Zephy

Just focus on the wires, Miller. The wires.

But the zap bit into his fingers the second he looked, eyes drifting up just for a moment, out the window and onto you.

You were kneeling in the garden bed along the edge of the street by your house, wrist-deep in dark soil, the late-spring sunlight gilding your skin like something out of a goddamn dream. Your shirt had ridden up your back as you reached forward, and he caught the bare curve of your spine, the subtle arch of it with every shift of your hips.

He hissed quietly at the sting in his palm, jerking his hand back from the breaker.

He was supposed to be working. Minding his own business. In his own house. At his own dining table. Just tinkering. That was all.

Wasn’t his fault the window faced the street. Wasn’t his fault you were outside in cutoff shorts and a t-shirt, sleeves shoved up as you planted an unruly bramble of something in the dirt.

God bless late spring, he thought. Then immediately cursed himself for it, trying in vain to look away. But you stretched your arms over your head, back arching. Your shirt lifted with the motion, a sliver of skin flashing above your waistband before falling back down.

He blinked, hard, and dropped his head.

The wires. Focus on the wires.

The breaker sat in his palm, cold and sharp-edged. He adjusted his glasses, pushing them up his nose, trying to reorient himself with the tangled mass of copper and springs he was meant to be working on. His pliers hovered over the rusted coil, but his mind had already betrayed him.

The air inside felt too still. Dust floated through shafts of sunlight that slanted across the kitchen floorboards. A breeze fluttered the thin curtain over the sink. Somewhere outside, a bird chirped. A dog barked. Life, irritatingly, continued.

Then he heard voices. Loud enough to pull him from his head. He looked up.

Dina was out there now, talking to you, animated as ever. You frowned at something she said, then shook your head. He didn’t know why that made his chest ache, but it did. 

He wanted to know what she’d asked. Wanted to know what you needed. If you asked, he’d do it. Build it, fix it, find it. He’d do it with no hesitation.

But asking meant talking. Talking meant being near. And Joel didn’t allow himself that kind of luxury with you.

Because if you saw him— really saw him—you’d see right through the practiced nods and gravel-toned grunts. You’d see the way his eyes trailed a second too long, the way his jaw clenched when you laughed at someone else’s joke. You’d catch the heat of it. The filth of it.

And you’d run.

He wouldn’t blame you.

But God, he wasn’t sure he could take it if you did.

And yet… if you hated him, at least you’d be thinking about him.

As he stared out the window, Dina suddenly gestured toward his house, thumb hooked over her shoulder. Then your eyes followed. You looked right at his place. And shrugged.

Shrugged.

He had to sit back for a second, stunned. What the hell did that mean? Were you talking about him? Dina was, clearly. But you…were you indifferent? Unbothered? That hollow thud behind his ribs wasn’t from a breaker.

He told himself he didn’t care. He tried. But then she was dragging you to your feet.

No.

You resisted at first. Body language stiff, reluctant. But Dina…Dina was not the kind of girl to take no for an answer. Joel knew it well, she was Ellie’s closest friend, after all. And now she was dragging you up his walkway.

“Joel?” Dina called out, knocking.

He scrambled to look busy, heart pounding, thoughts buzzing like flies.

“Yeah,” he called, low and even. “Come in.”

The front door creaked open in the corner of his eye, the sound of footsteps soft and careful as they moved closer. And then your legs came into view. Long, bare, sun-warmed. He had to force himself not to look higher, not to follow the shape of you all the way up to that sweet little body wrapped in tiny shorts and a thin tee, practically begging to be devoured.

The wires, Miller.

“Hey,” Dina said cheerfully.

“Howdy,” Joel replied, short and clipped.

“What’re you working on?” she asked, plopping into the chair beside him.

He kept his tone casual. “Old breaker. They were gonna toss it, but it’s just a spring issue.”

She leaned over the table, inspecting it. “Teach me?”

He grunted in what he hoped passed as agreement. Felt the chair next to her shift. Felt your hesitation fill every inch of the room.

There was a beat, some hushed whispers of Dina urging you again, but Joel still kept his eyes down.

Then the chair across from him scraped, and you sat. Tension spiked in his chest.

“Joel,” Dina said sweetly, “have you met my new best friend?”

Joel lifted his head just enough to look at her. “Thought Ellie was your best friend.”

“She’s in the Hall of Fame. But this one—” she beamed at you “—makes the best apple pie in Jackson.”

“I know.”

Ah, shit. He hadn’t meant to say that out loud. 

You gasped. A soft little breath that made his stomach twist. He still didn’t look at you, but now he could picture it perfectly. The way your lips parted. The way your eyebrows probably lifted.

He wasn’t supposed to know.

You’d left it for him on a rainy afternoon. Knocked once, maybe twice, then stood there for a minute like you were trying to decide if you should wait. But when he didn’t answer—couldn’t answer—you turned and walked away, your footsteps soft against the damp porch.

He’d seen you enough around town, neighbors fawning over your story, your smile, your damn cooking. He didn’t want any part of it. Didn’t want to be another man pulled into your orbit just because you were sweet and sunny and made people feel something.

He told himself he wouldn’t touch it. But later, when the sky had gone pink and the house was quiet, he peeled back the foil, took one bite, and almost dropped to his knees.

It was perfect.

The kind of taste that sent him spiraling back through decades. Holidays at his grandmother’s house. His little hands and floured countertops and the sound of laughter he hadn’t heard in years.

He tried to hate it. Hate you for making it.

But Joel Miller was a lot of things. Stubborn, angry, mean when he had to be.

He was not strong enough to hate you.

Not even close.

Dina leaned over the table, elbows planted, chin in hand. “So listen,” she said, flicking a glance toward you before turning back to Joel. “Ellie told me you’ve been fixing up old stuff again. Thought maybe you could take a look at my space heater—it’s making this really weird buzzing sound, and I’m ninety percent sure it’s not supposed to smell like burnt popcorn.”

“What you need that thing for now? S’warm out now,” he grumbled over to her.

Dina’s brow furrowed at him, “My place is freezing!”

Joel rolled his eyes, grunting, eyes back on the breaker. “Probably just dust. I can swing by later.”

“Sweet,” she said, clapping her hands once. “I told Ellie you’d say yes.”

You shifted in your seat, fingers fidgeting in your lap. Joel could see it in the corner of his eye, the way you didn’t quite know where to look. Your gaze darted from the breaker to the worn tabletop to the window. You didn’t want to be here.

Dina, ever the social architect, didn’t miss a beat. “Anyway,” she said, standing suddenly and brushing her hands down her jeans, “I’m gonna run back and check on Ellie. She’s making me a cassette tape in the garage.

You looked up, surprised. “Wait, I thought we were gonna—”

She cut you off with a little wave of her fingers. “You’re fine. Stay. Learn how to fix shit. Or don’t. Flirt awkwardly. Whatever works.”

Joel finally looked up at that, shooting her a warning glare, but she just grinned and backed toward the door.

“Thanks, Joel. You’re the best,” she said sweetly. Then, turning her back to him, shot you a wink.

And just like that, she was gone.

The front door clicked shut behind her, and silence fell over the house again.

Thick as syrup.

You cleared your throat softly, the sound barely audible over the ticking wall clock and the quiet hum of the fan. Outside, the breeze rustled through the garden beds, and you could still hear the soft creak of Dina’s boots fading down the porch.

Joel didn’t move right away. Just let the silence stretch, long and taut, like a wire about to snap.

Then he finally exhaled, “She can be a bit…”

Your eyes lifted to his face, and he had to remind himself to hold your gaze. Don’t be impolite. Don’t be a scrooge. So he looked up a you.

“Yeah,” you exhaled, lips quirking at the sides.

“Didn’t have to stay,” he said, voice low as he looked back at his hands and quickly busying them, placing in a spring to the small breaker.

“I know…” you said, hesitating, and then, sitting straighter, you added, “Actually, I was gonna ask you…think somethin’s wrong with my water heater.”

His gaze snapped up. 

Anything you needed.

He’d do it. 

Fix it, build it, find it. 

“Been a few days now,” you continued, rushing the words under his stare. “Water’s comin’ out freezin’, and the pressure’s been real weak. Can you come look at it for me?”

Joel paused, the breaker in his hand feeling like a hundred pounds. 

Don’t, Miller. He told himself. But his mind, his imagination, the unhelpful bastard that it was, already lept at the thought.

You, naked under a stream of frigid water. Shivering. Nipples tight from the cold. Your fingers rubbing at your arms, slick and bare and goose-pimpled. Hair heavy, dripping, clinging to your collarbones. That soft little sound you might make when the water hit.

He swallowed hard, fighting the flush rising under his collar. He couldn’t have you suffering like that. No man in his right mind would leave you to freeze in your own house.

“Yeah,” he said, voice catching. He cleared his throat, shifted in his seat. “Yeah. Sure.”

“How’s tomorrow?”

Joel nodded, quick and clipped. Like it wasn’t a big deal. Like he wasn’t already planning it out down to the damn hour. He’d come by early. First thing. Get it done and gone before he did something stupid like linger.

But early meant sleepwear. Meant you might answer the door in those tiny shorts he pretended not to notice through his window.

Afternoon, then.

That’d be safer.

“Just, uh,” he said awkwardly, fingers twitching around the pliers. “Maybe don’t be there when I show up.”

You blinked. “Huh?”

His eyes flicked up to yours, brief and sharp, “In the shower.”

“Oh,” you said quickly, “Right. No—of course. Definitely not.”

But his ears burned. And no matter how hard he tried, the image came back anyway.

You. Cold. Naked. Wet.

He was so fucked.

Joel felt sick to his stomach just crossing the street.

Would you know?

Could you tell he’d spent the whole damn night lying in bed, staring at the ceiling, your tight little body haunting every inch of his imagination as he tugged at his fist beneath the covers?

He felt filthy. Perverted.

Bad.

He was a bad man, and worse, he knew it.

He probably didn’t need that second cup of coffee that morning—his limbs jittery, his hand aching as he lifted the old metal toolbox from the shed beside Ellie’s garage. His knees popped as he straightened, the ache behind his eyes a dull throb. He was too old for this.

Too old to be thinking about you like this til all hours of the night. Like some teenage, horned-up fool.

Still, he made his way over, the weight of the box not half as heavy as the tension in his chest. At his feet, the little garden bed was already blooming—blackberry bushes nestled in the soil and climbing your freshly painted fence. They suited the house. Suited you. Sweet, wild, a little thorny. He wondered what you planned to do with them. Jam, maybe. Pie, if he was lucky. If he was ever lucky again.

He doubted he’d get the chance, not after today.

Not with the thoughts scrambling around in his head, sharp and dirty and desperate to spill out.

He knocked once with his knuckles, quiet, almost hoping you wouldn’t hear.

Maybe you were out—off at the community garden, like he’d seen you some mornings with a basket slung over your arm. Or off sweet-talking the horses, sneaking carrots to your favorites. Maybe you forgot.

But no such luck. The door opened.

“Joel,” you breathed, eyes widening like you hadn’t expected him to actually show. The sound of your voice—saying his name for the first time—ripped something open in his chest.

Say it again, he wanted to beg. Please. Just once more, so I can keep it locked away. So I can die with it in my memory. 

You smiled, a little sheepish.

He didn’t smile back. Just kept his brow furrowed, his expression hard. He couldn’t afford to let you get close. Couldn’t let you mistake him for someone safe.

“Hi,” he nodded, voice low.

You tucked a piece of hair behind your ear. “Uh, my shower’s just… in here—”

“Need to take a look at the water heater first,” he cut in.

“Oh,” you blinked, hands still gripping the door and its frame. “Right…”

“Can I come in?” he added, one brow raised. A flicker of something like amusement in his voice. Maybe you were just as nervous as he was.

“Course,” you said quickly, stepping aside. “Please.”

He stepped inside.

Into your world.

It smelled like cinnamon. Like apples and woodsmoke and something fresh baked—though he saw no tray of anything waiting on the counter. Just your scent, clinging to the walls. Like you lived here completely. Like you’d settled in, made it your own.

Of course you had.

Fresh flowers sat in a mason jar on the table. Little framed paintings dotted the walls—ones he recognized from the barter-and-trade shop, and a few of horses that made his chest ache. One in particular, just a lone cowboy on a mountainside, was his personal favorite.

“The uh… water heater’s down in the basement,” you said, already walking toward the narrow door at the back of the kitchen.

Joel followed, but when you stayed behind, hovering uncertainly near the top of the stairs, he didn’t protest. It was better that way. He needed to get himself under control.

He ducked into the dark, found the breaker box, and the old water heater behind it. It didn’t take long to spot the issue.

The main switch was off.

Just… flipped off. No blown fuse. No leak. No damage.

He stared at it, confused. Then narrowed his eyes.

No.

No, no, no. That wasn’t right.

Had someone messed with it? Played a prank? Messed with you?

But he’d never seen anyone else go in or out of this house. You lived alone. He was sure of it. Which left only one possibility.

His pulse thumped in his ears.

He flipped the switch. Waited for the hum. Then made his way back upstairs, each step landing heavy beneath his boots.

“You should be all good now,” he said as he reemerged.

“Yeah?” you asked, arms crossed loosely over your chest. “That easy, huh?”

“That easy,” he nodded.

Easy. To get him here. To get him to look. To fix it.

Fix it, build it, find it. He was your man. He wanted to be your man.

“Well,” you said, fidgeting, “you sure you don’t need to check it upstairs?”

Joel moved to the sink instead, turned the handle all the way to hot, and waited. Within seconds, steam curled up from the basin. He held his hand under it, felt the sharp bite of heat.

“Good to go,” he said, glancing at you. He wondered if he would’ve noticed it before, but this time he was certain. You turned a little pink under his gaze, pulled your bottom lip between your teeth.

“Oh,” you murmured. “Good.”

He nodded. “Yup.”

But he didn’t move. Didn’t turn to leave.

He didn’t want to.

Not now that he knew, by some cataclysmic star crossed miracle, you’d brought him here on purpose. That you’d wanted him here. But he wasn’t sure what that meant. What he was supposed to do with it.

Still, you let him make his way to the door. Sweet as anything, practically shoving cookies into his hands as thanks.

He refused, hands up in surrender as he backed toward the entryway.

“Really,” he said, voice lighter now, accent thicker as he let his shoulders relax, “I’m fine, darlin’, please. Just—” his hand found the doorknob, “Just let me know if there’s anythin’ else you need. You just holler, alright?”

You smiled, soft and a little playful. “Alright. Well… thank you.”

But, somehow, your water heater broke again only a few days later.

Then the lights went out in your second bedroom. 

And then— his last and final strike—the curtain rod came crashing down from your bedroom window on a Saturday morning.

Joel stood on a small foot ladder beside your bed, boots braced on the tread, hand wrapped around the curtain rod bracket as he tightened the last screw into the wall. The hardware clinked softly against the metal as he adjusted the fit. You sat on the edge of the bed behind him, legs swinging, talking about something—weather, or the community garden, or a dog you’d seen with a lopsided face. He wasn’t really listening.

Not in a rude way. He just liked the sound of your voice more than whatever it was you were actually saying.

He hummed now and then, nodding at the right moments, letting you fill the space. It helped. Gave him something to focus on besides the fact that he was in your bedroom, that even your curtains smelled like you. That your nightstand had a little dish with jewelry in it and a book with a pressed flower between the pages. That your closet door was cracked just enough to show a glimpse of your laundry basket, and his brain, the traitorous thing, kept wondering what might be folded inside.

He exhaled slowly through his nose and gave the bracket one last twist.

“You sure must’ve worked real hard to get this damn thing off the wall,” he said, voice low.

Your words stopped mid-sentence.

He turned his head, just enough to catch the look on your face.

Eyes wide. Mouth parted. Silent.

Caught.

The silence stretched between you like something taut and dangerous.

Joel straightened up slowly, the curtain rod still in his hand, his eyes never leaving yours.

“You gonna tell me what that was about?” he asked, voice gentler than it should’ve been. “Or should I just assume you wanted me back over here so bad, you started pullin’ things off your walls?”

“I—” you choked, voice barely above a whisper, the color draining from your face as the words stuck in your throat.

Joel caught the way your fingers curled against the bedsheet, how your knees shifted slightly, like you might bolt. And God, part of him wanted you to. Part of him needed you to.

But the other part, the selfish part, couldn’t bear the thought.

“S’alright, darlin’,” he said softly. “I like your company too.”

Your eyes lifted to his, wide and searching.

“You… you do?” you asked, like you didn’t believe it. Like no part of you had expected it to be true.

Joel nodded, slow. “Yeah.” The word came out tight. It took effort, like he had to shove it past all the reasons why he shouldn’t say it.

You stared at him, stunned and unmoving. He stood still for a long beat, then finally stepped down from his stool. The floor creaked under his weight as he crossed to your bed, each step slower than the last. He moved slower than he really needed to, but it kept him steady, until he finally sat beside you. 

Not too close, not touching you, but he could feel the heat of you anyway. He caught the faint trace of your perfume, something soft and warm and inviting, and it nearly knocked him out. He wanted to breathe it in until it lived in his lungs. He wanted it to cling to his shirt, to the collar of his flannel, so he could press his face into it later—alone in the dark—like that might be enough.

Or better, that filthy corner of his brain, the beast that lived inside him wanted you to smell like him. Wanted it clinging to your sheets, your wrists, the hollow of your throat. Wanted people to catch it in passing and wonder why you’d let a man like him get that close. 

But he wouldn’t. He was trying to be good, to have restraint.

His hands stayed on his knees, tense, knuckles pale where they pulled against the denim. This was your room, so soft and warm and clean. The kind of place he could get lost in if he wasn’t careful. 

“Ain’t a good idea, what you’re doin’,” he murmured, “I’m an old man, honey.”

Your eyes tracked over his face as he looked at you, “I like that you’re older, Joel.”

He shut his eyes for a moment, jaw flexing. Christ. You didn’t know what you were saying. 

“I’m old enough to be your daddy, baby,” he whispered. The words came out rougher than he intended.

He heard the way your breath caught. Saw the way your body stilled. Like something inside you had jolted awake.

He should’ve looked away.

Instead, his gaze found yours as he swallowed dryly. When he finally got control of his heavy tongue again, he asked, “That do somethin’ to you, sweetheart?”

You didn’t speak. But the answer was all over your face.

Joel exhaled slowly, leaning back just enough to get a better look at you. Still not touching, but close enough to see the flush rise in your cheeks.

“Gonna answer me?” he asked.

Your voice trembled. “Y-yes.”

His brow lifted slightly.

“Yes, I like… thinking of you that way.”

His stomach turned over. “You think about me, huh?”

You hesitated, lips parting, and for a second he thought maybe you’d lie.

Then your voice hit him square in the chest.

“All the time.”

Joel went still. Your words rang in his head, loud and clear. Like a bell tolling inside his ribs.

Now he knew. You wanted him. You thought about him the same way he thought about you. And if he so much as reached for you, he wasn’t sure he’d be able to stop.

So instead, he just looked at you. He let his eyes rake over your face, your body, looking at how your thighs had pressed together. How your breathing had changed. How your fingers twisted in the fabric of your shirt like you didn’t know what to do with your hands now that the words were out.

And then, his voice came low and steady, like it was coming from somewhere deeper than his own body, “Show me.”

Your brows drew together in confusion, your mouth falling open. “What?”

His eyes locked with yours, and he knew you could see it. The way his pupils had all but swallowed the color from his irises, how tightly he was clinging to the last scrap of control he had left. He could feel the sweat at the back of his neck, the pulse in his throat, the ache in his hands from how hard he was trying not to reach for you. Not to ruin you.

He couldn’t let himself slip. Couldn’t let it crack wide open.

“When you think of me,” he said, quieter now, words coming like gravel dragged behind his teeth, “what do you do?”

You looked away for a second, your gaze dropping to the bed beneath you, cheeks heated and mouth parting like you didn’t know how to answer. But then your eyes found his again—wide and shining, nervous and breathless.

“You want me to… to show you?”

He didn’t speak. Just nodded slowly.

That was all he needed. Just to watch. That was the line. That was what he could live with. He wouldn’t touch you. Wouldn’t lay a single hand on your sweet, perfect, young body. He’d sit still like a good man, like a gentleman, and let it wreck him quietly. He’d carry the memory of it back across the street like a loaded gun and bury it deep where no one would ever find it.

You hesitated, breath shivering, legs pressing together as you sat there, body unsure while your eyes held his like they were searching for something—permission, safety, the truth of how far this would go.

“S’alright,” he said again, his voice soft like velvet, “Just lay back.”

He saw your throat bob, and then, slowly, you leaned back onto your elbows, shifting further onto the bed. The mattress dipped with your weight, the sound of your shorts brushing the sheets too loud in the stillness. He swallowed hard as you arched your back just enough to hook your thumbs in the waistband of those tiny, soft little shorts, sliding them down your hips, exposing the smooth skin beneath inch by inch.

“Slow–” he said, voice rough and wrecked. You paused, and nodded, eyes never leaving his face as you gently brought them down your legs. Your hand quickly and gently let them fall to the floor. 

And there you were. 

Laid down on your own bed, your legs bending slightly, thighs pressed together, hiding yourself from his fiery gaze. Joel’s knuckles popped with restraint to keep himself from spreading them for himself.

He tried to keep his eyes on your face, so sweet and flushed and burning with heat. You let out a breath, seemingly collecting your courage as you let your thighs fall to the sides. He couldn’t do it anymore, his eyes dropped almost immediately, giving in. Your precious puffy lips were outlined in the panties, light colored enough that he could see the stain of wetness forming in the cotton.

Jesus fucking Christ.

Your fingers slid slowly down your stomach, over your panties, pressing lightly between your thighs.

Joel’s lungs locked. His jaw ticked. Every muscle in his body coiled tight as wire.

This is all I get, he told himself. This is enough.

He could feel his pulse hammering behind his eyes. His jeans were too tight, his hands were trembling, and he hadn’t even touched you.

You moved your fingers again, slower this time, dragging them up and over the damp fabric, letting out the softest sound—barely audible, but to Joel it was deafening. It struck him in the chest like a damn hammer.

He was going to die here. He was going to die right here in your bedroom with his boots on the floor and you moaning into your own palm, and he was going to deserve every second of torture.

You didn’t rush.

Joel thought maybe that would save him. That you’d move fast, try to get it over with. But you didn’t. You took your time. You let your fingers glide softly over the front of your underwear, lazy strokes that did more to him than anything explicit could have. Your thighs shifted, knees bending up and falling open a little wider, and Joel could see the heat of you blooming beneath the thin cotton, darkening it, making it cling.

He had to squeeze his eyes shut for a moment, just to breathe. Just to stay sitting where he was and not reach for you, not grab your hips and tear those panties clean off your body. When he opened them again, you were watching him. Watching the way he breathed through his nose, the way his fists stayed locked tight on his legs, the way his gaze kept dropping down no matter how hard he tried to fight it.

You circled yourself again, slower now, the fabric catching slightly, and your breath caught in your throat. Joel’s heart was pounding so hard he thought you must hear it from where you lay.

His voice came out low, nearly wrecked. “Take ’em off.”

You paused, fingers freezing for a moment, your expression flickering with nerves and something else—excitement, anticipation, the realization that this wasn’t just about putting on a show. This was about him needing it. Needing you.

You slid your thumbs under the waistband and raised your hips off the mattress. He watched, helpless, as you peeled them down your legs—slow, hesitant, like maybe you were savoring the tension just as much as he was—and let them join your shorts on the floor.

Laid bare in front of him, thighs parted, glistening, flushed, and so fucking soft-looking it almost hurt to look directly at you, you looked like a god damn angel.  Joel swore under his breath and dragged a hand over his mouth again, like it might erase the things he was thinking. It didn’t.

His voice cracked when he spoke. “Touch yourself.”

You nodded, barely, and your hand slipped down again. But this time, there was no fabric in the way. Joel watched your fingers move over your folds, the way your hips tilted up to meet them. He could see everything now, every flicker of pleasure across your face, every little tremble in your legs. When you let out that first real moan—low and quiet, almost like you were trying to stifle it—Joel’s body jolted like he’d been shot.

“Jesus, baby,” he whispered, his voice nearly breaking.

You rubbed slow, steady, getting yourself wet, and his eyes dropped to where your hand moved, slick and glistening, and he bit down hard on the inside of his cheek.

But it wasn’t enough. Not for him. Not for what he wanted to see.

“Put a finger inside,” he said, and it came out lower than he meant it to—rough, almost angry with need.

You looked at him, lips parted, lashes heavy. “Joel…”

“Do it,” he rasped. “Just one, baby. That’s all.”

You hesitated, breath shaking. Then you did it. You brought your fingers lower, traced the slickness, and pushed one inside—slow, stretching, burying it to the knuckle—and Joel’s hands finally left his knees, flying up to rake through his hair as he groaned quietly.

He couldn’t fucking take it.

And neither could you.

Your back arched, mouth falling open with a quiet gasp—daddy—as you moved your finger in and out, your palm pressing down against your clit for more friction. Joel couldn’t even pretend to look away now. He was locked in, watching the way your body responded, the way you started to tremble.

And then he heard your voice again. Small, breathy. Needy.

“Please.”

Joel’s heart stuttered.

“Please, Joel,” you said again, whimpering now, your eyes shining, mouth wet, hips starting to lose their rhythm. “I don’t… I can’t… I need you.”

He clenched his jaw so tight it ached, his whole body bowstring-tense as he leaned forward just slightly, elbows on his thighs, fists clenched again, because if he moved even a little further he knew he wouldn’t be able to stop.

“Don’t do this,” he whispered. “Don’t beg me, baby. I can’t—”

But you did. You begged anyway.

“Please touch me,” you said, breathless, desperate, your hand moving faster now, legs trembling under the pressure building in your body. “I want you, Joel. I think about you all the time, and I—fuck—I want it to be you.”

He shook his head again, slower this time, like he was trying to convince himself more than you. But then your leg moved—bare and trembling—and your ankle brushed against the back of his hand where it still rested uselessly on the bed.

And that was it.

That one small touch, like permission and invitation all wrapped into one. He didn’t think. Couldn’t. His fingers wrapped gently around your ankle, warm and steady, and for a second he just held it. The first time he’d touched you. The first contact after all this time spent trying to keep himself in check.

You whimpered under the weight of his touch, a soft, aching sound that nearly unraveled him. His thumb traced a slow, reverent circle against your skin, and his heart beat so hard it was nearly dizzying.

So soft. So warm. So alive.

He bent forward without a word, still clutching your ankle, and pressed a kiss to the inside of it. The smallest kiss. Barely even a breath. But it was everything.

His lips moved again—just a little higher.

Then higher still.

Trailing up your calf, slow and worshipful, his hand shifting to the back of your leg, guiding it gently as your thigh began to tremble. You were still breathing hard, hand stalled now, frozen against your center as you watched him.

He pressed another kiss to the inside of your knee. Then just above it. Each one a little firmer than the last, like he was testing the shape of you with his mouth. 

And then, eyes locked on your hand still buried between your legs, he grasped your wrist gently, his touch reverent but sure. He pulled your finger from yourself and brought your hand to his mouth and looked at you like he was asking permission, even now, even on the edge of ruin.

You didn’t stop him.

So he parted his lips and took your finger into his mouth.

His tongue circled it first, slow and wet, curling around the soaked digit, savoring the taste of you, dragging it over the pad with aching, deliberate pressure. He sucked it in deeper, lips wrapping tight as his tongue moved along the underside. You watched, frozen in intense rapture, mouth parted and chest heaving. His eyes never left your face, even as he groaned low in his throat, eyes fluttering half shut.

You whimpered his name again—breathless, high, barely held together.

He let your finger go with a wet sound, still panting, his voice hoarse and ruined when he finally spoke.

“So fuckin’ sweet, baby.”

You whimpered his name again, breath catching as he released your hand and kissed higher on your leg, faster now, the heat of his mouth so close to where you wanted him. He nudged your thighs further apart with gentle pressure, his hands firm but trembling slightly as they moved up the backs of your legs, his thumbs dragging over the delicate curve of your inner thighs.

He paused just before reaching you. Breathing heavy. Hovering.

“This is what you wanted?” he asked, barely a whisper. “You want me here?”

“Yes,” you breathed, already breathless, already gone. “Please, Joel.”

That was all he needed.

He dipped his head and finally—finally—dragged his mouth over you, slow and sure, tasting you like he’d been starving for it. His tongue parted you, flat and warm, collecting everything you’d made for him. He moaned low against you, the sound vibrating through your whole body, and his hands tightened on your thighs, holding you open like you were something sacred.

And God, you were.

Joel wasn’t delicate with it. But he was steady, focused. Slow only because he wanted to draw it out. He licked a purposeful stripe up your center, then did it again, dragging his tongue in slow circles over your clit until your back arched off the mattress.

You gasped, hands flying to his hair, fingers twisting into the graying strands.

Daddy daddy daddy fell from your lips like a prayer, and he groaned into you, tongue pressing deeper, tracing the way you opened for him. He noticed you said it the most when you were falling apart. When your brain was lagging and hazy. 

And couldn’t stop thinking—this is what you taste like when you think of me.

He wrapped his lips around your clit and sucked, just once, firm and slow, and your legs clenched around his shoulders as a broken sound tore from your throat.

He pulled back slightly, his breath ragged, beard soaked with you.

“You’re killin’ me, baby,” he murmured, kissing the inside of your thigh again, slower now, lips softer. “You don’t even know what you’re doin’ to me.”

You begged again—don’t stop, please don’t stop—and he didn’t. He buried his mouth back between your legs and gave you everything. He wanted you to come on his tongue. Wanted to feel it. The way your body would tighten, the way your thighs would tremble, the way your breath would stutter in that pretty chest of yours before falling apart completely.

He was going to carry the sound of it for the rest of his life.

And still—he didn’t touch himself. Didn’t grind against the bed or reach for relief. This was for you. All of it.

If he could only have this, this taste, this sound, this moment, he’d take it.

And he’d burn for it later.

Joel’s tongue moved with steady, reverent purpose, his mouth open and hungry against you, like this was the only way he knew how to live anymore, by giving you this. His hands stayed firm, keeping your legs open, thumbs brushing softly against your trembling thighs, grounding you even as he pulled you closer and closer to the edge.

You were panting now, moaning freely, head thrown back against the pillow, your fingers tangled in his hair, his name falling from your mouth like it was the only one you’d ever known. He could feel the way your body was coiling, tightening, the way your hips were starting to stutter beneath him, like you were trying to chase that last bit of pressure before it ripped through you.

He sucked gently around your clit again, tongue flicking against it just right, and that was all it took.

You broke.

Your whole body arched, legs tightening around his shoulders, a sharp cry punching from your chest as you came hard against his mouth, your fingers fisting in his hair, holding him there while you rode it out. Joel groaned low in his throat, the sound dark and satisfied, almost possessive as he kept licking through it, gentle now, working you down slowly, coaxing every last tremble from you with his mouth still warm and wet against your skin.

He felt it, all of it. The way your muscles fluttered and clenched, the way your hands shook where they gripped him, the way your breath hitched as you tried to come back to earth.

And still, he didn’t stop touching you. Not yet. His lips moved lower, placing soft, open-mouthed kisses to your inner thighs, your hips, the crease where leg met pelvis, like he couldn’t stop worshipping you now that he’d started. His beard was damp with you, his mouth swollen, his hands still gentle where they rested at your hips.

But then your hands shifted.

You grabbed the front of his shirt, your fingers curling tight in the collar, and tugged.

“Joel,” you gasped, voice high and breathless, chest heaving as your eyes found his, wild and wanting, “Please.”

He lifted his head, eyes glazed, lips shining, chest rising and falling with every labored breath. “What, baby?” he rasped, even though he already knew. Even though his own body was screaming with the need he’d been trying to bury.

You pulled again, harder this time, dragging him up your body with shaking hands, your mouth still parted, your skin flushed and damp.

“Please,” you whispered, again and again, like you were unraveling, like the word was all you had left, “please, Joel… please, I need you…”

Your legs parted wider beneath him, your hips rising, searching, the fabric of his jeans rough between your thighs as he braced himself over you.

“I can’t—I can’t wait anymore,” you whispered, nails digging into his shoulders as you pulled him closer, your voice shaking. “Please—I want you inside me. I want you to fuck me, Joel. Please.”

And who was he to deny you?

Hadn’t he said it himself?

Anything you needed. Anything you wanted. He’d be the man for you.

He'd said the words and meant them. Even if they were only in his head, he meant them down to the marrow in his bones. And now, here you were, laid out beneath him, skin flushed, lips parted, pupils wide and pleading as you begged for him. Begged with your hands, your voice, your whole trembling body. And something inside Joel cracked so deep it felt like it might never close again.

He couldn’t stop himself.

He leaned down and kissed you, slow and deep, his tongue slipping past your lips so you could taste yourself on him. It was filthy, intimate, perfect. He should’ve been ashamed of how much he needed it, how tender it felt even with the heat still thrumming through him.

He’d always thought that stuff was bullshit—the way books and movies and every sappy romance insisted sparks flew when two people kissed. That it meant something. That it could change you.

But this… this was something else entirely.

This was fire and gravity and truth all wrapped into one aching, perfect moment.

And for a moment, Joel believed every goddamn word.

His hands fumbled with his waistband as his tongue explored your mouth, your sweet cooing noises filling his ears, your breath soft and sweet as honey as you gasped against him. The sound of his belt unbuckling and zipper lowering filled the room, sharp and electric. Finally, he wrapped his hand around himself, freeing his cock as it sprang free, tender, aching, and flushed dark and thick with need. He swore under his breath as the air hit him, the head already leaking for you. 

The idea of being a good man was long gone now. Left back on the floor with his restraint, his better judgment, his self-control. All that was left was you. Your scent, your skin, the desperate way you reached for him like you couldn’t bear another second of distance. Your gasp hit his mouth like a spark to gasoline. You moaned into him, hips lifting, thighs spreading wider around his waist as he rocked forward, lining himself up, his cock dragging through your slick folds.

He groaned deep in his chest, the weight of your heat soaking him instantly, the wet glide of your cunt against the underside of him making his whole body jolt.

And then you whimpered.

Joel pulled back just enough to whisper against your lips.

“I know, honey,” he cooed, his voice low and sweet, like a lullaby wrapped in filth. “I know it’s a lot, but you can take it. You can, baby. I know you can.”

He kissed your cheek, your jaw, your throat, his hands cradling your face like you were something precious even as his cock pressed closer, sliding lower with each slow grind.

“Such a good girl for me,” he whispered, barely able to breathe it out. “Knew you’d be so good, so sweet. Just let me in, honey.”

You whimpered, needy and breaking, and he slid forward again, this time pushing the head of his cock inside, slow and careful, watching every flicker of sensation cross your face. You were so warm. So tight. Your walls clenched around him instantly and his head dropped to your shoulder with a strangled groan.

“Jesus Christ,” he choked, his voice barely holding. “You feel so fuckin’ good, angel.”

You clung to him, arms around his shoulders, legs wrapping around his hips as he sank deeper, inch by inch, until you were gasping, trembling, completely filled.

Daddy. It was like a siren’s call from your lips.

Joel didn’t move right away. Just stayed there, buried to the hilt, chest heaving, eyes squeezed shut as he fought the urge to lose himself too fast.

“Fuck,” he murmured against your skin. “You take me so good. So perfect for me.”

And then, finally, he moved.

Slow at first. Measured. Deep, rolling thrusts that pulled back just far enough to make you whimper before he pushed forward again, thick and steady, dragging every inch through your soaked, desperate cunt. He kissed your shoulder as he rocked into you, his voice hot in your ear.

“That’s it, baby. Just like that. You’re doin’ so good.”

You were breathless beneath him, hips lifting to meet every stroke, your nails digging into his back, your mouth pressed against his neck as you moaned and gasped and whispered his name like a prayer.

Joel was unraveling with every sound you made, every pulse of your body around his cock. He held your face, kissed your lips, your cheek, your temple, the top of your head. He told you how beautiful you were. How tight. How fucking sweet you felt around him. Told you you were his good girl. His angel. His.

Joel moved inside you like he was trying to memorize every inch—slow, deliberate, reverent. His hands mapped your body like he’d never get the chance again. One gripped the underside of your thigh, keeping your legs spread wide for him, the other braced beside your head, grounding him, holding him back from fucking into you the way his body screamed for.

But he didn’t want to rush this. God, he couldn’t. Not when you felt like this.

So tight, so warm, so wet and fluttering around him with every slow thrust of his hips. Each roll of his body drew a breathy moan from your lips, and he drank them down like they were keeping him alive.

“That’s it,” he murmured against your cheek, his voice rasped and heavy with worship. “Just like that, sweetheart. Grippin’ my cock so good, angel girl.”

Your fingers were tangled in his hair, your body arching into his with each stroke, and every time your hips rocked up to meet his, he felt it—that trembling pulse in your cunt that told him how close you were.

“You’re so pretty like this,” he whispered, kissing your jaw, then lower. “So goddamn sweet. Feels like you were made for me.”

Your hands slid down his back, clinging, like you couldn’t get close enough.

“Joel,” you whispered, voice soft and shaking, “You feel so good—I don’t want this to end.”

His heart almost broke right there.

“Baby,” he breathed, pressing his forehead to yours, hips rocking slow and deep, “don’t say that.”

“I mean it,” you whimpered. “I—Joel, I think I’ve wanted this since the first time I saw you. I used to dream about this. About you.”

Joel groaned, low and guttural as he kissed you. Not hard or frantic, just deep and warm, letting you feel every bit of how much that meant to him. How much he wanted to give it back.

He rolled his hips slower, deeper, angling just right until he felt your legs tense around his waist again, your body tightening, that little gasp he was starting to crave spilling from your lips as you tipped your head back against the pillow.

“There she is,” he whispered, voice rough and desperate. “You’re gonna come again, ain’t you? Gonna let me feel her squeeze my cock, huh?”

You nodded, mouth open, breath catching on each thrust. “So close—oh my God, daddy, daddy—”

“Come for me, angel,” he said, his voice shaking now. “C’mon, baby girl. Be my good girl and come.”

You cried out as it hit you, body seizing under his, thighs trembling, your walls fluttering around him in tight, wet pulses. You clung to him, your fingers locked in his hair, your mouth gasping out his name again and again. 

He kept moving, kept fucking you through it, slow and steady, letting you ride it out, watching the way you shattered so beautifully for him. He held you through every wave, every twitch, every soft sob of pleasure.

And then he couldn’t hold it anymore.

Your cunt still fluttering around him, soaked and tight and perfect—Joel’s control finally snapped.

His hips stuttered, breath coming in short, punched-out gasps, and he buried his face in your neck.

“Fuck—oh baby, I’m gonna come—Christ, you feel so good—I can’t—I can’t—”

He gripped your thigh tighter, pulled you flush against him, and thrust deep one final time as his release hit him hard, spilling into you with a broken groan. His whole body shook, teeth gritted, face buried in your skin as he came in long, slow, pulsing waves that left him shaking above you.

He didn’t move right away.

Just stayed there. Still inside you, just breathing with you. His hand smoothing softly over your ribs, then your belly, then your cheek.

“You okay?” he whispered finally, voice barely there.

You nodded, turning your head just enough to kiss his jaw. “Yeah. More than okay.”

Joel pulled back just enough to look at you, really look. Your skin was warm and glowing, your eyes heavy, dreamy, dazed in the way he hoped he’d be seeing again and again. You looked happy. Content.

He’d wait ‘til tomorrow to let the guilt creep in.

Loud thunderclaps inform you of an impending storm. You expected it. From the very early morning, the sky was decorated with curly patterns of heavy clouds, so dark that it seemed as if evening had come a few hours earlier. You don't really like driving in the rain. When you have the opportunity, you prefer to stop and wait out the bad weather, but before it starts to rain, you step on the gas.

When lightning flashes in the distance, you think that maybe you should have stayed at the unloading station. The memory of a small, cozy cafe rushes to your brain. You could’ve sat down where they made those damn delicious pies and enjoyed a piece of a cherry one. But it was too late to go back, you were six hours away from there. A nice amount of money has been credited to your bank account for the work you've done, and a dozen large paper bills have been burning the back pocket of your jeans.

It was strange to cash out such amounts now when most things can be paid for with a simple press of your phone or a swipe of a credit card, but something pulled you to the ATM as soon as you saw the message about the replenishment of the account. 

Of course if you stop lying to yourself it’s not a big secret why you took out seven hundred bucks, even if you don’t really want to admit it. You know exactly what you're going to do with that money. Just like you know why you skipped a turn to the short road that led to your hometown and instead took the one with the sign that said ‘Brookshire, TX 40 miles’.

Only 40 miles of anxiety left.

The rain still won't break through the airy skin of the clouds, so you let your thoughts wander. Once again, you're going back to Tommy and Joel. Two men who have strangely changed your attitude to pleasure. Before meeting them, you were sure that the only reason sex was so popular was good PR. People just got it into their heads that this sweaty act was a heavenly delight, incomparable to anything else on earth (except for a couple of ice cream scoops on a painfully hot summer day). And everyone just rolled with it, and even when they realized what a hoax it all was, they kept silent. After all, what if everything was exactly as advertised, and they, the dumb unlucky ones, were simply doing something wrong? They couldn’t admit that.

And you were one of those people, enjoying mediocre sex with mediocre results: two times out of five you would cum, and after that you tried to remember exactly what you or your partner did to achieve such a extravaganza.

But Tommy, Joel... It was as if these men had broken the code. Not just to your pussy, but to sex in general. It seemed that both men were sent to this earth to teach people how to fuck. Or at least show how it can be done to the happy participants that could handle their fees.

That's why you decide not to feel the slightest drop of shame when you give in to your physical desires. God knows you don't get those very often. Whatever the circumstances, you will still get that heavenly pleasure that you have not experienced with any partner before them. And so what if you pay for it? You were just glad that you were getting more than you expected, and it was worth every penny.

Like a knife through butter, your truck glides smoothly on the gray asphalt road. The clouds did not burst with rain, instead, they slowly dispersed, as if convincing you of the correctness of your route. You smile lazily and stretch your back as far as possible without letting go of the steering wheel. The anticipation of something good seems to give you strength. Glancing at the clock on the dashboard, you decide that you still have about ten hours of driving in you, so if Joel agrees, then you will be at Tommy's tonight.

Agreed, you were slightly overly positive in your expectations, but you can't blame a woman for being an optimist. When Joel somewhat agreed to your orgasm fueled preposition, at first, you just wrote it off. The clearer your head was the crazier it sounded. 

You've never been risky when it came to bedroom activities. Sure, you owned toys, read and watched porn from time to time. Even had your favorite sites bookmarked. You've let both men and women in your bed. But somehow it all sounded so plain compared to having sex with two men, fucking prostitute brothers, at the same time. You didn't even know if Tommy would be on board, honestly. But something gave you the idea that the younger brother was even friskier than his no less good-looking sibling. If not, you’ll just figure it out on the spot. 

The more you think about it, though, the more anxiety transforms into something else completely. In a delicious stickiness prominently wetting your panties. In an image of your body squeezed between two broad chests. Handled by four strong hands and...

You shake your head, a moan almost escapes your lips but you swallow it down. Your eyes search your surroundings before you realize where you are. 40 miles flew by unnoticed.

You see him smoking at the entrance to the diner —the one where only biscuits and gravy are served despite the lengthy menu— and you wonder if the young chef has mastered new dishes in your short period of absence.

The loud bang with which you close the driver's door echoes through the parking lot. There are a little more trucks here now, a little more life, but that doesn’t bother you at all. Joel doesn't look up, and you walk over to him.

"Can I bum one?" You can’t help but smile when he looks up at you with his professionally seductive gaze.

"Damn, you're quick, sugar." He fishes a pack of red marlboros out of the back pocket of his skinny jeans and lights a cigarette for you. "Miss me already?"

You don't respond, letting your gaze slide over his body without shyness. He was wearing a tight white T-shirt, the material is quite thin, so you can see the dark circles of his nipples. They harden under your stare or maybe because of a cold gush of the late summer wind. Jeans that hug his massive thighs and a surprisingly firm ass were getting wider below the knee. It is a surprisingly old-fashioned choice, you admit, but somehow it looks good on Joel. A pair of worn-in brown leather cowboy boots complete his look. As soon as you see those, your brain gives you an image of Joel naked in a cowboy hat and boots. It’s hilarious, but your pussy is purring.

"It's okay, sugar, I missed you, too."

You look up, and the surprise is obviously too easy to read on your face—you've always been an open book—because Joel laughs and then clears his throat when cigarette smoke rushes to leave his lungs.

"Really?"

"Sure did. Was walking ‘round hard all the time ‘cause I couldn't stop thinkin’ about that little preposition of yours.” 

"Funny," you say, flicking the ashes of your cigarette onto the asphalt between you, "that's exactly why I'm here."

You feel weird with Joel sitting in the seat next to you. Before following you to your truck, he popped off somewhere and returned with a small bag slung over his shoulder. He didn't say what was in there.

Now, even though he has already seen most of your truck from the inside during your first meeting, you can’t stop stealing glances at him, wondering what the man thinks.

He stretches out next to you, spreading his arms and practically touching your ear with the fingertip of his middle finger. Joel groans and it sounds more like an animal cry, and then rubs his eyes.

"You can sleep inside, if you want." You point your finger behind your back, behind the dividing curtain that hides your modest temporary home.

"And miss the opportunity to spend time with you? I don't think so."

You smile and shake your head in disbelief. "It’s gonna be at least 7 hours before we’re there." You say, not taking your eyes off the road. Probably you should've warned him about that before you took off, not like he’d be able to just change his mind when you're already on the way there. However, Joel just nods, visually unfazed. 

"It’s gonna be worth it."

The words pinch the edge of your consciousness, reminding you of what this whole thing was. Well, of course you're going to pay them both a pretty penny, you already knew that. There is nothing wrong with that. Speaking of pretty. You give Joel a quick look. His profile is favorably highlighted by the recently switched on traffic lights.

"I didn’t even ask, umm, how much will this adventure cost me?" You try to sound casual. You probably succeed, because Joel answers you without looking away from the window at the passenger side, he was watching green blotches of bushes and trees flying past.

"Don’t worry, sugar, we’ll figure something out." His voice sounds convincing, but you still shift a little nervously in your seat. You don’t like surprises, you prefer everything to be clear and on schedule. You liked to know what was wanted from you, because you always knew what you wanted from others. The uncertainty makes the muscle in your cheek twitch. Joel continues, "right now just drive and let me admire the view."

Unexpectedly, you chuckle. You weren’t sure what view he was going to admire. You were in the middle of nowhere and dry patches of grass weren’t that exciting to look at and then you see him turning in his seat and facing you without an ounce of overthinking. Your cheeks burn, and you roll the window down in an attempt to cool yourself off with the last warm southern breeze.

The minutes stretch into hours of mutual silence. You weren't used to talking while driving, with your job, loneliness was a given, so you feel comfortable in silence. Joel, even if he isn’t used to it, doesn’t show it. Sometimes your eyes meet when both of you are trying to sneak a look at the other. Well, you try to do it stealthily, where Joel doesn’t hide his admiration. 

You feel a tremor in your hands, gripping the steering wheel tightly, every time you cross paths with his curious brown eyes, framed by unnaturally thick eyelashes in a way that made his eyes look cowishly innocent, which seemed ridiculous with his profession.

You try not to think about how he got into this job, and what happened for it to become a family affair. It was a little weird, but not enough to keep your mind occupied all the time. However, on the fourth hour of the drive, the silence between you seemed like a good opportunity to satisfy your curiosity.

"Joel?" For the second time during your trip, you notice that he is looking at something other than you. His eyes dart around the cabin, absorbing the little things that make it yours. Key chains and toys that you’ve bought at gas stations in different states hanging over your heads like a security line. The soft orange plaid you threw over the back of the driver's seat. The CD collection that is neatly stacked in a compartment under the radio.

"Hmm?" He is distracted from studying a stuffed bison from Kansas, its eyes strangely bulging. That's probably why you bought it, because you felt pity for the little guy that, compared with identical counterparts with normal eyes, no one but you would spend 8 bucks on.

"This thing you and Tommy do, how did you…" Somehow the moment you decide to ask the question the right words escape you, and you start to babble, your thumbs thrumming at the steering wheel nervously. "What I’m trying to ask is, do you like it?"

Joel's palm falls on your thigh and your skin there burns through the jeans you were wearing. Your breath catches in your throat as he squeezes the meat there. "Don't worry, darlin', neither of us need saving." He says calmly, like it's the question that was painfully predictable. "It's not like we are in a dire situation or anything. We chose what we do. And we're pretty fucking good at it."

With that he hints at the end of this conversation and you play along, smirking at the windshield.

"That you are."

Joel still ends up crashing out, even though he doesn't leave the seat, and his quiet snoring accompanies the sound of your engine for the rest of the way. You don't mind, it's even cute. When he sleeps, his sly grin slips off his face, and his plump lips part. It gives him a new kind of appeal. 

You're quietly humming some of the songs you've heard on the radio this morning, probably confusing the words, but there is no one to catch you in it. 

Night has already fallen on the state, the lights of the now familiar gas station stand out like a bright spot on the dark canvas. You're parking next to a huge blue Volvo truck, the interior is dark, and the driver is probably already having dinner at the diner or asleep.

Joel wakes up as soon as you take the key out of the ignition, he blinks a few times and then finds your face.

"Damn, did I pass out?" You purse your lips in a smile, and he shakes his head. "Guess that’s for the best, it seems that I'm gonna have quite an energy-consuming night." He winks at you and the thrill of what's coming gathers in the gusset of your panties.

You find his younger brother in the same place where he was on the first night you met. Next to a large vending machine full of soda and tiny overpriced packs of chips. An unlit cigarette hangs between his lips, and his curls are hidden under a white cowboy hat. The skin of his broad shoulders glistens, exposed by a black tanktop. It is tucked into blue jeans that are looser fit than his older brother's. Tommy’s belly was supported by a leather belt with a massive metal buckle. The man is checking his pockets, apparently looking for a lighter or a box of matches.

Joel takes a few steps forward in front of you, and as soon as his shoes come into Tommy's field of vision, his brother raises his head, still unable to light the cigarette.

"Well I be damned."

"Hello there, little brother."

The men's low laughter spread in a warm roar across the parking lot and you couldn't help but smile at the sight of them hugging. As if they remembered about your existence at the same time, they both looked at you. Joel then slapped his brother's chest, cocking his head conspiratorially towards Tommy, but speaking loudly enough for you to hear.

"You got no idea what this little lady brought me here for."

Barely five minutes has passed between Joel whispering something in Tommy's ear while not taking his eyes off you, and the moment when Tommy literally drags you into his room. 

Tommy's eyes are the color of purest oil, black, with hunger splashing in their depths. You laugh when he pushes the door too hard and it crashes into the thin wall with a deafening bang, probably scaring whoever pays for the room next door.

As soon as Joel —much more carefully than his brother—closes the door, Tommy is ready to all but jump on you, his lips with frightening precision pressing against the most sensitive parts of your neck.

"Fuck, can't lie, I think I missed you, little lady."

The words mess with your head and you can only audibly gasp when his tongue licks a wet stripe up the column of your neck. Tommy's sharp teeth find the edge of your jaw and his bites are soft but ravenous enough for you to almost believe him.

You recognize Joel's hands when they settle on your hips, steadying you from falling on your weak knees. He puts his face in the crook of your neck from behind, opposite Tommy. 

"Maybe we should at least get to the bedroom," he half-whispers and his hot breath raises peach fuzz at the back of your neck. 

You feel Tommy nod and he gives your neck another kiss before pulling away, his grin is blinding, dizzying you with its sincerity.

You don’t remember Tommy's room much, every time your brain went to that night his bedroom layout was never even on the list to think of. Now, as you look at his cramped but almost clean space, your eyes study the bed that looks too flimsy with the once-upon-a-time-white bedsheets that've been washed too many times to remain so.

Is it supposed to fit all of you? You feel like if Joel plops on it too hard the little legs that hold the frame will break. How did that thing even survive you and Tommy in the first place? 

Anxiety swarms your brain like a cloud of batshit wasps, but they all stop buzzing when two sets of lips attack your neck again, this time way bolder. 

"Fuck." It takes you a Herculean effort to take a step forward, their saliva stains feel cold on your skin. You shake your head trying to get your mind out of the gutter for a spare moment. "Wait, the money, how... how much?"

It might've been the least sexy thing you could've said at that particular moment, but you already know that the men don't treat it as an insult or any type of offense. It doesn’t even affect their boners, if you can judge by two intimidatingly big bulges staring at you.

Tommy looks at Joel and you don't notice it —still too distracted by what you're going to see once the clothes are off— but the man with eyes as black as his brother's hair gives him a short nod. Tommy smirks happily and crowds you into the bed until the back of your knees hit the frame and you all but fall on your ass, bouncing a little on the firm mattress. The younger man leans towards you and cups your chin.

"It's your lucky day, baby, you're getting a brotherly discount if you're able to actually handle the both of us…"

"What?" The words have the opposite effect on you than you thought they've both anticipated. It feels like a humiliating charity, condescension, something you've fought very hard your whole life to stop getting from people. Men, especially. "That's bullshit, I asked for both of you, of course I can handle…"

"Well some people bite more than they can chew." It was Joel, he appeared from behind his brother, his hands on his waist. 

You raise your brows unable to find the surface-level irony that you are trying to ask sax workers to take your money. For sex. "I know what I want. And I know what I can take." You say, your voice firm. "Or do you think I can't afford you?"

Tommy whistles playfully. "Damn, that's hot. But it's not a charity, honestly. We've just never done something like this… Together."

The words settle in your head, making the situation less hostile and back to being sexually charged. They are just as new to this as you. Well, almost. They are a different kind of new but the thought unties the knot in your stomach. You only notice how tense your shoulders are when you relax them.

"We don't have it in our price lists," Joel sits next to you on the bed, his face turns to you and without meaning to, you stretch your neck, silently asking him to place his lips where his brother's were just moments ago. "You're just so special, we couldn’t refuse."

"Bullshit." You want to huff a laugh but a single word turns into a moan halfway out of your throat.

Tommy joins you both, so that you're squeezed between the two men. He nips at your neck from the other side and your head starts to spin, "Yeah, we just both like a challenge."

It feels like they are talking about more than this situation with you, but you don’t have the strength to dwell on it. 

"Will five hundred cover a night of amazing sex?"

"For five hundred I’ll even wake you up with coffee and an orgasm" Tommy whispers in your ear and licks the shell of it as if to seal the words inside your head.

You don't even notice how you end up in only your underwear sprawled on the bed like a feast on a shaky table. It feels unfair that even though Joel and Tommy's lips are drawing patterns on your skin, you still feel uneasy. They are too clothed for you to relax, and you don’t shy away from telling them just that.

‘That’s easy to change.’ One of them whispers and you don’t know who because your senses are overwhelmed by their heat and then by their abrupt disappearance.

You open your eyes, squinting, even though the light highlighting their solid frames from behind isn't that harsh.

"Do we need to dance?" Tommy takes a step to what you think is his phone on the cheap IKEA-looking table that is propped against the wall. The way Joel glares at him almost makes you laugh out loud but you're too impatient to torture the men so you just ask them to get naked and join you as fast as they can. 

Your impatience ignites something in the men, and they both lose their shirts and jeans quickly, almost like a competition. Though Tommy loses, as he still wiggles his butt while whistling some cheesy song. The whole action would've been hilarious if only his cheeks didn't look so delicious that you immediately wanted to sink your teeth in the supple flesh.

You don't expect it, but they drop their underwear too. Tommy sheds his white briefs and Joel - black boxers. For a second you feel like you're at Wimbledon with the way your head snaps from one dick to another, mouth salivating at the mere sight. You don't even try to stop yourself from investigating them, comparing a little, but not in a better/worse way, rather than to see what other similarities besides devastatingly handsome looks the brothers share. As it turns out, not much. 

Tommy's cock is thicker, no doubt, there are more veins running around the shaft. The head is a darker purple and you know he’d be more bitter on your tongue, if you teased his slit right now. Joel is longer. He's definitely well endowed, you already knew that, but you still spend an equal amount of time looking at the way he shakes his dick holding it between his thumb and forefingers, hypnotizing you. 

Looking back at Tommy, you see that his pubes are better trimmed and fully black in the low lights, where Joel's are a little on the wilder side, long enough to curl. 

What they do share, though, are intimidatingly large sets of balls, full to the brim with the cum you want them to fill you with.

You want to drop between them to your knees, bruising yourself to the bone with how eager you are to lick their cocks, touch them, make them shudder as you lather their balls with your tongue. Your panties are soaked through at the thought that these men are there just to pleasure you tonight. It feels surreal but if that is a dream you don’t want to wake up. 

In an attempt to give yourself a moment to catch your breath, you drop your eyes lower. The men share a smirk feeling at ease under your scrutiny, even becoming harder if that was possible. Their meaty thighs are covered in soft looking hair. Tommy's skin is more golden and you can see a speedo shaped patch of skin that is a few shades lighter. Evidently, Joel isn’t a big fan of bathing in the sun so his thighs are just lighter, maybe he prefers shorts.

You finally stop your examination and look at them.

"Everything to your liking, ma’am?" Joel's voice is low, husky. Not a question, really, a foreplay. Because the moment you breathe out a shuddered ‘fuck, yes’, he crawls on the bed and sits behind you, like there's a plan they've got that they haven’t let you in on.

He spreads his legs around you and tugs you by the waist to lean against him. His fingers expertly unclasp your bra and tug it off while Tommy settles on his knees in front of you. The sight of him triggering a deja-vu. 

There are chills traveling up your legs alongside Tommy's fingers, and then back down as he pulls your wet panties off. His lips trail now a familiar path up your thighs and you hold your breath just before he spreads your legs and looks at your swollen, shiny pussy. 

"Mmm," he noses the skin at the crease of your thigh inhaling as much of your scent as he can and then he looks at you with those eyes. "Have I told you I missed her already?"

That’s the last thing you hear in his raspy voice before those plush lips wrap around your clit. You jerk from the intensity of the long-awaited sensation and only remember Joel's there when he hugs you tighter to his chest, his hands wrapping around your body and cupping your tits.

Tommy's lips feel divine molding against the soft wet flesh of your pussy. With his thumbs he spreads your lips apart to dive and tease the most hidden parts of you with reverence, the shameless thrum of your pleasure reverberating deep in his throat. 

Your head falls back on the hardness of Joel's shoulder and you feel trapped in the most delicious prison. Tommy's tongue licks your clit with fervor and you've been on edge too long to last. You don't know if that is the sweat dripping down or the tip of Joel's cock smearing precum against your lower back. While his brother hums and moans, drinking you from the source, he never stops touching you, paying utmost attention to the soft swell of your breasts that fill his palms perfectly.

His thumbs rub against your hard nipples, replicating the movements Tommy's tongue draws against your clit. And when the younger man's lips purse around and suck on your tender bud, Joel's finger pinch both of your nipples at the same time, the heady mix of sharp pain and blunt pleasure arch your back so hard you think it might snap.

As you explode to Joel's litany of praise in your sweat-soaked temple, two of Tommy's fingers push in your pulsing hole, prolonging the break. The unyielding scratch of his soft fingertips against your g-spot unlocks some hidden part of you as you squirt more and more liquid all over his hand and mouth. It’s like he knew when his touch would become too much so he pulls away without overstaying his welcome.

He stands up, his angry cock swaying in front of you, but you can’t keep your half-lidded eyes off his face. It is wet and dark, the playfulness replaced by something you've only seen on National Geographic before when a lion had its fill of the prey —its face covered in blood as his tongue cleaned the remnants of his feast off— but was ready to hunt again soon. 

Tommy leans over you, making you press your sweaty back against Joel's chest, and holds his fingers in front of him. He stretches his hand further towards your face and you are ready to taste yourself mixed with his skin, your odor already opening up differently like the most expensive perfume. And just as the pink of your tongue peeks between your lips he jerks his hand away, hungrily licking your essence from his fingers, without breaking eye contact. 

You don't even have the opportunity to catch your breath when Joel demands your attention by sucking the thin skin behind your ear and whispers

"My turn," he leaves a trail of biting kisses down your neck and shoulder, his hands dropping from your tits to your sides. "If you’ll let me?"

You only have the strength to nod, and then you wait for the brothers to just swap places but Tommy doesn't move while Joel manhandles you into something that supposed to have been you sitting on his face, but when you see the throbbing shaft of his cock you just fall forward, putting both of you in a 69. Your ass and cunt are on display for both men and you almost feel the heat of their eyes on your drooling pussy and—embarrassingly— your asshole, too. 

You aren't sure if you're allowed to suck Joel’s dick while he latches onto your sensitive lips, but you see the drop of saliva leaving your parted lips and landing on his heated flesh. Tentatively, you drag your nails up his thighs and lean forward, you breath fanning over his twitching length. "Can I?" And it's like you ask the cock itself, but thankfully Joel replies.

"Fuck, sweetheart," his growl ripples against your cunt, teasing your skin, "only a madman would refuse something like that, though I’m not sure you’ll be able to."

"Again with your—"  Your speech is converted into an incredulous moan when Joel's lips wrap around your tender clit.

He's eating you out differently, more sloppy than Tommy. His tongue can’t seem to stay in one place dying to lick every fold and crease. Joel can't stop groaning when his tongue dips in your hole and you clench around him without meaning to, but forcing him to stay fucking your cunt a little bit longer with his wet muscle before returning to your clit. 

Desperate to prove him wrong, prove them both wrong, you wrap your lips around his deep dusky pink tip and you get the reaction you dreamed of, Joel's body goes rigid and jerks beneath. With a victorious hum you swirl your tongue , the flat of it licking the salty precum from the head. You barely find the strength to go deeper, drag your tongue along the underside of his cock feeling the fat vein running down it as you feed more and more of his cock to yourself. 

That's when you feel something more, another tongue so close to Joel's but breaching a different hole. You gag, spluttering your drool all over the older man's cock and eyes roll back painfully. Amoan rips through your not nearly enough abused throat. That's all you can do for a few drawn out moments: moan and drool on Joel's dick. Just hold it in between your lips while desperately trying to remember how to breathe.

The brothers go at you hard, each fully dedicating his mouth to your holes. The sensation of two strong tongues fucking you is overwhelming, the pleasure is bordering on numbing so you give up, letting go of Joel's cock, and lay your head on his hairy thigh, just trying to breath and not die from the overload of pleasure. You can feel his grin against your pussy.

You don’t know who does it, but someone pushes two fingers in your cunt and you welcome it, writhe as much as your body and Joel's solid grip on your lower back allows. A thought flashes through your brain and you spit it out faster than you have the opportunity to overthink. Something that you've never had, something you wouldn't dare to have with anyone besides these two perfect men that moan from giving you ecstasy. You turn your head, but have no strength to lift it off Joel's thigh, his hairs are wet with your sweat and irritate the skin of your cheek a little.

"Put it there," you cry, still not fully forming the thought.

Tommy's voice is broken but still cocky, and you immediately know whose fingers those were. 

"Where, pretty girl? You're so big and know what you want, you need to use your big girl words." He teases your ass with the tip of his tongue again before biting your asscheek.

"Fuck" you moan, the slurping sounds of Joel sucking at your pussy and the feeling of his scorching hot tongue rubbing your clit make it hard to think on top of everything else. "My ass, please, fuck, put them in my ass."

"What a good girl," Tommy swats your ass gently and Joel moans in your pussy. 

He doesn't wait long before pressing his cum sleeked digit to your puckered hole. He uses your own slick as lube and the thought alone makes you push more liquid on Joel's greedy tongue. Tommy fucks your ass with one finger, letting you get used to the foreign pressure, but as soon as he notices you push back on your own, he adds another.

"Fuck," you hiss. It burns for the total of three licks at your clit. And then you're ready to beg for more because it’s revealed to you that sometimes that smudge of pain is a well conceded path to bigger pleasure.

"Lord, you should see that." Tommy whistles and you feel heat creeping up your neck. That is not the time to get shy, yet his undivided attention to that part of you makes you clench your thighs around Joel's head. The man seems to appreciate the threat of suffocation as he presses your body even further into his face. "Such a tight ass, just perfect." The thumb of Tommy’s other hand touches the ring of muscle stretched around his fingers. "Sucks me in like a vice, never seen anythin' more pretty ‘an that." 

"More," you beg, drunk on his praise and you hear him suck in his breath like it is painful to him to do that.

"Fuck, little lady, can't be greedy like that, I might just lose my mind."

Behind you he bites his fist and then drags his fingers out of you, leaving you crying. A glob of his spit lands directly on your freshly stretched asshole and you jolt, but don’t pull away. You're quickly rewarded with the pain of three fat long fingers opening you up and stretching your asshole further than it's ever been.

The tears spring from your eyes but you feel joyous, elevated. You wonder if Joel pushes his tongue in your pussy will he feel the steady drag of his brother's fingers a thin wall away. But the man is too concentrated on terrorizing your tender clit, his aquiline nose pressed against your empty hole only enough to tease.

The feeling of fullness and Joel's relentless touch makes you break and scream as the second orgasm ripples through your body in electric waves. The last thing you remember before your eyes shut is Joel’s dick twitching before leaving a smear of pearly liquid on your cheek.

When you come back to your senses the plain cotton sheet sticks unpleasantly to your back. Your legs are spread wide and you find Tommy’s curly head between your thighs again. You have no idea how much time has passed and how you haven’t felt him start licking your pussy again.

He is lazily lapping at your cunt, the way waves lazily lap at the beach for no particular reason, just to keep it wet.

His tongue dances through your folds, diving deeper to the source of your salt. Your cum and his and his brother’s spit merge together not to dilute the other but to become something else entirely. You whine, even the softest of his touches feel too much for your shaken body.

Like a blind kitten, you search the bed to find another man somewhere close. You feel his heat but fail to navigate his body. The bed that seemed too narrow to fit three people now felt like a never ending field.

Under your palm you feel a big thigh covered in soft hair and you attempt to scratch it, asking the man to save you from the devastating pleasure that’s being forced on your willing pussy.

A hand falls on top of yours, squeezes your fingers together.

“That’s enough, brother, don’t be greedy. Mama raised us better ‘n that.”

A pair of brown eyes meets your half lidded ones from between your thighs. Pink tongue, quick like a lizard, runs over a plush bottom lip that is covered in more than just spit. Red, swollen and sensual, you’re dying to kiss him, taste the most incredible night of your life in your mouth.

You must’ve said it out loud, because why else would he crawl over you, studying your face so reverently. Like it’s more than what it is.

“You’re right.” He whispers, and before you realize he’s not talking to you, you almost choke on your shallow breath. “The night is still young, plenty of time for everyone to get their fill.” He answers to his brother and places a ridiculously chaste kiss on your cheek.

You don't notice how you doze off again, now awoken by gentle fingers drawing intricate patterns on your body. The mini-fridge hums in the corner of the room, the only noise you can hear besides the ringing in your ears. When you open your eyes, Tommy and Joel lie on either side of you and an electronic watch on the table tells you it's barely been over an hour. You feel achy in the best way, sore in places that often went underappreciated.

"Wakey-wakey, sleeping beauty." Tommy's voice is the first to thunder through the sweat-smelling space. You feel a smile spreading on your lips, no shame in your nakedness, not even when you stretch and the long-haired man places a sweet kiss on your hardened nipple. "I thought you passed out for good, and we didn't even get to the main act yet."

"It was the best nap I've had in my life." You say to the ceiling, and both men laugh softly, like cats purring.

"Noted," Joel leans on his bent arm, supporting his weight on his elbow as he looks down on you. "You nap better after a few orgasms."

Tommy makes a gesture like he is writing something down in an invisible journal and you lightly punch his shoulder, making him chuckle again.

"Everyone does." You say in your defense.

You look at Tommy with more tenderness than you're supposed to, study his freckles and the way his slightly damp curls frame his face as if he is a high-end fashion model. Then, you turn to Joel, and his eyes are already on your face. There is a soft smile on his lips that contradicts the hard weight of his cock still lying on his thigh. 

You check Tommy and see that he's in no better state.

"That can't be comfortable." How did your voice immediately drop so low, becoming sultry? You didn't even know you could do sultry, but these men pull something completely new and exciting out of you. You should be tired, exhausted. Pay them for the glorious orgasms and maybe even leave on shaky legs. Instead, there's the familiar twitch of need in the pit of your stomach. The soft meat of your inner thighs once again shiny with more than sweat.

"Doesn't matter," Joel shakes his head, watching your face intently. He is trying to read your mind, but has troubles because you yourself don’t know what to think yet. "It’s all for you."

"Yeah?" You glance from one man to another and Tommy nods in agreement, tugging on his own thick shaft but keeping his face indifferent aside from the bulging vein pulsing in the middle of his forehead. 

"What he said."

"Well then, I better start enjoying it." There's a playful smirk and a surge of energy that tickles your skin. 

Your hands run up their thighs and the men shudder under you at the same time. They fall in the practiced routine of making you moan and shiver as their lips simultaneously attack your body, kissing it, licking it. A big hand —definitely Joel's, his fingers are fatter than his brother’s, cover more of your skin at once— slides down your stomach and cups your pussy. It just lays there without any movements, but the weight alone reminds you of the previous pleasure and it is enough to make you gush. 

"Who do you want, ba—" your hands wrap around their cocks, and it makes Joel stutter, "baby? Who do you want to fuck you?"

Next to you, Tommy breathes through his nose loudly. His jaw is clenched and there are devils in his eyes, they look pleased. Lazily, you tug on their shafts, the skin hot, almost burning your palms. It's not enough to make either of them cum, you don't think so. But your answer to his question definitely tips the men closer to the edge.

"Both," you finally breathe out. "I want you both."

"Both as in..." The hand that cups your pussy squeezes you there and you shake your head. Maybe one day, but today you don't think you'd be physically and emotionally able to take them both up your pussy even if you really, really wanted to. 

"No, not like this, I want…" You feel embarrassed to say it out loud, but you push through knowing there was no place for judgement in those four thin walls. "I want one of you to fuck my ass, while the other fucks my pussy.'

"Dibs on ass." Tommy blurts and it's like a soap bubble in your chest bursts, and you start laughing uncontrollably. You almost bend forward, your lungs and belly hurt from laughter. Joel throws a pillow at Tommy muttering ‘fucking idiot’ under his breath.

"I’m kidding, obviously," he places a kiss on your shoulder, you feel his teeth. "Whoever you choose, little lady." 

By the look of it he was only half joking, his cock feels more hard and leaking freely at the prospect of claiming your hole. Pearly drops of precum made it easier for you to slide over his shaft. And maybe it is a mistake since he is girthier, but just for the reverent look in his eyes you are ready to lay ass up and let him ruin you in a way no man ever has before.

"I want you, Tommy." You say out loud, but don't look at either of them.

For a moment no one says a word, Tommy and Joel are still next to you, and as if on cue they grab your hands, detaching from their cocks. The younger man can't contain his glee but Joel once again just shakes his head. Not in disappointment, just amused by his brother's childish behavior.

"Is it okay?" You ask him even though you know you don't have to, what you say goes. But still you don't want the older man to feel like you refuse him. If you were honest, you were ready to just throw your body on the bed and let both of them take rounds with you any which way they wanted. You really wouldn't mind.

Joel cups your face, his eyes searching and finding something in your eyes, and then smiles. 

"I only care about making you feel good, sweetheart. And fuck if I'm not a lucky bastard to slide in that tight pretty pussy of yours." He kisses your cheek and then slides lower to your jaw biting your neck. Bathed in Joel's attention, you don't notice Tommy leaving for the bathroom to get lube.

You're not sure about the logistics, so you just trust Joel when he tugs you on top of him, placing your burning core to leak on his cock. 

"Gonna ride me, baby?" You nod, feeling both powerless and powerful. "Yeah? Gonna jump on my cock while my brother stuffs your little tight asshole? Who would've thought such a minx was hiding in a giant truck. That's what you like, huh? Giant things to ride." You feel his dick throb beneath you, almost sliding in your pussy on its own volition. Without taking his hand off your hip Joel blindly searches the nightstand and grabs a small foil square. There's again that pang of disappointment when he tells you to lift up and puts on a condom, but you know going bare is not even an option. 

"Come on, then," Joel smiles, but there are drops of sweat dotting his forehead from how long he's been hard and waiting. "Show me how you ride."

You sink down in a devastatingly long, smooth motion. Your pussy welcomes the stretch even through the sting and you throw your head back as soon as you feel Joel's pubes tickle your bare sweaty skin. 

"Fuck," you moan in tandem. 

"The wettest pussy in all the states," Joel guides your hips, and riding him becomes too easy. To prove his words your pussy gushes and trembles, your walls squeezing him deliciously. "Feels good, don't it, baby? You must feel yourself right in your place riding a big dick. Lord knows I love my job when it's about fucking a tight little minx like you. Fuck, I'd do it for free. I'd fucking pay you myself."

His words slur in a stream of pretty girl's and fuck's and goddamit the tightest pussy that has ever soaked my dick's and you can't think straight. Your only thought is to keep moving, keep feeling the sweetest drag of his dick through your swollen walls. Keep riding him until you pass out from feeling that fucking good.

"Good, good, fuck, it feels so good."

Another man's breath fans over your sweaty neck. "You're about to feel a lot better."

Your ass is still nicely stretched from his fingers earlier so you don't flinch when Tommy sticks his lubed up index finger in your other hole. The pressure is different now that Joel occupies so much of your space but you feel excited, shiver runs down your spine. Tommy is concentrating on the way you take him in, but his eyes slide over to where your cunt is stretched over his brother's hard shaft. He feels his own cock jut impatiently, begging to finally slide in your tight heat. 

His gentleness doesn't falter even as he hurries to work you up to three fingers. When the sting forces you to wince, Joel stops your small bounces just keeping his dick inside you, letting you slowly get used to the feeling. He sits up and sucks on your tits, leaving wet stains and bite marks on your flesh. When you catch Joel's eyes you see the hunger you haven't seen before. There's something wild roaring through his mind but he doesn't let it out.

"You ready for me, pretty girl."

"I, I—" but it's not a question. Tommy’s fingers already find your pussy drooling wet around his brother, and the fat tip of his own cock knocks on your tight hole. 

"You're ready." 

And you just nod.

You expect the sting with the thing Tommy is carrying between his thick thighs, yet when he feeds every inch of his cock to your virgin hole you can't stop the cry ripping your lips apart.

It's the fullness that takes you by surprise when it shouldn't have. This is probably how the ocean feels when the water overflows its shores. When rain after rain slowly fills its body, and it waits, endures, until it spills out showcasing its destructive force for miles around.

Both of them are the destructive force, though, not you. After accepting the honey thick pain that feels as sweet as the brightest summer day, you know that there won't be anything able to compare to this night. 

The men seem to share your sentiment, and when you whine, overwhelmed, they grit their teeth memorizing you and the feeling of each other locked inside your body.

"Please," you beg, and they know what you want. The connection you have now lets you read each other's minds, apparently.

Tommy's the first to thrust, being the last to join.

"Shiiit," he spits the word out for the length of his cock sliding out and back inside you. "You're a blessing, little lady. Never felt anything like that, never had a hole so tight choke my cock. What a champ you are, begging me to fuck your ass. Such a brave girl, commanding me to fuck up your hole even when you saw how big my dick was. Little masochist, the sweetest freak I've had the pleasure of ruining."

His hips shudder along his words and your head just falls back and forth like your neck is too tired to support it anymore. Joel distracts himself by licking the sweat off your skin, and then his hand cradles your head to make sure you look him in the eye.

He doesn't say anything, just gives you a slutty wink as a warning and joins his brother in that dance that leaves you feeling worshipped and used at the same time.

Your cries are silent, just hoarse whistly sounds leave your throat with every push in and out, your body a perverted seesaw.

You claw at Joel's chest, your short blunt fingernails still manage to leave fast-appearing red streaks along his sweaty pecks and belly. He hisses when you catch on his nipple and as a payback he thrusts extra hard, making both Tommy and you moan out loud.

"Taking both of us so well, baby," he groans, his hands finding their way back to your tits, the flesh tender and your nipples are a darker color from all of the attention. "Never thought you'd end up taking two fat cocks like that."

"Never underestimate a woman," you hiss back and fall back, colliding with Tommy's sweaty stomach and sinking on their cocks at the same time.

"Goddamit," Tommy drags his palms up your sides until one of his hands wraps across your chest, holding you tight, and the other circles your throat with a gentle squeeze. "Be a good girl, and cum for us, huh? I feel how much you want to, ya hear that?" He drops his hand from your throat and grabs you by the waist lifting you up from Joel's cock just a few inches. Joel uses the opportunity to fuck you from the bottom in rapid hard thrusts. You hear the lewd squelching coming from your pussy, and your chest burns from more than just exercise.

"Ah, ah, fuck, yes!" You scream, "rougher, fuck me up, please!"

It isn’t you talking, can’t be. It is not your broken voice begging the men to destroy you in a way you won’t be able to patch up afterwards. It isn’t you being pushed on Joel's chest like a rag doll and being fucked to an inch of your life.

It definitely isn’t you who starts crying pathetic thank you's as your body convulses in the hardest orgasm of your life. 

You barely hear the men grunt and growl, rutting in your stretched out holes erratically. Your body is limp when they follow you, practically simultaneously spraying cum inside the condoms. You all hissed as they pull out of you one by one, leaving your holes tender and gaping to Tommy's (and your) perverted pleasure.

"The prettiest sight in the world," you feel cold air hit your swollen flesh and there is nothing you can do but whine in Joel's embrace as Tommy leans in and gives both of your holes one last fat lick, completely unfazed by his brother softening dick a couple inches away from his face.

The morning startles you with its quick approach. You don't have anywhere to hurry, finally not on a tight schedule, but something tells you there won't be a breakfast for three. All of you dress, finding clothes in various places on the floor and a simple wooden chair next to the table. 

"Adios, big brother," Tommy says, embracing Joel and patting him on the back while Joel's hand pats his black curls in an innocent and affectionate gesture. 

"I'll call you," Joel says and looks Tommy in the eye. It's like an unspoken conversation is unfolding in front of you, and you almost wish you were let in on it.

The goodbye Tommy gives you is less innocent, but no less affectionate. In a surge of whatever emotions are coursing through him, he tugs you in close by your belt and crushes his lips into yours. His mustache tickles you, but it's hard to think about when his lips mold yours, tongue peaks out from his mouth and invades yours the second you give a surprised gasp. 

You don’t pull back, though. If anything, you try to pull him closer, your tongue slides along his, not battling against, but dancing side by side. Joel's lighthearted chuckle reminds you that he's in the room and very much witnessing everything. You stop, and Tommy lets you go, licking the remnant of your saliva from his lower lip. 

Your face and chest burns, the familiar wave of heat starts at your neck and travels down until it pulls low in your belly and cunt.  Being with them made your regular body temperature rise at least a couple of degrees, you think to yourself. They made you abnormal, with the way heat was scorching some part of your body whenever either of them was in close proximity. You don't mind that, though.

"Sorry, I hope I didn't overstep," the younger man says but already smiles, knowing that you wanted that just as much as he did. "I just couldn’t let you go without getting a taste of those pretty lips of yours at least once.

You nod, still a bit flustered. Joel points with his chin towards the exit and you walk out first as he opens the door for you. Somewhere along the way he's stolen Tommy's white cowboy hat, and instead of saying goodbye he just tips it to you and walks off when the cold August morning hugs your body.

"No kiss goodbye from you, then?" You almost curse yourself as soon as the words fly out of your mouth. 'Stupid, stupid girl, who says that? So not cool.' 

He turns then, in the middle of the parking lot. A white grin shines on his face, making you feel less stupid and more warm. He doesn't walk towards you, though, just laughs and shakes his head.

"I’m saving mine for the next time," he winks at you, "so you're more tempted to come back." And then walks off for good, not turning back anymore.Somehow you feel that he isn’t joking, you will see him again. Both of them. Maybe even sooner than all three of you expect it.

He was pissed. That much was obvious. You didn’t even bother hiding the cigarette behind your back, because his eyes fixated on it between your fingertips. 

In truth, the day had been complete shit. Class after class, roommates causing drama, your other job breathing down your neck, putting on a bright smile for Sarah despite the heaviness of anxiety slung across your shoulders… you were desperate for a reprieve. Desperate for a firm hand. Desperate for a reminder of who you belonged to. 

So, the cigarette. And Joel. 

“What the fuck are you doin’,” he drawled, voice low and warning. You’d never seen him this heated. 

You take another drag leisurely, and give him a shy smile. “Didn’t wanna stink up your house.” “Hm.” Joel stalked towards you, still in his work boots and jeans, his white work shirt stained with dust and grime. He looked tough, and dirty, and you wanted to sink to your knees when he cocked his head. “Wanna tell me what that is?”

You flick some ash into the dirt, bringing the cigarette to your lips for a drag. “I think you’ve seen one before, Joel–”

As quick as a snake, Joel’s rough hand wrapped around your wrist, pulling your chest to his with an assured jerk of your arm. 

The cigarette smoldered between you, poised for your lips, but was held firm by Joel’s grip on you. The anger in his eyes made your chest pang with anticipation, and your stomach curled with bratty defiance.  

“Don’t want to be my smoking buddy?” You asked innocently, batting your eyes at him over the burning stub. You smiled, feeling brash. “What about Tommy?”

His eyes flared, and you smirked, knowing you had him. He’d complained about his brother’s bad habit more than once. 

“Think he’d be my smoking buddy?”

In an instant, Joel grabbed the cigarette from between your fingers, stomping it out in the dirt under his dirty boot. He gripped your arm firmly, and dragged you towards the house. 

You made the mistake of giggling as he pushed you through the back door, the cool air conditioning sending chills down your sweaty skin. 

Joel grunted at your amusement. “Laughin’ hard for a girl about to get her face fucked.”

You turned to face him as you walked backward, making a pouty face. “Are you mad at me? It was just a little cigarette, Mr. Miller–” The hand that wrapped around your throat, pinning you to the nearest wall with a thud, didn’t even register until blood rushed to your head. Desire sparked in your core, and you bit your lip to keep from grinning like an idiot.

“Maybe I should call my brother, let him use you for a bit until you’re beggin’ for me to come save you,” Joel growled, his breath hot in your face. “Let him have his fun before we start callin’ dibs on your holes.”

The vulgar thought sent chills down your spine, arousal blooming in your stomach as the fantasy took root. You nearly whined at his words, at the notion of being between two men such as the Miller brothers. At them sharing you. 

“You’d like that, wouldn’t you?” Joel murmured, peering into your eyes for signs of fear. Instead, he found only want. “Lettin’ two men play with you for a while?”

His free hand dug underneath the waistband of your shorts, the swipe of his fingers at your wet core evidence of your wicked desire for him and his brother. 

Joel chuckled, and brought your arousal to his lips, cleaning off his fingers with a satisfied pop!

Letting go of your neck, Joel ducked to your waist, slinging you over his shoulder with one easy lift. 

Bent at the torso, and gripping Joel’s shirt to steady yourself, there wasn’t a lot you could do as he carried you through his home, and up his stairs. 

It was like you were filled with air, the ease at which he carried you. Through his white shirt, his back muscles clenched and tightened, but he hauled you upstairs with the determination of a man on a mission. 

Your core gushed at the rough handling. 

Joel crossed through his doorway with you over his shoulder in moments, throwing you onto the bed unceremoniously. He gripped the waistband of your shorts with both hands, pulling them down with a fierce yank. 

You moaned as the air conditioning hit your bare cunt, and Joel silenced you with a precise slap to your folds. 

Nearly snarling, Joel flipped you onto your stomach, and gripped your hips to bend you at will. At his handling, your ass and pussy were high in the air, and your upper body pressed into his pillows. You shivered at the exposure, feeling his eyes boring into your skin. 

“Tell me to stop if you need, baby,” he said, his voice low. Not seductive, but serious. “Tell me to stop, and I stop. No questions asked. But until then…”

You nodded into his pillow, still held to the bed by his hand. “I’ll tell you to stop, Joel.”

“Good girl,” he praised. 

The spank that came down onto your ass was punishing, and brutal. You yelped at the initial sting, and sighed as the pain dwindled into burning pleasure. 

“I wasn’t gonna punish you for the cigarette, baby.” Another slap stung your skin. “I’ve had a few in my day, why would I punish you for that?” Another slap. “I was gonna give you a few orgasms, take the box from your purse, be all sweet about it.” Another slap. “But you started mouthin’.” 

Joel landed a spank onto your exposed cunt, and you bit down into the cloth of his pillow to keep from crying out in delicious pain. 

“Good girls don’t mouth off, baby, you know that.” Another slap to your ass. “Askin’ after my brother like he could ever make you feel like this.” Another slap. “No, no, mouthy brats that forget their place don’t get sweet orgasms and easy forgiveness.”

Another spank to your cunt had tears dripping from your eyes, and delighted shrieks absorbed by his mattress. “Aw, you cryin’? That’s good.”

Joel shoved two fingers into your soaked, stinging pussy, pulling a long moan from your lips. It was too much, too tight… but that wasn’t for you to decide. 

“You know what happens to brats, baby?” Joel sneered, hooking his fingers against your g-spot. 

You whined at the rough treatment, what you’ve been craving all day. “Pun…ished. Brats–” he twisted his fingers against your spongy core, and you lose all sense of speech. 

Joel chuckled with wicked condescension. “All it takes, huh? God, you’re easy. What happens to brats again?”

You barely managed to breathe a reply. “Brats… get punished.”

Joel laid a spank to your bare ass in response, and you bit down into his pillow to stifle your cries. “Yes, they do. And you’ve been a fuckin’ brat.”

Joel pulls his fingers from you roughly, and anticipation floods you as you hear him fumble around with his belt, pulling it from his denim loops. 

The light hit of the leather to your ass was painless, but had you flinching at the impact. Joel’s words were quiet, knowing you hung onto every word without even asking. 

“This alright, baby? This punishment…”

“Please, Joel,” you breathed, trembling with want. “Please, I need it so bad, need you…”

Joel hummed in acknowledgement. “Gonna give you five. Count each one, or I start over.”

He didn’t wait to see if you heard him. 

The crack of leather across your ass was stinging, and painful, and had your core flooding with need. You whined into his pillow, tears streaming down your cheeks. “One.”

“Good girl.” The belt came down a second time, right on the fleshiest part of your ass. You cried out in pain, and want, and desperation for more. 

“T-two.” The word was moaned. Joel laid two more strikes in quick succession, making you cock your hips higher into the air as your skin became red and sensitive. The odd mix of pain and pleasure had your pussy dripping. 

As tears leaked from your eyes onto the sheets, a light spank of the belt to your exposed cunt had you nearly shrieking. Joel’s voice was heavy with dominance. “How many, baby?”

“Three and four!” Your voice was high-pitched.

“‘Atta girl, takin’ your punishment so well. One more, and I’ll give you my cock, okay?”

Swallowing, you presented your ass to him openly, taking a deep breath. “Okay.”

The last strike was the hardest, and you bit down into the pillow to stifle the near-scream that ripped from your throat at the impact. Still, your cunt was swollen with desire, and you wondered if there was anything you wouldn’t do to get Joel to put his cock–

His tip traced up and down your wet folds, pulling a guttural moan from your lips as the blunt head nudged your neglected clit. 

“Please, please, please–” you babbled, nearly sobbing. 

“I gotcha, baby,” Joel groaned, and flipped you onto your back with a firm hand on your thigh. 

Between your spread legs, Joel tore off his shirt and jeans, and you spied the precum staining his briefs before he took those off, too. His gaze on you was hungry, like he wanted to sink his teeth into your skin. 

Gently, Joel slipped his rough hands beneath your clammy t-shirt, pulling the fabric from you like your skin was fragile as porcelain. It was such a contrast to his rough handling just a few moments ago, where he punished you with the fuzzy line between pain and pleasure. Now, he was sure in his movements, but entirely softened in demeanor despite his aching length.

Your bra came off a moment later, and Joel’s eyes traced your hardened nipples with heat, but made no move to touch them. 

Instead, he held your legs up against your chest as he positioned his cock against your aching cunt, his dark eyes locking onto yours as he sank into your heat. 

A high pitched moan escaped you as you stretched around him, and he moved slowly, giving you time to adjust. He didn’t pull himself back, knowing you could take it. Knowing you needed to take it. 

“Joel,” you whimpered, and he leaned over you, his fingertips brushing hair from your eyes gently. 

“You can take it,” he assured you, sinking deeper as you arched into him. “You take it so well, everything I give you, because you’re so good for me.”

The praise had your cunt fluttering around his cock, and another inch of him found room inside of you. Joel’s groans of pleasure were like music to your ears, his breath warm against your face. 

A haziness filled you, your body feeling as if it were in a dream. Light, and floating, focused solely on the man that bottomed out with a deep moan of your name, accented by a warm Southern drawl. 

You could only whisper his name as he laid his palm against your throat, holding you still as he moved inside of you. 

“So good for me, always so fuckin’ good,” he breathed against your ear, his thumb pressing against the pulse of your neck. He pulled his hips back slowly, and thrusted forward with dominating strength. 

Your head craned back at the force, and Joel found a steady rhythm, deep and hard, like he valued the joining of your bodies more than a speedy orgasm. 

Joel held to your throat firmly, peering into your face as your eyes rolled back into your skull. A dark smirk crossed his lips, and he pinned your head to the side with a nudge under your jaw. 

With your head tilted, and his cock reaching spots inside of you he’d never found before, Joel licked a long stripe up from your collarbone to your ear, just to savor the taste of you on his tongue. 

Your cunt clenched around him, high-pitched sighs leaving your lips, and he chuckled against your skin. “Gonna come, baby? Gotta ask permission.”

“Please, Joel, please, let me come… I need it so badly, please,” you whimpered, keening into his cock stretching you open, into his hand squeezing your throat. 

Joel placed a soft kiss on your cheek, like a sweet lover. “Come.”

With a gush, your cunt clenched his cock desperately, moans escaping your lips freely as your orgasm flooded over you. Any sound seemed muffled, like you were held underwater, and your vision was blinded with pleasure. Distantly, you felt Joel speeding up his thrusts, nailing into your spent cunt selfishly. It stung against your bruised ass, only heightening the sensation of your core pulsing around him. 

Joel held firm to your throat as he came deep within you, warmth blossoming in your lower belly. His groans cut through the fog that the pleasure clouded you with, satisfaction curling in your chest. A satisfaction that you did what he wanted, and he gave you what you needed. 

For several moments, each of you caught your breath, his cock softening inside of you. As he shifted to pull out, you found yourself gasping, holding tight to him. 

Joel studied you as you whined, needy to be close to him. He caressed your face gently, seeing something in your eyes that seemed to unnerve him. 

“Baby, I think you’re in a subspace right now,” Joel reasoned, tracing his thumb across your cheekbone. “I promise, I’ll be right back. Gonna clean you up, get you something to eat. Ain’t nothin’ you gotta do, alright? You’ve been such a good girl.”

You swallowed, the fog in your head clearing a little bit at his praise. “Okay, just… come back, please.”

Joel smiled contentedly. “I will. Promise.”

You grunted with an edge of pain as he pulled out of you, before exhaustion crept in. The week had been a whirlwind, never allowing you to truly register how tired you were until the warmth of Joel’s bed eased you into a state of dozing. 

Vaguely, footsteps against hardwood registered in your haze of exhaustion and… what did Joel call it? Subspace. 

The sound of someone fumbling around in the kitchen made you smile softly, your eyes closed to the cozy bedroom. 

A quiet call of your name roused you from your dozing. 

Joel leaned over you, a sweet grin on his face. On the night stand beside you, a grilled cheese, apple slices, and a glass of water rested, and your stomach grumbled at the sight. 

“Gonna clean you up, now, okay?” Joel said, a damp washcloth in his hand. You nodded, eyes fixed on the sandwich. With a smile, he handed you the grilled cheese and wiped down your inner thighs, sticky with release. 

Mid bite, Joel cleaned up your sore cunt, making you wince slightly. He paused, letting you swallow the food before continuing. You let out a soft moan at the care, the attention, the fog clearing little by little. 

Joel kissed you on the lips as he finished wiping you down, and you swallowed the last bite of the sandwich. Each of your limbs was nearly limp, pliant to his touch. 

“You gotta go to the bathroom, baby,” Joel insisted, wrapping his arms underneath your waist and legs, lifting you like you weighed nothing. You giggled as he carried you, though you weren’t sure of why. The warmth of his chest was comforting, the closeness of his body against yours. 

He set you gingerly down onto the toilet seat, knowing your ass was tender from his punishment. You groaned lowly, and his brows furrowed. You held to his hand as you did your business, and he knelt beside you as he waited. 

“You don’t have to stay in here, Joel,” you whispered, though leaving was the last thing you wanted him to do. 

His coffee brown eyes were kind, and crinkled as he shook his head. “Right now, all I wanna do is be here with you, baby.”

“In the bathroom as I pee?” you asked, giggling quietly. 

“Absolutely, pretty girl. Who else is gonna bring you back to bed?” Joel replied, his thumb pinching your chin playfully. 

You looked down, heat rising to your cheeks. You weren’t sure why you suddenly felt shy, considering he knew you better than anyone, inside and out… literally. 

Something else occured to you. Your giggy grin, the fog over your sense, the need to be close to him... “Joel, that word you said… subspace?”

Joel’s face fell slightly, but he nodded. His eyes were wholly fixed on you, attentive to every twitch and glance. 

“What… what is it?” you asked, feeling a little foolish. 

Joel cleared his throat. “I’ll get you back to bed, and then I’ll tell you about it, okay?”

You nodded, finishing your business. Joel scooped you up with a kiss to your forehead, tucking you back into his blankets. His hands were careful, precise, like he was handling something precious. He even handfed you a few apple slices, and made you drink the whole glass of water with a little coaxing. The fog clouding your mind dissipated, though the fatigue remained. 

Sliding into bed next to you, Joel’s arms enveloped you immediately, holding you close under the covers, though nothing about it felt sexual. He simply wanted… to have you near. 

He took a deep breath. “Subspace is somethin’ I read about when we first started this…” he fumbled for the word. “Dynamic, I suppose. You trustin’ me to take care of you, trustin’ me with your body, trustin’ me with the control that you guard so closely. Subspace is a state of mind, I guess, that people like you get when your brain releases higher levels of adrenaline and happy chemicals.”

You hummed against his chest, nuzzling closer. “Like a high.”

“Exactly. You get that sorta floaty feelin’, like reality is slightly altered. Supposed to be in response to the balance between pain and pleasure, the sensations sending you into the space.” Joel clenched his jaw, shrugging. “I dunno if that makes sense, or if that even was what–” You pressed a hand against his heart, and he cut himself off, peering at you. “That sounds right. It felt amazing, exactly what I needed… how did you know?”

Joel smiled a little. “I guess… you just make sense to me. It’s how I knew you needed somethin’ different tonight, why you were actin’ up. I looked at you, and I knew. Can’t really explain it.”

Sleep nagged at you, the steady beat of his heart in your ear lulling. “You make sense to me, too, Joel. Why did it worry you at first?”

Joel considered it a moment. “With a high, there’s a drop, too. A low, I guess, because your brain is still gettin’ back to the baseline once the happy chemicals settle. I needed to make sure you felt safe, and satisfied with what we… with what I did.”

You smiled hazily, eyes shutting with exhaustion. “I do, Joel. You make me feel…”

It’s a Tuesday in Spring, the sun due to set in the coming hour. The temperatures outside have begun to warm up, melting some of the snow high in the mountains. You’d already completed your shifts for the day in the community kitchen, assisting with making breakfast and preparing for lunch and dinner, which a majority of Jackson ate in the mess hall—you didn’t, instead opting to enjoy your food in the comfort of your apartment. With your evening meal finished and your dishes washed, you’re sitting on the couch in your living room listening to the soft tune of Nirvana playing on your record player—a new addition to your collection, their MTV Unplugged in New York album from ‘94—while darning the holes in all of your socks. There are two piles on the coffee table in front of you, one for the hole-y and the other for the now holeless. 

A knock on your front door has you pausing, your eyebrows furrowing. You’re not expecting anyone tonight, as indicated by the oversized David Bowie concert t-shirt, lack of bra, and black leggings you’re wearing. “Coming!” you announce, leaning forward to set the sock and yarn on the tabletop before getting up and walking the short distance to the door. Turning the doorknob, you crack it open enough to see who’s there. To your surprise, it’s that handsome older gentleman who arrived in town a couple of months ago, whom you haven’t had the opportunity to introduce yourself to, but have definitely ogled. How could you not with how his flannels always hugged his broad shoulders and how good his jeans made his ass look. You take in what he’s wearing today—a red flannel shirt with dark denim on his bottom half. Your eyes meet his. “Can I help you?” you ask. 

He gives you a sheepish smile that’s honestly adorable on such a rugged face. “I’m sorry for botherin’ you, ma’am. My name is Joel. Joel Miller, Tommy’s brother? I’ve been in Jackson a little while now, and I was told you’re the person to talk to if I’m in need of a cake.” 

“Oh!” You open your door wider. “Yes, that’s me!” Quickly, you give him your name and offer your hand for him to shake, noticing immediately how much bigger his is when it practically engulfs your smaller one. It has your mind wandering, wondering what it’d feel like on other parts of your body. That thought heats your skin, and you feel a little disappointed when he lets go. “What kind of cake are you needing?” 

“A birthday cake.” 

“For your wife, or girlfriend?” 

“No.” He shakes his head. “For my dau—kid,” he catches himself. 

You lean against the doorframe, crossing your arms over your chest, and you see his split-second glance at your breasts. You smile. “For your kid, who’s not your daughter.” 

He sighs, his hands going to his hips. “It’s… complicated.” 

“You adopt her?” 

“Yeah.” 

It was pretty common for people to take in orphaned children, especially here in town. As sad as it was, there have been instances of kids losing their parents or guardians on their way to Jackson who still managed to make it to the town’s walls, or who were found by patrols and brought in. Luckily, there was an abundance of couples and families willing to foster or adopt the children. 

“How old is she turning?” 

“Fifteen.” 

“Got yourself a teen. How long has she been in your care?” 

“Seven, eight months.” 

“Ah, I understand the not-daughter thing now.” His kid is older, and their relationship is still relatively new. They’ve probably bonded but aren’t comfortable using father-daughter labels yet. “Just you and her?” 

“Yeah.” 

He’s single. That’s good to know. 

“It’s sweet that you want her to have a cake for her birthday.” 

He smiles fondly. “It’s her first.” 

Handsome, polite, and loves his adopted child as if she were his own? He’s perfect, and it’s surprising no one has taken him off the market yet. Maybe you should shoot your shot. There aren’t a lot of guys like him in Jackson, and it wouldn’t hurt to try. 

“That’s even sweeter,” you reply. “What’s her name?” 

“Ellie.” 

“A great name—simple and lovely. The last cake I made was for this woman’s husband, named Reginald. Do you have any idea how fucking hard it is to spell out, ‘Happy Birthday, Reginald,’ on a cake the size of a small dinner plate?” 

He looks amused. “Pretty hard?” 

“Pretty fucking hard, Joel. I made it work, though, squishing the letters together. Do you have a preference if it’s chocolate or vanilla?” 

“Uh, chocolate, I guess?” 

“Okay, and when do you need it done by?” 

“The day after tomorrow.” 

“Short notice and chocolate—that’s gonna cost you extra.” 

“That won’t be a problem. I used to be a smuggler. I can find somethin’ you’d want.” That’s how you’re paid, by bartering, goods, or favors. 

“A smuggler, huh? If you don’t mind me asking, where are you from? Aside from Texas, I know Tommy’s a Texan.” 

“Boston. The QZ out there.”

“Doing your smuggling, I assume?” 

“Yes.” 

“You’re not a chatty guy, are you?” 

He huffs out a breath, looking down at his boots. “No, ma’am. I don’t have much to chat about.” His eyes land on yours again.  

“That’s not true. You came all the way here from fucking Boston. You could tell me about your travels, Ellie, or hell, we could reminisce about the days before the world ended.” 

He smiles, his weight shifting to one side. “Were you even alive back then?” 

“I was.” 

“You had to be young. A kid.” 

“Yeah. Doesn’t mean I don’t remember the comic strips in the Sunday newspaper and how good fresh McDonald’s fries were.” 

His eyebrows rise almost to his hairline. “Wow, I haven’t thought about McDonald’s in years.” 

“What I’d give for some McNuggets and an apple pie.” 

“Did you get some of the apple pie at dinner tonight?” 

You smile. “I made the apple pie at dinner tonight.” 

He matches your expression. “Did you? That tells me the cake is gonna be really fuckin’ good, then.” 

The compliment makes you preen. “Thank you. My mom taught me how to bake before, you know.” The outbreak. “We had this old family recipe for peach pie that always won first place at the county fair.” 

“If it was anythin’ like the pie tonight, I can see why.” 

“Stop that,” you tease, waving away his words. “Flattery will get you everywhere.” 

His eyes dart away, clearing his throat. It must have been a while since he was last flirted with. He focuses on you again, changing the subject. “So, what kind of stuff do you want?” 

“Ummm, let’s see. It’s her first cake, you’re a sweetheart, and I have all of the ingredients. How about records, movies, and booze?” Easy stuff for him to get. It’s basically the equivalent of a half-off discount. “Oh, and socks!” Yours have seen better days. 

“Any records or movies? You’re not lookin’ for anythin’ specific?”

“Nope.” Any duplicates you receive, you’ll trade.

“What about alcohol?”  

“I’m not picky. Whatever you have will do.” All that matters is that it’s safe to consume. Liquor is a hot commodity and a valuable bargaining tool. 

“Okay.” He nods. “That’s not too bad. I appreciate you for bein’ so kind to me. I’ll have it all to you tomorrow.” 

“Great! But there’s something else I want, too.”

His eyes narrow slightly, and he frowns. He thinks you’re trying to pull one over on him. “What else?” 

“I’d like to have a drink with you.”

When every day could possibly be your last, there’s no point in playing coy. You’re going to go after what you want, unashamed. 

Surprise shows on his face, clearly taken aback. “You want to have a drink with me…?” he says the words slowly, like he almost doesn’t believe them. 

“Yes, I want to have a drink with you, Joel.” 

“Why?” 

“I don’t know. Why would a woman want to have a drink with you?” 

He frowns. “It can’t be for the reason I’m thinkin’.”

“If you thought it’s to get to know you better because I’m interested in you, that is correct.” 

That just makes him look confused. “Me? You know I’m old, right? Shit, I’m probably older than your parents.” 

Your eyebrow lifts. “And? You’re an adult. I’m an adult. What does your age have to do with anything?” 

His arms cross over his chest. “A lot, sweetheart. I don’t think you know what you’re askin’ for. I’m not a young buck anymore. I don’t have the energy of a boy your age. I’m old and broken. My fuckin’ ear doesn’t even work.” He points at the right one.

“So, you’ve got some wear and tear. I don’t care. I still want to have a drink with you. But hey, if you’re uncomfortable with that, then don’t worry about it. I’ll, of course, still make Ellie her cake for the stuff we agreed on.” 

“It’s not that I’m uncomfortable. I’m flattered, really. I’m just havin’ a hard time understandin’ why you’re interested in someone as old as me. There’s gotta be guys closer to your age around here that’d love to have a drink with you. What I mean is you’re beautiful, and I know you can do a lot better than me.”  

You smile. “You think I’m beautiful?”

“Yes.” He nods. “But that’s beside the point.” 

“Have you thought that maybe I like that you’re so much older than me?”

He stands up straighter, his interest piqued. “You got a thing for older men?” 

“Now you’re getting it. I do have standards, so it depends on the man in question. In your case, you check all my boxes.” 

His expression shows his curiosity. “What are you lookin’ for?” 

“Someone caring, pleasant to talk to, not creepy, easy on the eyes, can hold their own, and fifties preferred; I’m willing to dip into the late forties if I have to.” 

“Why is fifties preferred?” 

“You really wanna know?” 

“Yeah, I do.” 

“Okay. Men your age are great in bed, it’s as simple as that.”

“What makes them great?” 

“You wanna know for later?” 

You’re rewarded with a flirty little smirk. “Maybe.” 

His answer thrills you. “Maybe, huh? I’ve found them to be very generous, and they seem to care that I’m having a good time, too, which is fantastic. They’re also the only ones who’ve ever gone down on me. The guys my age are always in a rush and generally care more about themselves than me. It sucks. So, men in their fifties are my preference.” 

The explanation has his dark eyes getting even darker. Now that he’s aware of the extent of your interest in him, there’s a palpable shift between you, and it becomes clear that the attraction is mutual. 

“And you’re not seein’ anyone currently…?”

“No. I’m single and very available, especially to you. Now do you wanna come in for a drink?” you ask, the door squealing as you push it open even more. 

There’s no hiding that he’s contemplating your offer; it’s there on his face, probably warring with himself over the morality of the situation, and you get it. Given the significant age difference, there are many things he could be worrying about, which he needs to weigh the pros and cons of. At least it’s reassuring that he seems to have a conscience. You’re just hoping he chooses to give in to his desires. 

It’s seconds later that he’s made his decision. 

“No use in fightin’ it,” he says under his breath. 

Joel sends the butterflies in your stomach into a frenzy when he takes a step toward you, his hand going up onto the doorframe above your head. He leans in close, your faces only an inch apart, and you gulp at the proximity. “Only a drink?” he rasps. “Is that really all you want, sweetheart?” His eyes keep jumping from your eyeline to your mouth like it’s taking a lot for him not to kiss you. 

“No,” you breathe. 

“No, it’s not. Tell the truth. What do you want?”

“You.” 

Excitement burns low in your belly. You can’t believe this is actually happening. You figured he might be okay with having a drink with you, but this? This is definitely better.

“Then ask me for what you really want.” 

“You wanna come in and fuck me?” 

“Only if you’ll let me take you out on a date tomorrow. I don’t do that casual, fuck buddy shit. You’re either mine, or nothin’ at all.”

A shiver moves down your spine, your heart pounding so hard you think it might beat right out of your chest. From that declaration, and his confidence, you know he’s got a big dick. Better yet, you’re almost positive he knows how to use it, too. 

“Yes, I’ll go out with you, but I’m not yours until you show me why I should be.”

He smirks. “Is that right?” 

“Yep,” you answer. Your palm presses to the front of his jeans, over his hardening cock, which you’re happy to find is rather sizeable. 

It delights you how his eyes close, and he groans, “Fuck.” When they open again, there’s only the tiniest sliver of brown circling his blown pupils. “You’re gonna be the fuckin’ death of me.” 

“Not up for the challenge?” 

Joel growls, his lips suddenly on yours, kissing you hard. A surprised sound leaves your throat, but you’re quick to kiss him back, matching his fervor as you grab fistfuls of his shirt, tugging him into your house. His large hand is on your ass, the other shoving your front door closed before its cupping your cheek. Neither of you wants the kiss to end, your mouths staying fused as you walk backward until you bump into the arm of your couch. This is when you spin him, getting him around to the front of the sofa. You break apart as you push him, Joel falling back onto the cushions with a heavy, breathless thump. 

Dust floats in a patch of evening light behind him as you stand there, your pulse hammering in your rib cage, your lips tingling. This man with lines etched into his face, carving out the years of grit, survival, and untold grief—no one is lucky enough to make it as far as he has without losses—he’s looking up at you like you’re the first beautiful thing he’s seen in a long, long time. 

It’s electric and heavy all at once, like standing on the edge of something dangerous and good. What are you to do but jump headfirst into the abyss that has the potential to ruin you for anyone else?

“You’re gorgeous,” he says, ending the silence. “C’mere, baby.” He holds out his arms to you, and you’re like a moth to a flame—drawn to him, crawling into his lap without another word. Straddling his thighs, you take his stubbled cheeks into your palms and kiss him once more. He moans into your mouth, his big hands grabbing onto your ass, encouraging you to grind against the straining length in his jeans, the friction to your clit stoking the arousal in your center. 

It shouldn’t be a surprise that he’s not in a hurry to get you naked. He’s more interested in kissing you, delving his tongue between your lips to tangle with your own. It makes you assume he hasn’t been with a woman in quite a while, and he’s taking his time, luxuriating in your affections. 

It goes on and on, until you hit a point where you need to come up for air, your mouth coming off of his to draw in a deep breath. He pants, kissing your chin and the underside of your jaw. 

His hands go still. “Can I take your shirt off?” he asks, pulling back to look at your face. His lips are reddened and shiny from spit, his cheeks tinted in a pink flush.

You smile, your fingertips sliding through the hair above his ears. “Only if you take off yours, too.” 

“Okay.” 

He doesn’t waste time. Joel grips the hem of your t-shirt, tugging it up and off your raised arms, letting it fall onto the floor. Your fingers start unbuttoning his flannel, while his attention is on your bared breasts that he caresses, his thumbs sweeping across the soft skin, your nipples tightening.

The last button is undone. “Off,” you order, pushing open his shirt. He sighs at being interrupted, but he does as you say, sitting up in his seat, jostling you as he shrugs off his flannel, the garment meeting the same fate as your t-shirt. 

There’s no time for you to admire the newly revealed skin; he’s zeroed in on your tits again, his hands squeezing them gently, weighing them in his palms. It’s hard not to laugh when he shoves his prickly face into the pillowy mounds and happily sighs. You’re not sure if he’s enjoying your softness again or if he’s a boob guy. Maybe it’s both. You are, however, pretty sure he’s in heaven, and good for him. He can have this moment. Your arms are around his neck, with your fingers pressed into the brown waves on his head.

He kisses along the side of your breast, and you’re gasping at him sucking your pebbled nipple into the warmth of his mouth. It sends a shock of pleasure straight to your clit, making you squirm in his lap. “Yes,” you moan as he swirls his tongue around the hard bud. He moves to give your other breast the same treatment, a shiver rolling through you when cold air hits the saliva left behind on your skin. 

Wetness pools between your thighs, your cunt aching, pulsing with need. Joel pulls off your stiff nipple with an audible pop, lifting his head to meet your eyes, his gaze heavy, pupils blown. His voice dips into something rough and hungry. “If I’m not mistaken, you like your pussy eaten?” 

“I love it.”

“Thank Christ, ‘cause I fuckin’ love eatin’ it, and it’s been too damn long since I’ve gotten a taste.”

His eagerness has heat sizzling in your veins. “Well, how about we change that?” You get up to stand in front of him. “Lose the boots.” 

He smiles. “Yes, ma’am.” He grunts as he leans forward, quickly untying and taking off the worn leather boots that he puts neatly paired on the floor next to him. His socks look a lot better than yours—one of the perks of being a smuggler and knowing where to find things. 

You stick out your hand to him. “Let’s go, handsome. We’re taking this to the bedroom.” 

“I like the sound of that.” He accepts your palm, and you pull as he rises up onto his feet with a pained groan. “Will be better for my back.”

With Joel hot on your heels, you lead him out of the living room and through the kitchen to the hallway, down to the end where your bedroom is. Crawling onto your queen-size bed, he follows and has you squeaking in surprise when he roughly tugs your leggings off your lower half, causing you to fall onto your stomach. He easily manhandles you onto your back, giving you a glimpse of his strength. You find yourself lying there with your head cushioned on a pillow, Joel kneeling between your legs. 

It catches you off guard how he looks down at you, as if he’s seeing something sacred. There’s awe there that he barely hides. Reverence. It takes your breath away that, once again, it’s written on his face that he thinks you’re the most beautiful thing he’s seen in a very, very long time. 

His hands smooth up your thighs. “Today is my lucky day,” he murmurs, voice thick with want. “Just look at you.” He hooks his fingers into the waistband of your panties, dragging them down and off, tossing them to the floor. “Fuckin’ perfection laid out for me. Look at that pretty little pussy.” With two fingers, he spreads open your slick folds, his hot gaze locked on your cunt. “You’re gonna taste so fuckin’ good.” His tongue wets his lips like he’s imagining it. “I wanna fuckin’ drown in it.”

A sharp jolt of excitement shoots through your core, clenching hard with anticipation. You’re expecting him to dive in, tongue first. What you are not anticipating is Joel leaning up, wrapping an arm around your waist, and rolling you on top of him to have you straddle his stomach. 

Your eyebrows pull together, blinking down at him with your hands on his chest. “I thought you were eating me out…?” 

He smiles. “I am. Maybe not the way you’re expectin’, though. You ever ride someone’s face?” 

Your stomach flips. “No?” 

“Well, looks like today is your lucky day, too.” His biceps flex as he guides your hips up toward his head. “Get up here, baby.”

You grab the wooden headboard to steady yourself, your heart racing, nerves twisting in your gut. You want it—you want it so fucking bad, but your brain won’t stop worrying about the logistics. Or the potential body count of one extremely hot older man. 

He gets you to settle over his face, your thighs bracketing his ears. “How do I do this without, you know, killing you?” you ask. 

His voice is muffled beneath you. “Just sit on my face. All of your weight. I wanna feel it.”

He wants you to smother him with your pussy?

“Joel, babe, I like you, and I want to see where this goes, but that can’t happen if I suffocate you.”

“Suffocatin’ between your thighs would be the best way to leave this world.” 

Considering the alternatives of getting bitten by infected or murdered by fellow humans, he isn’t wrong that dying while doing something you love is the best way to go out.

“That doesn’t reassure me.” 

“It’d take more than your pussy to kill me. I can move you off if I have to, or I’ll tap your thigh twice.” He demonstrates. “So, quit your worryin’ and sit.” 

“Bossy.” 

He smacks your ass, the sharp sting making your cunt clench. He loses patience, gripping your thighs, yanking you down against his face. That worry you had about accidentally murdering Joel? It flies out the window, your brain short-circuiting at the heat of his mouth and the wet messy sound of his tongue plunging into your pussy. It’s instant, the pleasure cutting through you sharp as a knife, your head falling back, your knees buckling. 

“Oh, fuck,” you moan, already starting to tremble.

It’s filthy and almost too much, but not enough all at once. His stubble scrapes your inner thighs, adding a bite to every glide of his wicked tongue, his groans vibrating against your sensitive skin. You’re floating, your heartbeat thumping in your ears. He licks up every drop you’re dripping like a man possessed, his nose bumping your swollen clit. 

He’s going to make you come—arousal burns hot at the base of your spine, the knot in your belly winding tighter and tighter. You’re so lost in how fucking good it feels you don’t even realize you’re grinding down until Joel’s fingers grab your ass and rock you against his mouth, helping you move. 

“That’s it,” he groans into your cunt. “Use me. Fuck my face, baby.” 

And you do, your hips moving greedily now, chasing every lick of his tongue, unashamed. Your whole body burns, your pussy soaked, every nerve in your body lit up like the Fourth of July. Sweat drips down your spine and between your breasts. 

You thought Joel was in heaven earlier with his face buried in your tits, but from the way he’s eating you out like it’s his last meal on earth and how he can’t seem to stop groaning against your cunt, this is his real heaven. He drags the flat of his tongue through your folds to wrap his lips around your throbbing clit, and when he sucks, he has to hold you still as you writhe, chanting his name over and over again, spiraling out of your mind in pleasure. 

God, he really is going to ruin you for anyone else, isn’t he? It’s not like this is the first time you’ve been eaten out, either. But no one’s devoured you like this. He’s truly hungry for it—relentless. Slurping at your pussy like it’s his favorite meal.

“Don’t stop,” you whimper. “Don’t fucking stop. Your mouth—fuck—I love your mouth. It’s so good.” You don’t even know if he can hear you with your thighs clamped over his only good ear. 

Maybe it was a mistake challenging him to show you why you should be his. He’s pulling out all the stops to convince you. You’re already unraveling, and this man has the audacity to snake his hand up to your breast and tweak your nipple. It forces a choked sound from your throat, and your vision blurs for a second. 

He works you up, higher and higher, until you’re trembling over him, your thighs quaking, belly tight, heart hammering like it's trying to break free. You’re drenched, dripping onto his face, as he feasts on you like he’s starving. 

“Fuck, Joel—” you gasp, but can’t even finish the thought. 

You reach for his hand on your thigh, desperate for something to hold onto. He squeezes it, grounding you. 

Joel moans into your cunt as if it’s the best thing he’s ever tasted, dragging his tongue in slow, deliberate strokes that push you right to the edge. Then he sucks your clit deep into his mouth, and the world drops out from under you. 

You scream. There’s no other word for it. You cry out like you’re shattering, hips jerking, cunt clenching so hard around nothing it aches. Your orgasm rips through you, hot and brutal, pleasure crashing over you in waves that leave you gasping and twitching. 

Joel doesn’t stop; he doubles down.

He groans like he’s getting off on it, rutting his tongue against your pulsing clit and shoving it inside you to lick up your release. His stubble scratches your swollen lips, his fingers digging into your ass to keep you right where he wants you.

“That’s it,” he growls into your pussy between licks. “Give it to me. Fuckin’ soak my face, baby. I want it all.” 

Sounds are spilling from you of their own accord—moans, cries, possible declarations of love for this guy you’ve known for less than two hours. You don’t know what you’re saying, you just know he’s wrecking you, and you never want it to end. 

“Joel, Joel—oh fuck—I can’t—” He has you coming again. It builds until it spills over, dizzying and all-consuming. Your body goes taut for a heartbeat, and then you’re melting, euphoria searing through your veins, your thighs shaking uncontrollably around his head. This one isn’t as explosive as the last, but it’s deep, stealing your breath and making you feel like your soul just drifts out of you.   

“Good girl,” his voice half-muffled by your cunt.

His tongue continues lapping lazily at your oversensitive clit until you’re flinching, overstimulated. Finally, he eases up, making a satisfied hum. 

“You did so fuckin’ good for me,” he murmurs.

You’re numb with pleasure—boneless, floating. Joel’s strong hands slide up to your waist, carefully lifting you off his face. He settles you onto his chest for barely a moment before your legs give out, collapsing onto your back beside him in a spent, panting heap. Your arms and legs feel heavy, your body buzzing like a live wire. 

Well, it still rings true that guys his age know what they’re doing in the bedroom. You have a theory on why that is, and it has to do with them being in their thirties before everything went to hell. They remember what it’s like to fuck in a time void of the uncertainty and fear of today. They remember what it’s like to be carefree and able to take their time in bed, unlike these days, where it’s hard to find somewhere safe enough to feel that relaxed. 

Luckily, Jackson is one of those places. So here, in the safety of the town, they get to relive those years, and you’re more than happy to go down memory lane with them. 

And somehow, with hardly any effort, Joel wants you to be his. 

It’s embarrassing how giddy that makes you. 

He can’t know he’s already sold you on a relationship with him. You want him to work for it, so you don’t come off as too easy. 

The old springs in the mattress squeak as Joel shifts onto his side. His rough, calloused fingers stroke along your cheek. “You okay, sweetheart?” he softly asks. “Need a second?” 

You nod slowly. “My arms are noodles, and my legs aren’t any better. I’m pretty sure I couldn’t walk if I tried. 

“Yeah?” You can hear the smile in his voice. “It’s a good thing you don’t have anywhere to be.” There’s a pause. Without looking at him, you know he’s frowning now. “You don’t have plans, right? Tonight?” 

Your eyes blink open, your head turning his way, smiling. The bottom half of his face is shiny with your juices, and he looks adorably worried with a crinkle between his eyebrows that you reach up to smooth with your thumb. “No plans. I was going to fix all the holes in my socks. Maybe patch up some other clothes. I’d much rather spend my evening with you, though.” 

He smiles, grabbing your hand, kissing your knuckles. “Good. I’ve got nothin’ goin’ on, either. I just need to be home by midnight.” 

“Because you, what? Turn back into a pumpkin after midnight?” 

He gives you a flat look. “No, I don’t turn into a damn pumpkin. I’ve got a kid. I need to be home for her.” 

“You have no idea how much it turns me on that you’re a good dad.”

Joel huffs in amusement, his eyes leaving yours. “I don’t know about bein’ a good dad, but she doesn’t seem to hate me, so I must be doin’ somethin’ right.” 

“I mean, you’re getting her a birthday cake—her first birthday cake, might I add—and you were willing to pay whatever price it’d cost. Sounds very ‘good dad’ to me. That actually reminds me. Don’t worry about the shit we agreed on. We’re good. I’ll make the cake tomorrow. You could even come over and help me, if you wanted to.” That’d be such a cute date. 

His gaze comes back to yours, his lips downturned. “I don’t want you doin’ it for free. I know that ingredients aren’t easy to come by, and you’re takin’ time out of your busy day.” 

“Who said anything about free? Just so we’re clear, I normally do not make cakes in exchange for sexual favors, but this will be the only exception because you were that good—don’t let it go to your head.” 

It’s too late, the smugness is already showing on his face, his dark eyes sparkling with a crooked grin. “I was that good, huh?” His head dips to place a soft kiss on your naked shoulder. “You gonna be mine now?”

“I don’t know. I think I need some more convincing.”

“More convincin’?” He lets go of your hand to rest his palm, warm and firm, on your thigh. “What will it take?”

“You know what I want.” 

“Be a good girl and ask me for it.” 

You suck in a breath, your cunt throbbing in beat with your heart. Oh, you like that. 

Quickly, you compose yourself. “Ask for it? Or do you want me to beg for it?” Your tone shifts to something sultry. “Please, Joel. I need your cock. I’m aching for it. Fuck me. Fill me up. Ruin me—whatever you want. Just please, will you fuck me now?” 

His fingers tighten on your leg, his voice deepening. “How do you want it?” 

You smile. “How do you want me?”

“Flip over.” 

“Take off your pants.” You glance down at the denim to see the impressive bulge at the front. “I’m not going to be the only one who’s naked.” Your gaze returns to his. “Go on. Get up and strip.”

He’s frowning. “And you were callin’ me bossy…” he mumbles. 

“You got a problem with that, big guy?”

“No, ma’am.” 

He moves to get off the bed and walks around to the end of it. You sit up on your elbows to watch with interest as he undoes his belt and unbuttons his jeans. He doesn’t drag it out, shoving both his pants and boxer briefs down his legs and peeling off his socks, before standing to his full height for you to take him in, his hands on his hips. 

The first thing that catches your attention is his dick bobbing between his legs. He’s mouth-wateringly thick, with a decent length that, at the thought of how it’d feel inside you, has you rubbing your thighs together to quell the sudden ache. The tip is flushed an angry red, with beads of precum smeared to make it shine in the light of your bedside lamp. 

“Keep starin’ at it like that, and you’re gonna start droolin’.” 

Your eyes rise to his amused ones. “Who says I’m not already?” 

He’s smirking. “That mouth’s gonna get you in trouble.” 

You smile. “Is that a threat, handsome?” 

“It’s a fact.” 

“I love this foreplay. You’re cute.” 

His eyebrow lifts. “I’m cute?” 

“Yes, you’re cute, and so fucking hot.” Your attention returns to his body. Naked, the broadness of his shoulders and the tininess of his waist are more pronounced. “You’re in amazing shape.”

“You think so?”

“I’d fuck you, even with the wear and tear.” You wink at him. 

Speaking of wear and tear, his body is littered with scars, some old, having silvered long ago, and others newer. There’s one low on his abdomen that catches your eye, and you need to get a closer look at it, scrambling onto your hands and knees, crawling over on shaky limbs to kneel in front of him. It’s relatively big, jagged—a quick patch job by someone inexperienced or in a hurry—and red, which means he’s only had it a handful of months. The injury must’ve happened on his trek to Jackson from Boston. 

What’s fascinating about it is that a wound of its caliber should’ve killed him while traveling across the country. If it weren’t the blood loss that got him, the risk for infection in those conditions would’ve been insane. Your hand moves of its own volition, pressing your fingertips to the warm, raised skin—you gasp when he abruptly snatches your palm, your chin lifting to meet his eyes. 

“Sorry,” you apologize immediately. 

“Shit.” He lets go, looking startled by what he’d done out of instinct. “No, I’m sorry.” His eyes dart away, sighing. “I haven’t been touched like this in a long fuckin’ time.” 

“Let’s change that.” 

He meets your gaze as you grab his waist for support and lean in to kiss the scar softly. He swears under his breath, his thighs tensing. “Jesus,” he rasps. You keep your eyes on his, kissing down through his happy trail to your destination between his legs. “You’re gonna fuckin’ ruin me.” 

He must’ve showered earlier after working his assigned job for the day. The scent of crushed thyme clings to his skin, sharp and earthy with just a hint of mint that’s grounding and fresh.

When your fingers wrap around his cock, Joel’s head falls back as he groans loudly. He’s hot in your palm, his shaft hard as steel and velvety smooth as you slowly pump him. 

“God, you have a pretty dick,” you tell him. 

He stares down at you again, and you love how he looks at you, as if you’re a reward and not just a good time, how he looks at you like you mean something. “Yeah?” he says the word in question. His big hand caresses your face, stroking his thumb over the apple of your cheek. “You want it to ruin that perfect little pussy?” 

“Yes, after this—” Dipping your head, you take his cock into your mouth, engulfing as much as you can until he’s hitting the back of your throat. There’s only a second for you to enjoy the heaviness of him on your tongue before he’s pulling you off of him. 

“No,” he hisses. “None of that, sweetheart.” He grips the base of his shaft, giving it a squeeze to calm himself. 

Frowning, you look up at him. “Why not?” 

“Because if you keep goin’, I’m gonna blow before I even get inside you. I told you, it’s been a long fuckin’ time since I’ve been with someone.” 

His reason makes you smile. “And you want to fuck me instead of coming down my throat.” 

“And I want to fuck you instead of comin’ down your throat.”

Why is that romantic to you? Maybe because there aren’t a lot of guys who’d turn down a blow job so you can get off together. 

“Hands and knees?” you ask, “Or on my stomach?” 

A grin tugs at the corner of his lips. “That’s my girl. Hands and knees, baby.” 

You don’t have to be told twice—turning in place, you shuffle up the mattress, settling on your hands and knees in the center of the bed. It’s instinctive how you arch your back, your ass lifted, and thighs parted. It’s a pose that feels both vulnerable and powerful, knowing exactly what kind of view you’re giving him. 

You glance back over your shoulder. “You coming, big guy?” It makes you grin, finding him distracted by the display you’re putting on. You wiggle your ass to get his attention. “You gonna get up here?” 

That snaps him from his reverie. His tone lowers, rough with desire, “Yes.” The mattress dips behind you as he climbs on, getting close enough that you can feel the heat of his body. Your head falls forward as his large, calloused palm slides up your spine, heavy and possessive, to squeeze the back of your neck. “Look at you,” he says, sounding awed. “My good girl with her ass up and her needy little pussy drippin’ for me. I’ve never felt so fuckin’ lucky.” His hands move to smooth over the curves of your backside before he grabs handfuls of the meaty globes hard enough that it borders on painful. “You’re perfect—you’re so fuckin’ perfect. But you know what else you are?” 

You hear him spit onto his fingers, slicking up his cock before he slides it through your wet folds to get it even wetter. Then he’s pressing the fat tip against your aching entrance, teasing it, your breath catching in your throat.

“What?” you whisper. 

“Mine.” 

He drives into you, sheathing himself in one hard thrust that knocks the air from your lungs, your body jerking forward from the impact. 

A guttural groan rumbles from Joel’s chest, his hands gripping your hips even tighter, holding you in place. He’s stretching you to your limit, filling you so completely that it’s hard to think, your fingers curling into the blankets. 

You’ve never been more thankful for foreplay, that he took the time to get you ready to take him. He feels massive inside you, and so fucking good, pressing against all of the right spots. At the thought of how it’s going to feel when he’s pounding into you, your cunt clenches around him. 

“Don’t,” he says through gritted teeth. “Don’t move.”  

It’s clear he wasn’t lying when he said he hadn’t been with anyone in quite some time. With his breaths turning ragged and his hips twitching from holding himself back, the man is fighting for his life not to come. Enough time passes that you’ve grown used to his dick, or as used to it as you can get with how big it is. What matters is that it’s not as overwhelming as it initially seemed.

You look back at Joel, catching him with his eyes squeezed shut, jaw tight, and sweat glistening on his brow. 

“Need a minute?” you ask.  

He cracks his eyes open. “You’re so fuckin’ tight and warm.” 

“You’re just big.”

“Am I?” He smirks.

You roll your eyes. “I’ve stroked your ego enough today. And hey, if you finish early, no shame. My pussy has that effect on some men.” 

From your previous dalliances with older men, if they hadn’t fucked in a while, the first round usually went fast, something they expected so they’d get you off beforehand. After that, they could go for as long as you wanted. 

His eyes narrow. “Are you callin’ me old?” 

You grin. “All I’m saying is you might not have the stamina you once had, and that’s totally cool.”

He moves faster than you expect, gasping when he shoves your shoulders down, forcing your chest to the mattress, with your spine arched and ass up. In the blink of an eye, he’s got your arms pinned behind your back, his large hand easily wrapped around both of your wrists, holding them there in one rough fist. 

“I told you that mouth of yours was gonna get you in trouble,” he mutters, angling his hips.  

He pulls out of you halfway and slams back in, the force stuttering your breath. 

One thing you’ve learned about Joel is you shouldn’t challenge him unless you want to be fucked within an inch of your life, as was happening right now. There’s no teasing, no slow buildup—he sets up a punishing pace from the start, the new angle absolutely devastating with his cock hitting something so divine inside you you’re seeing stars. 

“Joel, fuck—” you cry out. “Oh, fuck.” 

It feels like he’s taking you apart piece by piece, coming undone by how he’s filling and fucking you, how he owns you. He wasn’t wrong when he said you were his. He could have you any way he wants, and right now, he’s proving why he gets that honor. 

“You’re gonna feel me tomorrow,” he grits out between thrusts. “Every time you move, you’ll remember who this pussy belongs to.” 

His grip tightens on your wrists, using your arms as leverage, dragging you back onto his cock with every thrust. Each stroke is deeper than the last, your cunt greedy for every inch of him. You can’t think, you can’t breathe, you’re completely at his mercy as another orgasm starts to take shape in your core. 

Finding out that not only is he handsome, polite, and a good father but that he also fucks, has made you determined to lock him down and make him yours. 

He has you gasping now, your knees shaking hard enough you’re worried they’ll give out. Joel’s rhythm is brutal and unforgiving, his cock hitting so deep you swear you can feel him in your guts. Every push and pull of his hips is working you higher and higher. You’re so fucked out of your mind that all you can focus on are the sensations: his thick cock hammering into you, the burn in your thighs, the strain in your arms, the sweat coating your face and back, your heartbeat pounding in your ears. 

The pressure in your belly builds, your body trembling.

He says something above you that you don’t make out, smacking your ass to get your attention. The sting has you sucking in a breath, your pussy clamping down on him. 

“Answer me,” he orders. “Is this what you wanted? You wanted to be fucked like this?”

“Y-yes,” you choke out. “Don’t stop. Please, don’t stop.” 

“I’m not stoppin’ until you beg me to, and you say you’re mine.” 

Noise echoes off your bedroom walls. The old bedframe creaks under you, the worn bedsprings squealing with each thrust, skin slapping skin, the wet suck of your used cunt, moans, and ragged breaths—a symphony of debauchery. 

All you can do is take it, your back bowed, arms pinned, getting shoved forward into the sheets every time he fucks into you. He’s worked you up to the point that the coil in your belly is close to snapping, you just need—

Joel gives you another taste of his strength, pulling you up against his chest with little effort. His pace doesn’t wane, his cock working in and out of you, holding you close with an arm over your chest and another across your stomach. 

His lips press to the shell of your ear, feeling his hot, panting breath. “I know you’re close,” he rasps. “Can feel you squeezin’ me. Say it. Tell me you’re mine and I’ll let you come.” 

You grab onto his arm that’s locked against your breasts, nodding your head frantically. “I’m yours, Joel,” you gasp. “I’m fucking yours. I’ll always be yours. Please, let me come. Please.”

His hand on your stomach goes to the apex of your thighs, pinching your clit. You mewl, jerking in his hold. 

“This pussy is mine, too, isn’t it?” he asks. 

“Yes, it’s yours. Your pussy, your girl, I’m all yours, only yours. Please, Joel. Please, let me come.” 

“Good girl.” He kisses behind your ear. “Come for me. Let me have it.” 

A cry rips from your throat as he circles your clit, his other hand on your breast rolling your nipple between his fingers, his cock still pounding into you. It’s everything you need, setting you off and over the edge. The coil snaps, pleasure crashing through your body, sobbing his name over and over again, your nails digging into the skin of his forearm to tether you to earth. Your cunt spasms around him, clenching down on him hard enough it slows him to a stop. 

He groans in your ear. “That’s it.” His grip tightens around you. “That’s my fuckin’ girl. Come for me, baby.” 

You collapse against him, boneless. It’s Joel’s arm wrapped around your middle that holds you steady through the aftershocks when all you want to do is fall forward onto the mattress and rest your eyes. Your breaths are coming out ragged, your heart hammering so hard it feels like you’ve outrun a horde of infected. 

“Good girl,” he murmurs, pressing a kiss to your shoulder, then another to the side of your neck. His free hand rubbing comforting circles on your hip. 

You don’t speak. You’re not even sure you could if you wanted to. 

You’re still clutching his arm, and he doesn’t pull out; he stays nestled inside you, keeping you full after ruining you in the best way. Having him so close and surrounding you is the only thing that grounds you, the room quieting as you catch your breath. 

He waits a beat for you to come down before he asks, “Still with me, sweetheart?” 

You reach up behind you to thread your fingers into his sweat-damp hair, letting out a shaky exhale. “Yes.”

He nuzzles the crook of your neck. “I didn’t go too hard?” 

The softness is wholly unexpected. He’s holding you like you’re something precious, pressing reverent kisses to your skin and quietly checking in. It makes you like him even more and evokes a certain feeling that tightens your chest with emotion. Is it tenderness? Or is it that he’s treating you like more than a warm body to fuck? Maybe it’s both. Whatever it is, the ache you feel behind your ribs is almost as overwhelming as the orgasms he’s coaxed from you. 

“No. I can take it,” you answer. 

He hums in agreement and kisses a spot below your ear. “You took it really fuckin’ well.”

You smile. “You dished it out really fuckin’ well.”

“You got anythin’ to say about my stamina?” 

The question makes you snort. “I apologize for doubting your stamina. To be honest, I’m a little shocked that you haven’t come yet.” 

“Almost did, when you came. Took a whole helluva lot not to.” 

“Well, color me impressed, old man.” 

He pinches your hip, and you giggle. “Call me that again, and I’ll make sure you can’t walk for a week.” 

“Is that a promise?” 

“That fuckin’ mouth of yours.”

“You love it.”

He sighs. “Do you wanna stop or keep goin’?”

His arm is wrapped around your middle. He’s still hot and hard inside you, keeping you deliciously stretched. Obviously, you want to keep going, but there’s something you want to do for him. 

“Oh, I’m gonna get you off.” 

You untangle his arms from your body and crawl forward, his cock slipping out of you with an obscene wet sound that has you sucking in a breath and Joel groaning. You get up onto your knees and shuffle in place to look at him. 

“Sit down,” you order, and point at the spot beside you on the bed. He raises an eyebrow, and you roll your eyes. “Do you want to come with my tits in your face or not?”

That gets his cute little ass moving up the bed. He pauses when he’s next to you, his hands framing your face as he gives you a kiss that leaves you a little dizzy when he breaks away. He snags your four pillows, using them to cushion his back against the headboard, his legs sprawled out, arms folded behind his head, watching you with hungry eyes. 

He looks at home in your bed as if he’s been here hundreds of times and not only once.

And god, is he a sight to behold. A rosy pink flush rising from his chest to his cheeks, his hair tousled, skin gleaming from perspiration, and between his legs, his thick cock slick with your come and still rock hard. 

You straddle his hips. “Boob guy?”

The second they’re within reach, he’s cupping them in his large palms. 

He huffs, amused, crookedly smiling. “What makes you think that?” 

“Hmmm, let’s see. You checked them out at the door, buried your face in them on the couch, and you couldn’t keep your hands off them while you were literally being smothered by my pussy, and fucking me six ways to Sunday.” 

Joel’s chuckle turns into a choked ‘fuck’ when you guide his cock back inside you, slowly sinking down his shaft inch by inch. He shuts his eyes for a moment, his jaw flexing. You loop your arms around his neck, bottoming out, and fuck, he feels even deeper like this.

“You got me,” his voice sounds strained. “Fuckin’ love them.” His head dips to flick your nipple with his tongue, then kisses the curve, giving the other the same treatment. He sits back to meet your gaze. “Fuckin’ love how pretty you look sittin’ on my dick, too. You gonna ride me, baby?” 

Leaning forward, you kiss the line of his stubbled jaw to whisper in his left ear. “I’m gonna ride you into the sunset, handsome—and you get free rein of my tits.”

He grabs your chin, moving your face in front of his to crush his lips against yours, kissing you needily. His tongue plunders your mouth as you start moving on his lap, slow circles at first, savoring how his cock drags along your walls. Joel lets out the tiniest whimper, his palms skimming down to grip your ass. He kisses the underside of your jaw and down your neck, sucking hard on your pulse point—you gasp, your fingers pushing into the mess of waves at the back of his head. 

“You’re too fuckin’ good to me,” he says with his lips on your throat. 

“You deserve it,” you breathe. 

He isn’t going to last very long with how he’s throbbing inside you, so thick and desperate. You’re pretty sure that if you bounce on his dick with your breasts in his face and talk dirty to him, you can get him off in under two minutes. Hell, maybe you could do it in one. You decide to make it a challenge for yourself. 

Planting your knees into the mattress, you grip his shoulders for leverage and start moving with purpose. You rise until only the tip of him remains, then slam back down, in quick succession, again and again and again. It’s hard and fast, clenching around him on the upstroke to make it even better. 

He groans under you, fingers clawing into your ass like he’s hanging on for dear life. You pry them off as you continue working yourself up and down, putting his big hands on your tits.

“Fuck, baby,” his words come out ragged, his eyes glued to your chest. 

“You like that?” you pant. “Your cock buried so fucking deep inside me while you play with my tits?”

“Yes.”

He teases your stiff nipples with calloused thumbs, and he can’t help himself, leaning in to seal his mouth over one pebbled peak. He greedily sucks, the pleasure sparking through you, stuttering your rhythm for a moment. You keep going and are ready for it when he moves to your other breast, his tongue swirling around the hard bud.

You sound breathless. “You’re close, aren’t you?”

He doesn’t want to let your nipple go, so he hums his affirmative that vibrates against your skin. 

It’s slippery between your legs, his dick sliding easily in and out of your pussy. You speed up, becoming just as ruthless as he was, using him like he used you, fucking him at the same punishing pace. Your thighs collide with his in a sharp, wet smack that echoes off the walls, the bed creaking loudly. Your nipple pops out of his mouth, and he grabs your ass again for something to hold onto. “Gonna fuckin’ kill me,” he groans. He looks up at you, his eyes wild and glazed over. There’s no mistaking he’s absolutely wrecked and barely holding it together. 

It makes you smile seeing him so undone. “Can’t take it, baby?”

“I can—fuck,” he gasps, his eyes squeezing closed for a split second. He swallows hard. “Fuckin’ ruin me.”  

“With pleasure.” You ignore how your thighs burn and the bedframe squeaks. He’s your focus, he’s all that matters. You watch his face as you ride him, how it contorts when you bear down on him. You memorize every detail, every sound, every little thing that makes him tick and fall apart. His attention is back on your heaving breasts. “I want you to come inside me,” you tell him through panted breaths. “I want you to fill me up, make me drip. I wanna feel every last drop inside me. Can you do that for me, handsome? Can I have your come? Please, Joel?”

His glassy eyes snap to yours, and that’s all it takes. 

It’s game over. 

He surprises you when he sits up just enough to grab you with one arm around your back, the other cradling your head, dragging you down into a kiss as he comes. It’s desperate and messy, his lips crashing into yours, a groan rumbling from his chest, swallowing the whimper you make as you feel his cock thicken and jerk, the pulsing heat flooding your depths. Each spurt makes your cunt clamp down around him on reflex. He holds you there, locked in the kiss as if he’s afraid you’ll disappear if he lets go, his whole body beneath you trembling. You roll your hips, slower than before, grinding, drawing out every last wave for him to give you everything he’s got. 

Then—

CRACK.

The ancient bedframe finally gives out. 

With a deafening groan of protest and a sharp snap, the entire mattress drops six inches on one side, sending you both lurching sideways with surprised gasps. You’re straddling him, leaning a little to the left, Joel breathless and stunned under you. You look at the current state of your bed, then at him, somehow still balls-deep inside you, his hair a mess, his pretty face dazed, and cheeks flushed. 

“You broke my fucking bed.” 

His expression switches from shocked to offended, his eyebrows cinching together. “Excuse me, I broke your bed? Baby, you were ridin’ me like a fuckin’ mechanical bull.”

“After you fucked me into the mattress. Either way, it’s your fault. No one has ever broken my bed before.” 

“No one has ever fucked you like me before.” He looks smug about it, too. 

“Touché.” Your attention turns to the bed again, frowning. “Fuck, I’m gonna have to sleep with my mattress on the floor. With making the cake and working, I won’t be able to fix this for a few days.” 

“I’ll fix it tomorrow.” 

You look at him. “You don’t have to. It’s fine. I can probably get one of the handymen to do it when I’m free.” There are a handful of knowledgeable men who help fix things around town—Tommy is one of them. 

“I said, I’ll fix it tomorrow. You don’t need a handyman when I used to be a fuckin’ contractor.” 

That has you perking up. “A contractor?” 

“Yeah.” He takes a moment to get comfortable, keeping you atop him while he scoots down the lopsided bed and arranges your pillows to prop up his head and shoulders. “C’mere,” he says, pulling you down to lie half on top of him, his softened cock slipping out of you. Your ear is pressed over his heart, hearing the steady beat, his arm around you with his hand on your hip.

“It’s sexy that you used to be a contractor,” you say. Your palm is resting on his stomach, and he covers it with his free hand. “I’m just going to make the assumption that was back when you were in Texas, and since it gets pretty hot there, did you work with your shirt off often…?”

He’s amused. “Yes. Especially in the summer.” He’s drawing imaginary shapes on your hip. 

“What I’d pay to see that.” 

“Well, you’re makin’ the cake for free—”

“Not free,” you interrupt, lifting your head to look at him, resting your chin on his pec. “I’m making the cake in exchange for you eating my pussy like a champ.” 

He huffs, meeting your gaze. “Now you are, but before, the shit we agreed on for you to make the cake was nothin’. It would’ve taken me no time at all to get, so you were makin’ it for free.” 

“More like half-off to non-smugglers.” 

“Then you need to re-evaluate what your skills are worth ‘cause you’re sellin’ yourself short.” 

“You are very sweet, but I promise the deal I made you was only for you. A chocolate cake with basically a day’s notice? Come on, I’d want some good shit for that. Coffee, painkillers, antibiotics, ammunition, a firearm—what I asked you to get wouldn’t even pay for the chocolate, let alone a whole cake.”

He’s frowning, his finger pausing on your skin. “Then why would you agree to so little from me?”

You smile. “A weakness for single older dads.”

“You got a lot of those around here?” 

“Nope,” you pop the ‘p.’ “You’re a rare breed, and the reason why, if I’m yours, then you are mine. I do not share.”

“I don’t either.” 

“Perfect.” 

“Glad we got that out of the way. Can we go back to talkin’ about me bein’ a contractor?” 

“A sexy, shirtless contractor?” 

“Yes. What I was goin’ to say before you interrupted me is that you were so kind about the cake, that if you wanted, I can fix your bed without a shirt on.” 

“Can that be standard when you fix anything around my apartment?”

He smiles. “If that’s what you want.” 

“Oh, I want it. Also, may I make the request that the bed be extra-reinforced? We will be testing it out when you’re done.” 

“Is that right?” 

“Yep.” 

“You’re gonna fuckin’ wear me out with how much you want my cock.” 

“Your mouth, too. I’d also like to see what your fingers are like.” 

“Jesus Christ.” His fingertip starts making shapes on your hip again. “I wanna know more about you than just what you like in bed. How long have you lived in Jackson?” 

“Seven years.” 

“You got any family?”

“Biological? No. Lost my parents and little sisters when I was about twelve. Typical tragic backstory where I was the lone survivor. You know the bartender, Seth?” 

“Yeah.” 

“He and his wife found me and raised me with their kids. I was an adult by the time they decided to come out this way, and they told me I was old enough to make my own choice on whether I’d follow them or not. Obviously, I did. They may not be my blood relatives, but they’re still my aunt and uncle, which took me some years to label them as such. It’s hard when you remember your family, and they could never replace my parents. Was Ellie close with her mom and dad?” 

He frowns. “She didn’t have parents, or at least ones she knew. She was raised by FEDRA in Boston. I don’t think that girl knows what it’s like to be loved by a parent, or anyone, for that matter.” 

“From what you’ve told me, I think you’re doing a great job of showing her what it’s like to have a loving father, or a loving parent in general. The cake was a great idea. It’s so sweet and thoughtful. Do you have a present for her?” 

“Before I come over here tomorrow night to take care of your bed and have that drink with you, I’ll be spendin’ my day fixin’ up a guitar for her.” He’s fondly smiling. “I finished gettin’ all the parts I needed today—even traded your uncle for a piece of bone I’ll use for the saddle—”

“I know nothing about guitars. What’s the saddle?” 

“But you know what one looks like, right? An acoustic guitar?” 

You picture one in your head. “Yes.” 

“Okay, so you know the part near the bottom of the body where the strings are anchored? Where they’re pinned in?” 

“Yes.”

“That’s the bridge. The saddle sits on the bridge. It’s usually made of bone or plastic and holds the strings up at the right height and helps them stay in tune when you play.” 

“I think I know what you’re talking about.” 

“Good. So, got the bone, new strings, and I’ll clean and shine the rest of the metal parts. She has a thing for moths, and I’m gonna try my damndest to carve one into the fretboard—that’s the guitar neck with all the metal frets and dots to guide your fingers when you’re playin’? I’m gonna put it right at the top below the headstock, where the turning pegs are.”

“I can’t believe you don’t think you’re a good dad. The lengths you go to for this child. She’s really lucky to have you.” 

“Maybe.” 

“She is. Do you play?” 

“Since I was about half her age.” 

“You’ll have to play me something sometime.” 

“I will, but don’t ask me to sing. I’m fuckin’ awful at it.” 

“I have a hard time believing that. Is that your only hobby?” 

“No. I also do woodworkin’.”

“Like wooden figurines?”

“Yeah.” 

“You gonna make me one?” 

“What’s your favorite animal?” 

“Ummm—” You have to think about it for a second. “Maybe otters? I think it’s cute when they hold hands while sleeping.” 

“I’ll make you a pair of otters then.” 

You smile. “Just like that, you’re gonna woodwork me a couple of tchotchkes?” 

“Yeah.” He shrugs. “Gives me somethin’ to do when I’m home from work, and Ellie’s out bein’ a kid.” 

“If you ever want some company, I’d be happy to hang out with you while you do your thing. I’ll also watch movies with you, go horseback riding, and you could even help me make cakes.” You suddenly feel unsure of yourself. “Unless you’re not interested in any of that and you’re just looking for an exclusive sex partner.” 

“I told you I don’t do fuck buddies or casual shit.” 

“So, you want to date me?” 

“If you’ll have me.” He lifts your hand from his belly to kiss your knuckles. “I’d understand if you didn’t want people knowin’. though.”

Your eyebrows furrow. “Why wouldn’t I want people to know I’m dating you?” 

“Because I’m old.” 

“Once again, I do not give a fuck that you are—how old are you?” 

He takes a deep breath and says on the exhale, “Fifty-six.” 

“Once again, I do not give a fuck that you are fifty-six. You’re hot and sweet, and I’d want everyone to know you’re mine.” 

He smiles. “Yeah?” 

“Yes. There’s just one little thing we need to figure out.” 

“What’s that?” 

“How long do you wait until you tell Ellie?” 

“After her birthday. Maybe in a week or two to see how things go between us.” 

“Solid plan.” You lean up and peck him on the lips. 

“What about you? You got any hobbies?” 

“Mostly baking. I also collect records and love watching movies.” 

“When I go out again, I’ll find you more records and movies.” 

“That’s sweet of you, but you don’t have to do that.”

“I want to. I do have a question.” 

“I’ll hopefully have an answer.” 

“I know you like sex—”

“Love,” you correct. “Love sex very much.” 

“Yes, I know you love sex very much, and you said you weren’t seein’ anyone. Do I need to worry about any former, uh, paramours?” 

“Wanting to fight you for my bed?”

“Yes…” 

“No. The few guys in town are all married now, and there are a couple of traders who stop by every once in a while who’ll be disappointed, but they won’t step on your toes.” 

“I know it’s none of my business, but why didn’t any of the men here wanna marry you…?”

“Oh. I guess we should probably discuss this now, rather than having me blindside you down the road. I’d like to have a family one day, and they were all done with babies and raising kids. They married women closer to their own age who felt the same way. So, if that’s a dealbreaker, you need to let me know now.” 

He’s quiet as he thinks about what you’ve said. Nerves swirl in your belly. You’re hoping and praying this isn’t the end. 

“I had a daughter,” he finally tells you. “Sarah. She was my pride and joy, my everythin’. She died in my arms twenty years ago on the night of the outbreak. It broke me. I was a shell of a man from that point on, and then Ellie came into my life. I was hired to transport her across the country, but things, uh, didn’t work out when I got her to her destination. So I brought her here to Jackson, where we’d be close to Tommy, and she’d get to have a somewhat normal life as a kid. 

“For twenty years, I swore to myself I’d never bring another child into this godawful world.” At his admission, your heart plummets. “Was really fuckin’ careful when I’d fuck to limit the risk as much as possible, too, which meant I never finished inside my partner. I never had the desire to, or would ever humor the idea.” 

Now, you’re confused. “If you’re so anti-creampies, why is your come dripping out of me as we speak?” 

He smiles and caresses your cheek with a gun-calloused palm. “Because in all of my fifty-six years on this planet, the happiest I’ve ever been is when I’m a dad. I fuckin’ love bein’ a father, and I know I’m too old to even be thinkin’ about babies, but if it happened? I wouldn’t be upset about it. I’d welcome it.” 

He’s perfect, and you’ve never wanted a man more. 

“I know we’ve only known each other for less than a day, but marry me.” Joel chuckles. “I’m serious. Make me your wife. I will fuck your brains out, have as many babies as you want, bake you delicious things, and treat Ellie like she’s my own kid. You’re everything and more that I want in a partner, and I think we’d be good together.” 

His thumb strokes over the apple of your cheek. “I’m flattered by your offer, sweetheart. I truly am, and have half a mind to accept it, but marriage isn’t somethin’ you rush into. I know most everyone does these days with how uncertain everythin’ is, but I’d like to take my time to court you properly before we decide to get married.” 

You sigh. “If you insist.” You glance up at the clock on your bedside table; the red numbers show it’s after ten p.m. Your gaze returns to his. “We’ve got less than two hours before you need to head home, Cinderella. Would you be up for another, softer, maybe sensual round—I’m thinking missionary—then we can shower, you can help me get my mattress onto the floor, and take off? Or do you want to shower, help me get my mattress onto the floor, and hang out in the living room, watching a movie or something until you need to leave?” 

“Another round, we shower, we leave your bed alone, and you come home with me instead of sleepin’ on the floor.” 

“To your house, where Ellie is…?” 

“I’ll sneak you in. She spends most of her time in her room anyway. She won’t know you’re there.” 

“If you want to hold off on her knowing about me, I don’t think this is a good idea.”

You don’t know how he does it. One minute, you’re lying half on top of him, and the next, he’s got you beneath him on your back, his hips cradled by your thighs. He kisses your clavicle, saying into your skin, “It’ll be fine.” His lips trail up your throat, making you shiver when he sucks on your pulse point, his cock hardening against your core. “Come home with me.” Joel continues his journey, laving kisses along the underside of your jaw to nip at your chin. He hovers his face over yours, searching your eyes. “Will you?” 

“Only if you’re sure.”

“Quit your worryin’. I told you, it’ll be fine. She’ll have no idea.” 

“Okay, then. I’ll go with you.” 

He smiles. “Good girl.” 

Joel wasn’t kidding about sneaking you into his house. That’s how you find yourself freshly fucked, showered, and clothed, creeping up a dark staircase behind him and into a hallway, where he signals for you to stay because Ellie’s door is open. He walks over to her doorway, leaning in it like he’s done it a hundred times before, the light shining on his face showing that fond smile he always has when he talks about her. 

“Hey, kiddo.” 

“Hey, Joel.” 

“You have a good day?” 

“Scooping horse shit?” You have to hold in your laugh. “Not really, but afterward, Jesse and I went to Dina’s to watch a movie.”

Jesse and Dina are good kids.

“What movie?” 

“Star Wars. The first two, but I wasn't really paying attention. We were too busy joking around and trying to throw popcorn into each other’s mouths.”

“What’d you do after that?” 

“We went and had dinner. Did you get some of the apple pie? It was really fucking good. I think the peach cobbler is still my favorite, though.”

You also made the peach cobbler. Ellie has good taste. It’s your favorite, too. 

“Yeah?” he asks. 

“Yeah.” 

“Well, hopefully it’ll come ‘round again soon.” 

Once traders come through with more peaches, you’ll be able to. It’s adorable watching him interact with her and seeing how much he clearly loves her. 

“I sure hope so. How was your day?” 

“Good. They had me out patrollin’, and I went through some houses to see if I could find anythin’ good. Did you get the tapes I left on your desk?” 

“I did! I listened to the Backstreet Guys, or whatever the fuck they’re called—people used to like that shit?” 

Is she talking about the Backstreet Boys?

Joel chuckles. “Sarah loved them.” 

“She usually has great taste in music,” Ellie replies, “but I’m not sure about this one.” 

“Well, I’ll tell you right now, NSYNC is similar—” She is talking about the Backstreet Boys, and how very ‘good dad’ of Joel to be familiar with the music his child loves. “—but I think you’ll enjoy the Halican Drops albums. That was Sarah’s favorite band. I’ve been lookin’ forever to find you their music, and I hit the jackpot today when I came across a kid’s room that hadn’t been picked clean.” 

“Oh, sweet. I’ll listen to them before bed. Thanks, Joel.” 

“You’re welcome, kiddo. Don’t stay up too late. You gotta be up early to scoop more horse shit.” 

She groans. “God, I fucking hope not. Can you ask Tommy to assign me to anything else? Like anything else.”

His voice softens. “Yeah, I’ll do that in the mornin’. Night, Ellie.” 

“Night, Joel.” 

He pulls her door closed and waits ten seconds, then motions for you to come to him. He grabs your hand when you’re within reach and leads you further down the hall to his room at the end, where he opens the door and flips on the light. He ushers you in, closing the door and locking it behind you.

The first thing you notice is that it smells like him—crushed thyme, gun oil, and something uniquely Joel, mixed with the scent of freshly cut wood. Then you take in the area, the paintings that depict cowboys, his woodworking workstation, what you assume is Ellie’s future guitar leaning against it, another one hanging on his wall, and further in the room, a third you think is the one he actually plays. The piece of bone he got from your uncle is sitting atop the worktable, along with little metal parts and his tools. 

“I like your room,” you tell him. “It’s cozy.” He’s got a comfy-looking accent chair you could imagine him reading in and a desk by the door with a drawing of a moth on top of it—what he plans to carve into Ellie’s guitar.

He spins you to face him. “Thanks.” He grabs the hem of your shirt and pulls it up off your arms, followed by your sports bra. “You’re my first guest.” 

He grunts, crouching down in front of you. Joel gets his fingers under the waistband of your leggings and underwear, tugging them down. You hold onto his shoulders for balance as you step out of them, and he removes your socks, leaving you completely nude.

“Is that why you were adamant about me coming over tonight? So you could finally christen your bed?” 

He stands back up, one of his knees popping. “No.” Joel kisses you, and you hold his scruffy cheeks as he works open the buttons of his flannel. He shrugs it off and unbuckles his belt, his lips leaving yours to get his jeans undone and shoved down, followed by his boxer briefs. 

“When I said ‘christen your bed,’ I meant have sex in it for the first time. Why are we naked if we’re not gonna fuck?” 

All of his clothes are on the floor, including his socks, and instead of answering your question, he straightens and captures your lips once more, his hands gripping your waist. He kisses you as he walks you backward toward his neatly made bed, and when you’re beside it, he breaks away to pull back the blankets.

“Get in.” It’s not a suggestion, and you do as he says, getting under the sheets and turning on your side, propping your head up with your arm to watch what he’s doing.  

“The lack of clothes and kissing is giving me mixed signals.” 

“What do you mean?” he asks on his way to turn off the overhead light. 

“When I’m naked with someone and we’re making out, that’s the lead-up to fucking.” 

The room goes dark, save for the moonlight slipping through the closed blinds, offering some illumination as he returns, going around the bed and crawling in on the other side. You turn over to look at him as he gets to the middle of the bed. “C’mere.” He reaches toward you, and you scoot like he asks until he’s able to pull you up against the solid warmth of his front. He curls around you, one arm draped over your waist, the other under your head, his large palm resting gently on your spine. “Have you ever slept with someone?” he asks. 

You blink up at him in the dark, quietly replying, “We literally just fucked twice.” 

“No.” He brushes his thumb lightly over your back. “Not sex. I mean, have you ever just fallen asleep with someone?” 

The question has your breath catching a little, but not from arousal. No, this is something completely different. It’s warmer. Sweeter, and it makes your chest ache for some reason. 

Your mouth opens to reply, but no words come out immediately. 

It has you thinking back, really thinking back. Sure, you had nights where men stayed over. Nights when you were tangled in sweaty sheets with someone who’d be gone by morning. But this? Naked and held? No rush. No expectations. Just simple, quiet skin-on-skin closeness? 

“No,” you finally admit. “Never.” 

Joel hums a contented sound in his throat. He kisses the top of your head, his facial hair lightly scratching your forehead. “I hope you like it, sweetheart,” he murmurs. 

You lie there, stunned. You assumed he asked you here for the same reason men before him invited you into their beds—to fuck, and maybe some post-sex cuddling before your clothes are back on and the mood fades. 

But Joel doesn’t just want you. He wants you with him, here like this, in a way that feels much more intimate than sex. He doesn’t just wreck you with his body; it’s the way he chooses you when he doesn’t have to, how he holds you like you matter, like you’re his. With him, you’re not being used, you’re being kept. 

That dawning realization sinks in, curling around something tender behind your ribs. 

Your voice is small when you whisper, “You didn’t want me here for sex, did you?” 

“No,” he answers. “I wanted you here ‘cause I’ll sleep better with you next to me.” 

Your throat tightens, staring into the dark, feeling a little overwhelmed because you don’t know what to do with all of this affection settling over you. 

“Oh.” 

Joel chuckles, pulling you in tighter, tucking your head under his chin. “Yeah. Oh.” The room goes quiet, then he adds, “Also, don’t want you breakin’ my bed.”

“Excuse me?” 

“You heard me,” he laughs into your hair. “You ride like a fuckin’ hellcat. That old frame of yours didn’t stand a chance.” 

His statement has your mouth dropping open, a mix of offense and flattery.

“That’s rude and slanderous because we both agreed you broke the bed.” 

“We agreed on no such thing. Tomorrow, I will even show you proof that you rode me into the sunset and your bed straight into the ground by where it snapped.” He kisses the top of your head again. “Gotta reinforce both our beds before I let you do that again. I think your couch could take the abuse, though, so that’s an option.” 

He has you biting back a smile. “I hate you.” 

“No, you don’t.” 

“No, I don’t.” 

“You wanna marry me.” 

“I’m not so sure I do now.” 

“You do.”

“Maybe.” 

“Six months.” 

“Six months, what?” 

“If we’re still together in six months, I’ll marry you.” 

Your heart rate increases. “Really?” 

“Yes. Now, get some sleep.” 

Masterlist

Tonight was different.

You'd put your baby down after a warm bath and Joel made dinner, watched you as you sat barefoot at the table, cradling a mug of tea in the tired hands. Your body still felt like someone else's. Not your own. Not yet. The soft weight of your breasts, the roundess in your stomach, the way your hips still ached when you walked too fast. You caught him looking, again. And this time, you didn't flinch.

~~~

You slipped into bed whilst Joel was reading his book before bedtime, his glasses perched on his nose.. once you got inside the bed he curled behind you, thickhands roaming your waist, your belly, cupping the swell of your breasts under your sleep shirt.

"Still so full," he mumuered, voice low and scratchy.

You blushed. "Joel-"

"I missed you," he said, not bothering to hide the desperation in his voice. "Missed this. Missed you." You turned in his arms, kissed dhim slow. Let him undress like you were made of something sacred. He didn't rush. Not even when his cock twitched hard in his boxers, not even when your thighs spread open for him like muscle memory. When he got on top of you, glasses still percher on his nose, beard brushing against your jaw, you let out the smallest, neediest moan..

"God, baby," he brather. "You sure?"

"Yes," you whispered, hips lifting to meet his. "Please joel. I wan you,"

His hands slid under your thighs, pushing them open so he could settle between them. You felt everything, every inch of his thick, slow thrusts as he eased inside you. It was overwhelming. A stretch you hadn't felt in weeks..

Your breath hitched.

"You okay?" He murmured, lips brushing your temple. His glasses slipping slightly down his nose.

You nodded, tears stinging behind your eyes from the fullness. "Just missed you"

He began to move, gentle and deep, grinding down just right so your body opened for him. You gasped at how intense it felt after so long. Joel grunted, slow and deep in his chest.r "so fuckin' tight baby. Missed bein' inside you. My sweet girl"

And then, your body betrayed you.

A sudden warmth formed across your chest, dampening the front of your shirt.

You froze.

Joel noticed instantly. "What's wrong?"

"I- I'm leaking.." you said quietly, eyes darting away, trying to hide the wet fabric clinging to your skin, "I'm sorry, I didn't realize-"

"Hey," he said, cupping your cheek, still moving inside you but slower now, like a rocking lullaby. "Don't apologize. You hear me?" Your eyes met his. Hellled down, saw the dark spots forming around your nipples, the milk soaking through your shirt.

And then? Joel moaned.

The deep, filthy sound of it made you shiver.

"Jesus, baby.."

You blinked, stunned. "What?""

He sat up slightly, still buried inside you, and pushed your shirt up to your collarbones. Your swollen, milk-heavy tits bounced free. Joel's eyes darkened behind his foggy glasses. "Look at you," he whispered recently. "All full for me" he ducked his head, tongue immediately latching around one taut nipple, sucking greedily.

You gasped.

"Joel-"

He groaned like a man starved. One hand kept your tit steady while he drank, warm milk spilling into his mouth. "Fuck, you taste so sweet," he murmured, lapping and teasing your nipple with his tongue before switching to the other, moaning low as he suckled again.

The sight of it, Joel between your breasts, glasses starting to fog up, beard damp with milk. Was too much.

You keened under him, fingers tangling in his greying curls. "God- Joel, you're gonna make me cum " he pulled back with a wet pop, lips shining, pupils blown wide behind his misted lenses. "Cum for me, babygirl, wanna feel that sweet little pussy squeeze me" you whimpered, hips grinding up. "I feel- so gross..." Joel shock his head, breathing hard, pushing your thighs open wide as he thrusted into you. "You're beautiful. Fuckin' divine. This body? Gave me a family. Gave me everything. And now she's gonna cum for me, isn't she?"

He thrust hard, deep. The friction of his pubic hair against your clit, the milk on your breasts cooling in the air, the filthy praises spilling from his mouth, it all collided.

Your orgasm hit like a wave.

You cried out, nails dragging down his back as your body seized and shuddered beneath him. "That's it," he growled, "fuck, that's my girl. Felt you. So fuckin' good,baby. So good" he fucked you through it, chasing his own high.

When he came, it was with a grunt and a buried moan against your throat, hips jerking as he filed you with everything he had.

He then collapsed on top of you, both of you panting, tangled together in sweat and milk and warmth.

You noticed it first.

His glasses, still on. Completely fogged over.

You giggled breathlessly. "Joel, your glasses..."

He looked up, slightly dazed. "Huh?"

You reached up, gently taking them off his face. They were steamed to hell, smudged with your skin and dampness. You laughed softly, wiping them clean on the hem of the sheet. Joel's face broke into a slow, lazy grin. "Guess I forgot to take 'em off."

You slid them back onto his nose and cupped his cheek. "I like you with them on "

"Yeah?" He murmured, pressing a kiss to your lips. "You like seein' how much I worship you?"

You flushed, letting your hand fall to your breast again. Milk had started to bead at your nipple once more.

Joel's eyes darkened.

He leaned down and licked it up like honey.