilted your head. “We can make it fun.”

Joel’s eyebrows shot up.

“Not—not in that way.” You rubbed a clammy hand down your face.

To your surprise, that earned you a small, gruff laugh from Joel, his eyes crinkling momentarily the way they only did when he was truly amused.

His voice was soft when he responded. 

“Go on and get the wine, then, sweetheart.”

Two crystal glasses and a little while later, Joel had put down his wrench and opted instead to sit beside you on your tiled bathroom floor, his shoulders brushing up against yours in the cramped space.

Efforts to tame the defiant sink had long since been forgotten. He did the best he could, but retired upon discovering that you had no spare sink handle lying around—how very unprepared of you.

The bad news was that you weren’t going to be able to wash your hands in the master bedroom ensuite tonight. The good news was that you were having a surprisingly good time with Joel. The conversation evolved from discussing your stood-up date (you showed Mark’s profile, Joel was convinced he was lying about his dogs being rescues), then to how his company was going, and then, reminiscing about the good ol’ days.

“All I’m sayin’,” Joel continued through a laugh. “Is that she did it on purpose.”

“My mom has always been bad with names!”

“Bad enough to still call me ‘George’ after a year of us datin’?” He scoffed.

You stifled a giggle. “In her defence, it’s a very similar—”

“Like hell it is. And your dad? He was worse.” Joel chuckled, finishing the last of his wine. “How is he?”

“Fine. Just called him yesterday, actually.”

“He still callin’ me–?”

“He still calls you ‘porn stache’, yes.”

Joel snorted into his hand, his shoulders bobbing up and down with laughter. Real, genuine laughter.

You smiled and turned to steal a glance at his profile.

His eyes crinkled at the corners, his hooked nose scrunched mid-chuckle, and his laugh was exactly as it was before—low and rough, but somehow boyish and unguarded.

You had almost forgotten how his whole face lit up when he laughed.

And, you didn’t mean to stare. But you did. 

God, you missed this.

“I think I prefer George.” Joel ran a hand down his face, still smiling.

You cleared your throat and leaned over to retrieve the almost-empty wine bottle, refilling your glasses.

“Sarah told me to say hi to you, if I got the chance, by the way.” You said, pouring the Pinot Noir into his glass. “She’s with my parents at the lake house.”

“The lake house?” Joel hummed, taking another sip of his drink. “Still disappointed I didn’t get that in the settlement.”

You snorted, amused. “You don’t even like lakes.”

“No, I don’t like the mosquitoes that come with the lakes.” Joel corrected you, pointedly. “But, I don’t know, I guess I just miss it. A lot of good memories there.”

You felt yourself smile. “Yeah. Yeah, there were.”

A beat.

“Hey, at least you kept the cars. And the boat. And the frequent flier miles. And, well, you see Sarah every other week.” You turned to look at Joel, but he was already looking at you.

A certain vulnerability swam in the brown of his eyes. Something you hadn’t seen in a very long time.

“Yeah, well… there were more important things I couldn’t keep.”

The air thinned. The wine, the laughter, the conversation—everything dissolved in the quiet admission, hanging thickly in the space between you.

And suddenly, there was only you and Joel and the mistakes that had wedged you apart yet somehow brought you back together again; on a random Friday evening on the floor of a bathroom you used to share.

“Joel…” You swallowed, your hand falling from your lap onto the tiles.

But you couldn’t form any semblance of a sentence. How could you? 

There was nothing to say. Yes, you missed him. ‘Missed’ was an understatement. 

Sometimes you’d roll over in the night, wishing to feel the weight of his arm resting on your waist, reassuring you that these past few months had only been a bad dream. Sometimes you came to pick Sarah up early, just to get a few more minutes with him. Sometimes—no, a lot of the time, memories of him came rushing back, cleaving your heart into two, further and further each time.

No matter how hard you tried, you just couldn’t let go of the man you spent so many years loving. 

Joel’s eyes still bore into yours. And nothing in the world could have torn you away.

He exhaled slowly, then set down his glass with care. His hand barely brushed yours, but it was enough to make your breath hitch.

“I think about it,” He said softly. “More than I should.”

“Think about what?”

A quiet, almost sad laugh escaped from his throat. He leaned back against the wall, staring up at the ceiling.

“How things used to be.”

“Oh,”

A moment passed, marked only by the metre of your incessant heartbeat pounding in your ears.

And then, “Do you ever miss us?” Joel asked.

You faced him once more. The answer was on the tip of your tongue, but you couldn’t bring yourself to say it. Because that was too complicated. Because that would break you.

Joel didn’t need you to say it. He found the answer in your eyes.

All the time.

Instead, you asked, “Do you? Miss us, that is.”

“Of course, I do.” He said softly. “More than you can imagine.”

You held your breath.

Joel heaved a sigh.

“I think about calling,” He added, voice low. “Just to hear your voice.”

“I’d answer,” You said, barely above a whisper.

He smiled in a bittersweet, melancholic sort of way and leaned in just slightly. Unconsciously, you mirrored him.

And then his eyes flickered down to your lips. It was only for a second, but it was enough to make your stomach flutter.

This was dangerous. You should’ve told him to leave ages ago. Or, maybe you should’ve left yourself and gone on your date.

But you couldn’t bring yourself to pull away.

“Can I ask you something stupid?” You whispered.

Joel whispered back, “Always.”

“Do you…” You trailed off, biting your lip.

“Do I what?”

“Do you—does even a part of you… want what we had back?” 

You knew what he was going to say. You just wanted to hear it for yourself.

And you did.

“Yes,” He admitted earnestly.

You searched his face for any sign of deception, but found none. The only thing in his coffee-brown eyes was regret. And, maybe, something else, too. Something softer.

Your eyes widened. “We fought a lot.”

“We did.”

“And we probably said some shit.” You sighed, looking up at the ceiling, as if all the answers were written there. Joel did, too.

His voice came softly, sadly, “We did.”

Silence again. Thick and fragile and charged with so many unspoken words.

Joel’s knee brushed yours, neither of you pulling away. It was nice to have him close, to feel his familiar warmth, to see him—really see him. Bare and raw and vulnerable. No facades of indifference. No hiding behind closed car doors. Just Joel, your Joel, there beside you; soft-eyed and quiet, like maybe he was seeing you, too.

Your fingers twitched on the floor beside his. You wanted to reach for him, but you wanted him to reach first. Absently, you fiddled with your left ring finger, suddenly aware of its bareness.

He looked at you then. Not a glance, but a full turn, slow and deliberate. His dark eyes searched your face, pausing on your mouth, your cheek, your lashes, then settled on your eyes again. He looked at you like you were something he’d spent months trying to forget, and only just now remembered why he couldn’t.

You held your breath.

Joel’s voice, when it finally came, was low, cracked around the edges.

“I know it was bad in the end, but I meant what I said.” He breathed. “I miss us. I miss you.”

Your heart twisted. And there went that cleaver again, slicing further.

“I miss seeing your keys on the kitchen counter and knowing you were home. I miss kissing you before work and smudgin’ your lipstick. I miss watching stupid movies with you that we’d fall asleep to halfway.”

His throat bobbed. He leaned back against the wall, like it hurt to say it out loud.

“Yeah, we fought and said some real mean shit. But God help me, I’d give anything to go back in time and fight for you like I should have. Because you were it for me. You were everything. Still are.”

His eyes glistened as he held your gaze, fierce and unflinching.

“Because, no matter how hard I try to ignore it,” He smiled to himself, shaking his head like it was the most obvious thing in the world. “I love you.”

He loves you.

Those three simple words rang in an echo in your mind. He loves you, he loves you, Joel loves you.

“You love me?” You could barely hear your voice above the deafening thrum of your pulse.

Your faces were barely an inch apart, now. You could smell the familiar scent of his laundry detergent, and traces of his cologne, and wood, and tobacco, and something that was so uniquely him.

Joel nodded.

“I never stopped.” He whispered.

Without thinking, you closed the remaining distance, smashing your lips against his. Joel grunted in surprise, but quickly gave in, exhaling through his nose like he’d been holding a breath in for years. 

He returned the kiss with equal fervour, reaching out to cup your face and pouring all his pent-up emotions against the haven of your lips—longing, relief, desire.

You pushed yourself closer against him. Closer, impossibly closer, until you were straddling his lap, moving against the tent in his jeans, feeling his big hands instinctively settle on your hips, and tasting the Pinot Noir on his lips.

Shit. Was this even a good idea?

You pulled away suddenly. A tiny whine came from Joel, who tried to chase your mouth, but you were insistent.

“Wait,” You panted.

His eyes opened fully. His brows were knitted, his lips were kiss-swollen, and his chest was heaving slowly.

“What?” Joel asked quietly, his thumbs idly tracing circles on either side of your hips.

“This…” You breathed. “I don’t want this to be a one-time thing. I don’t want it to mean nothing.”

Joel smiled softly at your words.

“Means a whole lot to me, sweetheart.” His hand went to gently tuck a stray strand of your hair behind your ear, caressing your cheek in his wake. “We can talk about what this means, if you w—”

“Okay, good. Means a lot. Talk after.”

“After?” His eyebrows rose.

“After you fuck me.”

A breathy ‘Jesus Christ’ slipped from his throat, but Joel didn’t spend a second refusing your bold assumption.

With a hand on your nape, he leaned forward to capture your lips in another searing kiss, which you happily accepted, sighing against him.

His big hands then travelled to the back of your thighs, and the next thing you knew, he carelessly swept away whatever was decorating the base of your faucet, and carried you with ease to perch you atop the sink.

“Joel.” You mumbled urgently into his lips.

“Mmm?” He hummed back, not wanting to break your mouths apart for even a second. 

“Might break the sink again.”

“Don’t care. I’ll fuckin’ fix it again, then. Just… need you,” Joel groaned. “Look too fuckin’ good,”

And he pulled away. His half-lidded, cloudy gaze drank you in, sweeping down the snugness of your dress, and lingering on the generous amount of cleavage it revealed. His hands drifted higher and higher up your thighs, until they reached the hemline—dipping under just slightly.

“Too fuckin’ good,” He snarled.

You smirked. Knowing him, he was definitely going to ask if—

“How much was this dress?”

Sighing amusedly, “It wasn’t cheap.”

“How attached are you to it?” He mumbled, a hand reverently skirting up to your hip.

“A moderate amou—”

“Can I rip it off you?”

There it was.

In the many years you were married, Joel shredded more than enough articles of your precious wardrobe in similar heated moments. If you were to count the offences, you’d likely run out of fingers. Your wedding dress had been among the few survivors of his destructive tendencies, though not for lack of trying on his part.

You stifled a snort and shook your head, reaching up to caress his face. 

“No.” You smiled. “Because I’d like to wear it again.”

Joel held your hand against his face and huffed out an exaggerated sigh. “Next time.”

And then his hands found the zipper on your side, pulled it sharply down, and tugged the dress off you.

His eyes darkened.

You had chosen to don an intricate, black, lacey number underneath your dress that teased just enough and only hid the bare minimum. Of course, you had. You hadn’t had an opportunity to wear anything vaguely provocative in ages and were expecting some luck after your date.

You certainly didn’t expect that your ex-husband would be the one seeing it.

“This for him?” Joel’s lip twitched.

Heat rose in your cheeks. “Well, I—”

“Yeah, these don’t get a pass.”

With a sharp tearing noise slicing through the air, Joel ripped the flimsy lacey bra clean in half, watching intently, hungrily, as your tits spilled out.

“Joel!”

“I know, I know,” Joel grunted. “I’ll buy you a new set… buy you all the fuckin’ sets.”

You were about to object, intent on citing the price attached to that particular pair, but Joel had sunk back on his knees and spread your legs apart.

He pressed his lips on your inner thigh, scruff tickling your skin as he slowly, softly trailed his mouth upward, leaving goosebumps in his wake.

His face came to a stop in front of your core, noticing how heavily you were breathing, and his eyes flicked up to yours, smirking. Smug fucking bastard.

“Joel.” You gritted your teeth.

“Yeah, baby?”

“Don’t fucking tease me.” 

And he leaned his forehead against the lower part of your navel, taking a second to breathe in the unmistakable scent of your arousal seeping through your lingerie. 

He was practically salivating, now. 

“I’ll try not to, ma’am.” 

Without another word, he took the lace into his teeth, yanked his head sharply, and tore your panties open.

Confirming his suspicions, you were absolutely soaked. Slick drooled freely out of your puffy folds, taunting him and draining every ounce of self-restraint he had. 

Fuck, you were gorgeous.

“Tell me,” Joel said lowly, meeting your gaze once more as a thick finger swiped lightly through your lips, collecting your arousal. “This for him or me?”

“You.” You breathed without a second thought.

“Louder, sweetheart. My ears ain’t what they used to be.”

“You.”

Smirking wider, “Damn fucking right.”

Then, he happily hitched your legs over his shoulders, leaned forward, and dove in.

His tongue prodded into your heat, dragging down your walls and sending jolts of electricity down your spine. He worked fast and sloppily, sliding through your folds and flicking into your walls, urgently tasting you like he wouldn’t get another chance. 

Your arousal coated the lower half of his face, his eyes were almost black with desire, obscenely wet noises echoed in the silence of the tiled room as his tongue eagerly devoured you whole—

“Fuck, almost forgot how good you taste. So fuckin’ sweet.” Joel mumbled against your sex, entirely, wholly bewitched. “She missed me, too, huh? Just drippin’ for me…”

He continued to furiously lap at your entrance, scruff rubbing against your inner thighs. And then he moved up, planting messy kisses higher and higher until he reached your swollen clit.

You gasped brokenly, flinging a hand to grasp his curls as his lips alternated from pressing messy kisses along your seam to greedily sucking at your bundle of nerves, latching onto it almost desperately.

After a particularly delicious drag down the roof of your core, you rolled your hips up into his mouth and brought him closer to you with your grip in his hair.

“Shit—sorry.” You panted, breathing heavily.

He barely pulled away to look at you.

“Don’t fuckin’ be. I can handle it, you know I can.” Joel all but growled, before returning to attend to your needy fucking pussy.

He was like a man possessed; lapping frenziedly, groaning lowly into your sensitive skin, curved nose swiping through your folds as he worked.

Very soon, a familiar tingle in your lower stomach introduced itself.

“Joel,” You called urgently, attempting to warn him.

He knew you were close. Oh, he knew. So, he went faster and harder, pressing himself further against you, suffocation be fucking damned.

His low, wrecked voice came slurred and slightly muffled by your sex, “Y’gonna come? Go on, baby, all over my face—thaaat’s it.”

A shattered moan escaped from your throat, and you felt your release take over your body almost violently. You couldn’t help the way your legs clamped down around his head, but Joel loved it, letting you smother him and humming happily into your heat as he worked you through your climax, swallowing your release and eating like a man starved.

Finally, he pulled away with a wet squelch, softly pressed a kiss to your inner thigh, and gently let your legs down.

And you were immediately greeted with the sight of his lower face shining with your slick.

A good look on him, if you’d say so yourself.

He smiled lazily, eyes blown-out and absolutely fucking pussydrunk. 

“That good for you, sweetheart?” He mused.

“You, Joel Miller, are what we call a munch.” You smiled back.

Pride bloomed across his face. “Gladly, sweets.” 

And you pulled him up by the collar of his flannel shirt into a filthy kiss, tasting your arousal on his lips.

He let his eyes fall shut and reached up to curl a hand around your jaw as he returned the kiss, his brows furrowed in concentration.

Not wasting any time, your hands flew to his belt, blindly fumbling at the leather material to slide it out of the loops of his jeans.

Joel chuckled, leaning forward to trail his lips down your neck, leaving a path of open-mouthed kisses.

“Need somethin’, baby?”

“Wanna return the favour,” You glanced down at the bulge in his lap.

“Mm-mm. That was more for me than you. Missed your sweet fuckin’ pussy.” Joel mumbled against your pulse point.

“Munch.” You couldn’t help but giggle.

“Yeah, yeah.” Joel sighed, lifting his head and undoing his jeans just barely enough to pull himself free from his boxers. 

You heard yourself swallow.

Joel Miller was a big man, and you were very aware of that fact. It was written all across his body; from his impossibly broad shoulders, to his beefy arms, to his thick fucking cock.

He stroked himself, once, twice, as his eyes fell to your pulsating, slick core. Beads of precum leaked from his flushed tip and down his length as he did so.

“Spread those legs wider for me, baby. Let me see you,” He breathed lowly.

And you very willingly obliged.

“There’s my girl,” Joel hummed.

With a hand around his base, he guided himself closer to your drooling cunt, nudging his swollen head against you.

Sighing, “Deep breath, baby.”

And he slowly forced himself in, one hand on the small of your back, the other on the underside of your thigh, prompting you to wrap your legs around his waist as he steadily fed you his cock.

You gasped some variant of a plea.

Needless to say, he was a tight fucking fit.

“Takin’ me so well. That’s it, baby, let me in.” He blabbed mindlessly as he continued to sink deeper inside. 

Deeper, deeper, deeper…

He winced. “Shit—there you go.”

When all of him was nested inside your welcoming channel, he let out a gasped expletive at the sensation.

Full. You felt so full with him inside. You always did.

“Fuck, missed this.” Joel panted, resting his forehead against yours. 

You tried to echo the sentiment, but the only thing you were capable of doing was letting out an incoherent groan of his name.

Joel got the message, though.

Maintaining an unhurried tempo, he rolled his hips back and forth, slowly dragging his thickness against your walls, making you painfully aware of every last inch of him.

“How’s that feel, baby?” He mumbled, voice airy.

“Good. Feels so good.”

And, fuck, he did. 

He felt amazing.

His tempo soon picked up, leaving your mouth to fall open as you took every inch of him again and again, stretching you open with enough pleasure to dull the slight pain.

“Tell me,” Joel hummed as he continued to drive ceaselessly in and out of your tight channel, adopting a false lilt of indifference. “Who’s fuckin’ you so good, huh?”

An incoherent syllable slipped from your lips.

“Who, baby?” Joel urged you, unrelenting in his pace. “Sure as hell ain’t fuckin’ Mark.”

Dumbly, you shook your head.

“You, Joel.”

Your words were almost drowned out by the symphony of your own moans, which were accompanied by the obscenely wet slaps that sounded every time his hips fully met yours.

“Louder.” He snarled, punctuating his response with an intentionally rough ram. “Neighbours can’t hear you yet, c’mon.”

“You, Joel!”

Satisfied, his hands went to hold you by your waist, keeping you as still as possible as he drove insistently into you, his tip now kissing your cervix with every thrust.

You cried out at the feeling, nails raking down his back.

Heat pooled in your gut, your vision blurred, a high-pitched ringing almost deafened your ears.

“Joel, Joel, I’m…” You babbled.

“Close? Go on, gorgeous. Let me feel you choke my dick.”

With his blessing, his name left your mouth in a high-pitched scream, and you felt yourself clench around his throbbing length as your orgasm rippled across your body like an earthquake.

Joel, being the overachiever he was, didn’t stop for even a second until your breathing slowed and your eyes fluttered open again.

And, once he saw that you had recovered, he leaned forward to slant his mouth against yours, swallowing your sighs.

“You okay?” He mumbled into the kiss, barely breaking away.

“Yeah.” You exhaled. 

He smiled against your lips.

“Good. Almost there, baby. Gonna take you against the sink, now, and you’re gonna give me one more, how’s that sound?”

You nodded dreamily, feeling him slowly pull out.

He leaned back and, with his hands on your waist, delicately set you down.

“Turn ‘round for me, sweetheart.” 

You acquiesced without hesitation, bracing yourself on the porcelain countertop.

Joel hummed, kicked your legs open even wider, and, not long after, sank the entirety of his cock into you in one deep thrust.

A sharp breath hit the air behind you, and an airy ‘fuck’ followed it. This angle made him feel bigger, if that was even possible.

He didn’t wait long after that. He couldn’t. Overcome with the need to feel you, he started moving. The first thrust was slow. Experimental. The second was hard. The third was harder.

Before you knew it, his big hands found a home on your hips, and he began to drive roughly into you, as if making up for lost time.

He certainly proved he was willing to atone for his absence, thrust after thrust.

“Oh, look at you.” Joel tutted and pulled your hair to tilt your head upwards.

You came face to face with the woman in the bathroom mirror.

Somewhere in between thrusts, your mouth had fallen agape, letting loose a long whine of pleasure, which was stuttered by every slam of his hips against yours.

Your hair was frizzy, your face was flushed, your hooded gaze was flooded with desire, and a light sheen of sweat doused every inch of your skin.

You were a wreck, thanks to the man fucking you so well behind you.

“Eyes up here.” Joel sighed. “Keep ‘em open. Gotta watch how well you take me.”

Joel was even more of a sight. 

The top few buttons of his flannel were undone, his sleeves were haphazardly rolled up, his hair was wild, and the look on his weathered face was nothing short of territorial as he held you to him and fucked you with reckless abandon.

Your eyes fell to where your bodies were connected, hypnotised by how easily his tanned cock disappeared in and out of your puffy cunt.

Again.

And again.

And again.

The corners of his lips were coyly upturned when he cooed, “Don’t we look good, baby?”

You could only respond in broken syllables.

“Yeah,” He grunted. Then, after a particularly forceful thrust, “we do.”

He continued to ram into you, finding your cervix with each thrust, keeping his eyes trained on the mirror, fixated on how your tits bounced so prettily for him.

“Beautiful.” He whispered, jaw tight.

If your brain hadn’t been turned to mush after the two orgasms he forced out of you, you would’ve heard him. But all you were focused on was the rush of another climax approaching.

You gripped the countertop harder and gritted your teeth, feeling warmth collecting in your stomach and bracing yourself for impact.

As if reading your mind, Joel’s hand moved from your hip to your front, trailing down until he brushed your clit, rubbing sloppy semi-cricles and whispering sweet things as you whimpered.

“You gonna give me one more?” He murmured encouragingly, his nose nudging the side of your face.

You could only manage an open-mouthed nod.

His fingers sped in their motions, swiping at your clit feverishly as he continued to rut into you, grazing your cervix each time.

Again. And again. 

“Come for me, sweetheart. I’ll catch you.” He whispered gently.

Your jaw slackened, your heartbeat quickened, and, in a blinding flash of pleasure, you came with his name on your tongue, helpless to the throes of your climax.

“There you go. Shit… so good for me.” Joel groaned. And then, urgently, “Where—where do you want me to–?”

Not even a full second later, “Inside.” 

“You sure?” He panted, starstruck. 

“I have an IUD, just—please.”

He didn’t reply. Instead, he pressed closer, his chest flush against your back, letting you feel every shaky pull of his breath as he caged you in. His hands found yours at the edge of the sink, lacing over them gently. His head dropped beside yours, his forehead nearly touching your temple, and a warm breath fanned across your skin as he sighed. 

And then he resumed his earlier pace.

He rammed into you hard and fast, chasing his own release as if it were a life-or-death situation. And all you could do was take it.

After a dozen more jerky thrusts, his breath caught in his throat and, with a low curse, he came. Hot ropes of his spend spilled inside you, and he rode it out until he couldn’t give you any more, which took a few more lazy rolls of his hips.

His breath evened not long after, warm and steady against your browbone. Soothing, almost.

Gently, he pulled out of you, and you felt his come slowly drip down your thighs.

“Fuck,” He breathed, pressing a soft kiss to your hair, scruff rubbing against your crown as he did so.

And he bowed his head to rest it on the crook of your neck.

“That was great, George.” You panted.

Joel snorted tiredly. “Just couldn’t help yourself, huh?”

“Nope.”

He huffed out a chuckle.

Then, he languidly pressed a trail of open-mouthed kisses wherever his lips could reach—the underside of your jaw, your throat, your neck, and down, still.

A warm, fuzzy sort of feeling radiated from his touch, lulling you into a state of bliss. It felt like love; it felt like coming home.

You couldn’t help the smile that stretched across your face.

Joel mumbled something unintelligible against your shoulder.

“What?” You replied, breaking free from your trance.

“I said,” He pulled away and, with two fingers on your chin, tenderly turned your face to look at him. His voice was wrecked and so very earnest when he finally repeated himself. “Don’t send the papers. Please.”

He held the rest of his plea in his eyes in the way they shone with a certain sincerity.

You smiled softly and shook your head. Because you knew you never really had any intention to. Because you wanted to hold on to him. And you were glad he wanted to hold on to you, too.

Your lips found his. Gentle, delicate, a reassurance. He gave in to the kiss almost immediately, sighing into your mouth.

“I won’t.”

And you meant it.

thanks for reading!!! reqs are open, if you wanna send an idea or anything over :)