#dd!joel

| MDNI - 18+ | SUMMARY: After a long, labor-heavy day in Jackson, Joel returns home aching and exhausted. You offer to massage his sore shoulders, knowing exactly what he needs. But when the tension melts and slow touches grow hungrier, Joel makes good on a promise: “You start touchin’ me like that again and I ain’t gonna stop.” total wc: 1.6K+

The sun was just starting to dip behind the mountains when you heard the front door creak open.

You didn’t look up right away—just stirred the beans in the cast-iron pan, letting the warmth from the wood stove seep into your spine. The cabin smelled like cedar, earth, and that old tobacco Joel never smoked around you, but always carried in the lining of his jacket.

Heavy boots hit the floorboards behind you.

“Hey,” you said softly.

There was a long sigh before he answered. “Hey.”

You turned then. Joel looked wrecked.

Hair matted with sweat, shirt clinging to his chest, dirt streaked across his jawline. The sleeves were pushed up on his flannel, revealing forearms corded with effort, veins raised from hours of swinging a hammer or hauling something heavier than he should’ve. His hands flexed at his sides like they ached.

“Jesus, Joel…”

He shrugged off the compliment—or maybe it was concern—and dropped onto the couch like his knees had given out. “Shitty lock on the east fence broke again. Took me and Tommy damn near all day to fix it.”

You moved toward him slowly, wiping your hands on the towel at your hip.

He tipped his head back to look at you. The way his eyes softened then—how he always looked like he saw you, not just the day—sent a slow warmth curling through your stomach.

You stopped in front of him and brushed a thumb over the sweat-darkened spot on his collarbone.

“You want a massage?”

Joel blinked. “Huh?”

You smiled. “Your shoulders. Your back. You’re wound up like a bowstring.”

He opened his mouth—maybe to argue—but then his eyes dropped, and his jaw worked like he was chewing on something he didn’t want to spit out.

“…Please.”

You nodded and moved behind the couch.

Joel leaned forward, elbows on his knees, letting you settle in behind him. You knelt on the cushions, legs tucked under you, and rested your hands on his shoulders. The heat of him pulsed through your palms. Thick muscle, tense and unforgiving, lay beneath your fingertips.

You started slow. Kneading the base of his neck, dragging your thumbs down between his shoulder blades.

Joel exhaled hard, like you’d knocked the air out of him.

“Shit,” he muttered. “You’re good at that.”

“Had practice,” you teased, leaning in closer.

He hummed, low and rough. Your fingers moved lower, kneading the ridge of muscle along his spine. The worn flannel softened under your touch, but you could feel the solid heat of him underneath.

“Fuckin’ back feels like a load of bricks.”

“I can feel that.”

Your hands glided upward again, thumbs pressing deep circles into his shoulders. He let out a sound—half sigh, half groan—that made something pull tight between your legs.

You leaned down a little more, chest brushing his back.

“Joel.”

“Yeah?”

“If I keep touching you like this…” you whispered, voice low and warm, “are you gonna fall asleep, or are you gonna do something about it?”

Joel stiffened under your hands. Then slowly, he turned to look over his shoulder. One brow raised. A smirk tugged at the corner of his mouth.

“You start touchin’ me like that again,” he rasped, voice dark and thick, “and I ain’t gonna stop.”

You met his eyes—slow burn behind his pupils, the kind of promise that always made you wet—and let your hands drift lower. Not just kneading now. Teasing.

Joel sat up fully and turned, his knees bracketing yours, one big hand resting on your thigh.

“Come here,” he said softly.

It wasn’t a request.

You shifted into his lap easily, straddling him on the couch. His hands settled on your hips—rough, warm, grounding. You felt the scrape of his callouses through your thin cotton sleep shorts.

You’d done this before. Many times. But something about the quiet after the long day, the way he was looking at you now—worn down but hungry—made it different.

Joel’s hands moved slowly, fingers sliding beneath your top, palms grazing your spine. His mouth found your collarbone. He kissed a slow trail toward your neck.

“We’ve got time,” you whispered.

His voice rumbled against your skin. “Not gonna need much if you keep grindin’ on me like that.”

You laughed breathlessly and kissed him, deep and familiar. His hands tightened on your waist, pulling you closer until you could feel him, hard against your core.

He pulled away, forehead pressed to yours.

“Get these off,” he muttered, tugging at your shirt.

You nodded and peeled it off. Joel’s eyes dropped, mouth parting slightly as he took you in. No rush. Just him looking—like you were something worth worshipping.

He ran a hand over your ribs, your waist, cupping one breast gently before dragging his thumb across your nipple. You gasped.

“Lie back,” he said.

“What—here?”

He nodded. “Couch’s seen worse.”

You grinned and leaned back as Joel followed, one hand bracing beside your head, the other trailing down your stomach.

He kissed you again—slower now, deeper—like he had nowhere else to be. And as his hand slid between your legs, you sighed into his mouth.

“Let me take care of you,” he whispered.

You arched into his touch.

“I already am.”

Joel’s fingers curled beneath the hem of your shorts, dragging them down your legs with a practiced slowness that had your breath catching in your throat. He kissed a trail from your navel downward, his stubble rough against your skin, the heat of his breath teasing just where you wanted him most.

He paused, looking up from between your thighs with that quiet, unreadable expression he wore before doing something that would ruin you.

“Been thinkin’ about this all day,” he murmured. “Every time I bent down, or felt my shoulders crack, I thought about comin’ home to this.”

Then he lowered his mouth.

His tongue flicked slow at first—just enough to tease, to test. You squirmed under his grip, moaning softly. Joel’s hands pressed your thighs open wider, and he buried his mouth deeper.

Each stroke of his tongue was methodical. Patient. Worshipful.

“Joel—”

You couldn’t think. Couldn’t speak. The only thing you could do was curl your fingers in his hair and hold on as he worked you open with lips and tongue, coaxing you closer to the edge.

He groaned against you when your hips bucked, like he liked how desperate you were. Like he needed this just as much.

“You taste so fuckin’ sweet,” he muttered between licks, voice gravel and honey.

Your back arched as the pressure coiled, tight and blinding, and then it snapped—your cry breaking free as Joel held you down and helped you ride it out.

He didn’t stop right away. Didn’t pull away until you were shaking.

When he finally did, his lips were slick, his eyes dark, and the bulge in his jeans looked painful.

You barely caught your breath before he leaned over you, kissing your neck, your jaw, your mouth.

“I told you,” he whispered, pressing his forehead to yours, “you touch me like that, and I ain’t gonna stop.”

He didn’t wait for you to answer. He kissed you hard and pushed his jeans down with one hand, just enough to free himself. You helped, fumbling slightly as your hands brushed his hips.

He hissed when your fingers wrapped around him, and you felt just how much he’d been holding back.

Joel lined himself up, his hand on your thigh, steadying himself.

“Look at me,” he murmured.

You did. And he sank in slow.

The stretch stole your breath. The weight of him, the heat—familiar but always overwhelming. His jaw clenched as he bottomed out, staying still, forehead still pressed to yours.

“Goddamn,” he whispered. “You feel like heaven.”

You clenched around him. His breath stuttered.

Then he moved.

Slow at first. Dragging out, then thrusting back in deep, grinding. Every stroke built the tension back, until you were gasping under him, fingernails digging into his shoulders.

Joel’s hand slid between you, his thumb finding your clit, circling with perfect pressure.

“Come for me again,” he growled, his voice rough and low like it had been dragged through gravel.

He rolled his hips with more intent now—no longer slow and reverent, but deeper, hungrier. His thrusts built to a rhythm that made your breath hitch with every grind, every sharp snap of his hips. Sweat slicked your skin, the soft creak of the couch beneath you matching the sounds of skin on skin, of breathless gasps and bitten-off moans.

Your legs trembled as he moved faster, his hand tightening at your hip, the other never leaving your clit. The friction was maddening—his thumb circling you just right, his cock stretching and filling you until the pressure inside you crested sharp and bright.

“Joel—fuck—I can’t—”

“Yes, you can,” he panted, his forehead pressed to yours. “You can take it. Just a little more. I got you.”

You cried out again, the orgasm crashing through you like a wave ripping your lungs inside out. Your hips jerked, your body seized, and you shattered under him, clenching so tightly around him that he groaned deep and guttural.

“Fuck, that’s it—that’s it, baby,” he hissed, voice ragged, and then he was coming too. His thrusts turned erratic, desperate, his hand bracing beside your head as he buried himself to the hilt.

Joel cursed, voice breaking, and came with a shudder that rocked his whole frame. He stayed buried deep, panting into the crook of your neck as the tremors rolled through both of you.

It wasn’t just sex anymore. It never had been. And now, it couldn’t be anything less.

He stayed there, panting above you, then kissed you—soft, almost tender.

“Still think you’re just here to rub my back?” he teased.

You laughed, breathless, your fingers threading through his hair.

“Let’s call it… mutual relief.”

Joel groaned and buried his face in your neck.

“I’ll build and fix fences every damn day if this is what’s waitin’ for me after.”

Pairing: JoelMillerxFem!Reader Setting/Summary: Jackson, post-council meeting. You’re staying in the same house as Ellie. One creaky floorboard away from being caught. Joel tells you to keep quiet—but he doesn’t make it easy. Cue hand-over-mouth, soft praise, rough hips. (minors do not interact) word court: 914

The house was quiet. Too quiet.

The kind of silence that made your ears ring if you sat in it too long. The kind of quiet that felt like holding your breath in church, the air heavy and expectant, sacred somehow. Outside, the wind pressed against the windows, carrying the howl of the mountains, but inside the old walls of the Jackson safe house, only the soft tick of a crooked clock and the occasional creak of wood broke the still.

You were wide awake. You’d been for a while.

Joel hadn’t said a word since returning from the council meeting. You’d been staying in the spare bedroom down the hall from Ellie’s for a week now, supposedly temporary, but each passing day made it feel more permanent. A quiet understanding had settled between the three of you—maybe not a family, not quite—but something close.

Tonight, it felt charged. Too much tension under his skin. You’d seen it in the way Joel kept his arms crossed at the table, the way he clenched his jaw when Tommy made a joke that didn’t land right. You hadn’t asked about it. Not because you didn’t care—but because Joel Miller only came to you when he was ready. And when he was ready…

The bedroom door creaked softly. Your body jolted instinctively, but relaxed when you saw him standing there. His broad shoulders filled the doorway, outlined in low amber lamplight from the hall. He didn’t speak. Just looked at you.

You sat up slowly. “Couldn’t sleep either?”

He stepped inside and closed the door behind him, the latch clicking like a gun cocking.

“Nah,” he said low, voice rough as gravel and midnight. “You mind?”

You shook your head. “No.”

He moved toward the bed, steps slow, measured. Every part of him buzzed with tension—his hands flexing, jaw twitching, like he was trying to hold something back.

And then you understood. You weren’t the only one who couldn’t sleep because of the silence. Joel couldn’t sleep because he’d been thinking. About you. About this.

“You okay?” you asked gently.

He stopped at the edge of the bed. “I will be.”

You looked up at him, heart thudding. “Joel…”

He bent low, hand bracing beside your thigh. His lips brushed your ear. “Don’t wake Ellie.”

Your breath caught. “Joel—”

He kissed you.

Not soft. Not asking. Not hesitant.

It was hunger pressed to your mouth, a groan caught in his throat. You reached up, hands tangling in his shirt, pulling him down onto the bed with you. He settled between your legs, his weight solid, grounding. His hands roamed your waist, slipping under the hem of your shirt, calloused fingers dragging against your skin.

“You got any idea,” he murmured against your throat, “how long I’ve wanted this?”

You whimpered, arching into him. “Tell me.”

He bit gently at your neck, voice thick. “Since you first moved in. Since I saw you sittin’ on my porch with that tired little smile. Since you touched my arm and didn’t flinch.”

You shivered under him.

“You looked at me like I wasn’t some fuckin’ monster,” he breathed. “And I ain’t stopped wantin’ you since.”

You moaned softly, and he hissed. “Quiet, baby. Gotta be real fuckin’ quiet, yeah?”

His hand slid down, gripping the waistband of your shorts. He looked into your eyes, checking. You nodded.

Joel pushed them down slowly, his palm dragging across your hipbone, down your thigh. He slipped between your legs and leaned back, the sound of his belt unbuckling slicing through the air like a warning.

You watched, breath shallow, as he freed himself—thick, hard, already leaking.

He stroked himself once, twice, eyes locked on you. “You sure?”

“Yes,” you whispered.

He guided himself to your entrance, dragging the tip slowly through your folds. You bit your lip, the sensation sharp, electric. He leaned forward, mouth brushing your ear again.

“That’s it, darlin’. Just take it. Gotta stay quiet, yeah?”

And then he pushed in.

You gripped his arms, the stretch of him deep and overwhelming. He filled you inch by inch, until he bottomed out, groaning low against your throat.

“Fuck… so tight. So fuckin’ good.”

Your legs wrapped around him instinctively. He pulled back and thrust again—slow, deliberate, grinding into you with each pass. Your hands fisted the sheets, jaw clenched around a cry.

Joel grinned against your skin. “That’s right. Take it. Don’t make a sound.”

Each stroke felt like fire—your nerves burning, body coiling tighter and tighter. He reached between you, thumb circling your clit. You choked on a gasp, back arching.

“I can feel you,” he growled. “Grippin’ me so damn tight. You gonna come for me?”

You nodded frantically, tears stinging your eyes from the effort to stay quiet. He picked up the pace, hips slapping softly against yours.

Then—you heard it.

A creak. From the hallway.

Joel froze. You both held your breath.

Silence.

You looked up, wide-eyed. Joel smirked.

“Still asleep,” he whispered. “Guess I’ll just have to finish this fast.”

He slammed into you harder, deeper, one hand clamping over your mouth. The other worked your clit with ruthless precision.

You screamed against his palm—muffled, but frantic—as you came, body shaking. He groaned, thrust once more, then spilled inside you with a low growl.

He stayed there, panting, forehead pressed to yours.

Neither of you moved.

Outside, the wind howled.

Inside, Joel Miller kissed your temple and whispered, “Next time, I ain’t shuttin’ you up.”

| MDNI - 18+ | SUMMARY: Jackson bar, Tommy’s been introducing you to new patrol recruits. Joel watches a little too long before dragging you home, voice low, eyes dark. “You think I didn’t see the way he looked at you?” Leads to possessive, rough sex with soft aftercare. total wc: 963

“You think I didn’t see the way he looked at you?”Leads to possessive, rough sex with soft aftercare.

The bar was buzzing, warm with the hum of voices, laughter, and the clink of glass against wood. Jackson always felt alive this time of night—like the walls of survival could ease for just a few hours while the town exhaled.

You were leaning on the bar counter, half-laughing at some dry joke one of the new patrol recruits had made. Tommy had dragged you over a few minutes ago, introducing you to a few fresh faces joining the evening rounds. They seemed nice—young, eager, trying hard to impress, though one of them tried a little too hard.

You didn’t notice how close he’d gotten until he complimented your aim and reached to brush your forearm.

“Gotta say,” he said, lips curling, “you sure know how to handle a rifle. Bet you’re good with other things too.”

Your eyes narrowed—not offended, but unimpressed. You chuckled dryly and stepped back, letting the distance speak for itself.

But someone else noticed.

Across the bar, Joel sat hunched over a half-empty glass, one hand gripping the edge, knuckles white. He wasn’t laughing. Wasn’t talking. He was watching.

Watching you.

And when the recruit leaned in again, his expression darkened.

He stood.

The sound of his boots striking the floor was a thunderclap in your spine. You turned just as he reached you, hand slipping low to the small of your back.

“Say goodnight,” Joel said, voice like a growl pressed through grit.

You blinked. The recruit took a step back. Tommy raised a brow.

“Everything alright?” he asked.

Joel didn’t answer.

He just led you out the door, his grip firm but not harsh. You didn’t resist—not with the way his jaw was locked, not with the fire behind his eyes. Your heart pounded as he led you down the back path toward your shared home, the quiet between you sharp with tension.

You stepped inside the cabin. He kicked the door shut behind you.

“Joel—”

“You think I didn’t see the way he looked at you?” he snapped, voice low and trembling with restraint.

You tilted your head. “Joel, he was just being—”

“Don’t.”

He stepped forward, backing you into the wall. His eyes burned. “You think I didn’t catch how he touched your arm? How he kept lookin’ down at your mouth like he was thinkin’ about kissin’ you?”

You swallowed hard. The tension in the air wrapped tight around your throat, hot and thrilling.

“He was nothing,” you said. “Just a boy playing soldier.”

Joel leaned in, breath fanning over your jaw. “Didn’t look like nothing. Looked like someone who wanted what’s mine.”

You smirked. “You jealous, Miller?”

He grabbed your chin, tilting your face up. “You think this is funny?”

“No,” you whispered.

“Good.”

Then he kissed you—hard. His mouth was all heat and possession, his body pressing you back until your spine hit the wall. His hands roamed down your hips, gripping tight, fingers digging through your clothes like he wanted to brand you.

“I’m gonna remind you,” he growled against your mouth, “what happens when someone else looks at you like that.”

You gasped when he spun you around, walking you backward toward the bedroom. You tripped over your own feet laughing breathlessly, but Joel didn’t let you fall—just shoved you gently to the mattress.

He was on you a second later. His hands tore at your jeans, tugging them down, lips dragging fire up your thighs. His breath was ragged.

“Joel—”

He yanked off your underwear, flinging them somewhere behind him. Then he licked a slow stripe up your center.

Your moan punched the air.

“Still think he could’ve made you feel like this?” Joel murmured between kisses.

“No,” you gasped.

He groaned and dove back in. Tongue relentless. Fingers digging into your thighs to hold you open while he worked you over, wet and messy. His nose brushed your clit just right, and your legs trembled.

“Joel—fuck—I’m gonna—”

“Do it,” he growled. “Come for me. Show me who makes you fall apart.”

Your back arched as you shattered on his tongue.

He didn’t wait. Didn’t stop.

He climbed up your body, lips slick, eyes blazing. He undid his jeans with one hand, letting them drop enough to free himself. His cock was hard, flushed, heavy.

“Turn over.”

You obeyed instantly, face down, hips up.

Joel lined himself up, teasing your entrance with the blunt head of his cock.

Then he pushed in.

The stretch was fast, unforgiving. You cried out as he filled you in one deep, brutal thrust.

“Mine,” he hissed. “You hear me?”

“Yes,” you moaned.

He started to move—rough, deep, no patience. His hips slapped into yours with force, hand gripping your waist so hard it bruised.

Every thrust punched a moan from your lips. You felt used, worshiped, owned.

“Say it,” he panted, fucking into you so hard the bedframe creaked.

“I’m yours, Joel—I’m yours, I’m yours—”

His hand came down on your ass, a sharp smack that made you cry out and clench around him.

“You’re goddamn right you are.”

He reached around, found your clit, and rubbed fast and rough.

You came with a scream, body seizing, vision white.

Joel wasn’t far behind.

He groaned, slammed into you one final time, and came with a strangled moan, spilling deep inside.

You collapsed together, panting.

Minutes passed.

Then Joel pulled out slowly, murmuring a soft “Shh, I got you.”

He cleaned you up with a warm cloth, pressed kisses to the curve of your spine. His voice, when it came again, was quiet. Raw.

“Didn’t mean to scare you.”

“You didn’t.”

He lay beside you, pulling you close.

“I just... hate when other people see what’s mine.”

You kissed his jaw. “I’ve always been yours.”

He smiled, finally. “Good. ‘Cause I don’t share.”

| MDNI - 18+ | SUMMARY:  Out on patrol, storm traps you both in a cabin. Dripping wet clothes, shared body heat, and Joel trying so hard to be a gentleman. Until you make the first move. “Jesus... you sure?” A smut with emotional tension and slow undressing by the fire. total wc: 1.1k

The rain started as a whisper, then turned into a roar.

What was supposed to be a quick perimeter check along the northern edge had turned into a soak-through-your-bones disaster. You’d barely made it to the abandoned cabin half a mile from the post. Joel had muttered something about a “shit forecast” and you’d laughed—until the thunder cracked loud enough to make your heart jump.

Now, the two of you stood dripping on the cabin’s creaky floorboards, your breath fogging in the chilly air.

Joel shut the door behind him and turned to look at you.

“You alright?”

You nodded, brushing wet hair from your eyes. “Cold. But alive.”

He scanned the room—a small fireplace, a stack of dry wood by some miracle, and one broken cot.

“Get that fire goin’. I’ll hang our shit to dry.”

You worked in silence. Fingers numb, you fumbled with the matches and coaxed a weak flame to life, feeding it kindling until the warmth slowly filled the air. Behind you, Joel peeled off his soaked jacket, hanging it near the hearth. Then his flannel. Then the shirt beneath.

You turned your head just slightly—just enough to catch the bare stretch of his chest, the way the firelight kissed the muscle and scars that mapped his body. He caught you looking. Said nothing.

You turned back to the fire.

Your own clothes were soaked through. Shivering, you peeled off your jacket and hoodie. Joel didn’t say anything as you stripped down to your undershirt and leggings, but his eyes didn’t leave you.

He dropped onto the rug near the fire, sitting cross-legged. “C’mere. You’ll warm up faster.”

You hesitated.

“You sure?”

He nodded. “Ain’t no point freezin’ to death just to be polite.”

You sat beside him. Close. Too close.

The heat from the fire helped, but it was his body beside you—solid, warm, safe—that made your pulse tick faster. Joel didn’t speak. Just rubbed his hands together and stared into the flames like they had answers he didn’t.

You watched the firelight dance across his jaw, the curve of his shoulder, the bare skin still glistening with rain. And something deep inside you tugged—something warm, aching, old.

“You’re tryin’ too hard to be a gentleman,” you said, voice low.

Joel stiffened. His eyes met yours.

“I ain’t tryin’—”

“You are. And it’s sweet. But… you don’t have to.”

He blinked, and something cracked in the air between you.

You shifted closer, knees touching, your fingers grazing his thigh.

“Jesus,” Joel whispered. “You sure?”

You nodded.

Then kissed him.

It wasn’t gentle. Not at first. It was cold mouths and hot breath, a clash of want and restraint. Joel cupped the back of your head, tongue sweeping deep, his body already trembling—not from cold, but from effort.

“I’ve wanted to,” he whispered against your lips, “so badly hun.”

“Then do it.”

His mouth met yours again, slower this time. He wrapped his arms around you, pulling you into his lap, your legs straddling his thighs. Your soaked clothes clung to you like a second skin, but you didn’t care. You ground down against him, gasping at the friction.

Joel’s hands skimmed beneath your shirt, fingers splayed across your spine. “You’re still freezin’. Let me—”

He pulled the shirt over your head. His eyes dragged over every inch of exposed skin, reverent, hungry.

“You’re beautiful.”

You smiled. “You’re sweet.”

“I’m serious.”

You leaned in, kissed his neck, nipped at the pulse point beneath his jaw. Joel groaned, hips bucking. You reached between you, palming the hard line of him through his pants. He caught your wrist.

“Let me see you,” you whispered.

Joel nodded and let you work his jeans down. His cock was thick, flushed, leaking at the tip. You stroked him once—slow, firm—and watched his jaw go slack.

“Goddamn,” he breathed. “You’re gonna kill me.”

You kissed his chest, slid your hand lower, teasing.

“Not yet.”

He laughed—then groaned when you sank down and took him into your mouth.

The rain battered the windows, but inside the cabin it was just heat, breath, and the wet sound of your mouth working him slowly. Joel’s hands tangled in your hair. He cursed under his breath, hips jerking.

“Fuck—fuck, baby, stop—I’ll come if you keep—”

You pulled back with a grin, wiping your mouth. “That’s the point.”

He dragged you up into his lap, kissing you hard.

“No,” he growled. “Not like that. You’re gettin’ more outta this.”

He laid you back on the rug, the fire crackling beside you.

“Take these off,” he said, tugging at your leggings.

You did, revealing bare skin slick with heat. Joel groaned.

“God, you’re soaked.”

You smirked. “It’s not the rain.”

His mouth crashed against yours again, and then he was sliding down, kissing your stomach, your hips, your thighs. He didn’t stop until his mouth found you.

You cried out as his tongue swept across your clit—slow, thorough, devastating.

Joel was patient. Focused. Like nothing else in the world mattered but you coming apart beneath him.

“Joel—please—”

“Say it.”

“I need you.”

He came up, kissed you deep, lined himself up.

“You sure?”

“I’m sure.”

He pushed in.

The stretch burned in the best way—filling, thick, perfect.

You clung to him, gasping, biting into his shoulder as he began to move. Each thrust slow, deliberate. Every drag of his cock lit you up from the inside.

“God, you feel good,” he whispered. “So fuckin’ good.”

Your nails scraped his back. You wrapped your legs around his waist, urging him deeper.

“Harder,” you begged.

Joel grunted and obeyed.

The rhythm built, sharp and fast, until you were gasping, crying out, the fire beside you flickering wildly with every rock of the floorboards.

Joel’s hand found your clit, rubbing fast.

“Come for me,” he groaned.

You shattered. Body shaking, clenching around him, your orgasm tearing through you like lightning.

Joel followed—hips snapping, breath breaking, spilling inside you with a growl of your name.

He stayed inside you for a moment, breathing hard, his forehead resting against yours. He kissed you slow—softer now.

“I missed you,” he murmured.

You smiled, cupping his face. “You have me.”

He pulled out slowly, helping you clean up with a torn piece of old cloth he soaked near the fire. Then he lifted you gently, settling you against his chest with the blanket wrapped tight around both of you.

You lay there listening to the storm, your hand splayed across his chest, his heartbeat steady beneath your palm.

“We’ll head back in the morning,” he murmured.

You kissed his collarbone.

“Take your time.”