#game joel

While Tommy and Maria are deep in conversation right next to him, their words barely reach Joel’s consciousness. His thoughts are focused on something else —as obsessive and unsettling as those of a chain-smoker trying not to think about his next cigarette.

He's way too close.

That guy you've been dancing with since you let the alcohol and light mood drag you onto the dance floor. That stupid, idiotic moron. Dave, if he recalls his name right, has the physique of those boy band stars back in the days, young and charismatic and "pretty". But God, he's as smart as a bag of rocks, and as moral as a corrupt cop.

And it's unbearable. The way his hands linger, his eyes too, on places of your body one could only fantasize about. Joel can see it as bright as day, that little piece of shit had only one thing in mind.

He grabs his glass and sips on his beer, trying to think about something else. Anything else. Tommy's speech about next year's goals for the town. Ellie apparently talking with Jesse on the other side of the room, both of them leaning against the wooden counter. But nothing could do the trick, his thoughts would always come back to your inflamed dance session with that moron, his muscles tensing and heart racing as if he was about to beat the shit out of a herd of clickers.

Couldn't you see it? Were you that blind? He just wanted to have his way with you and would break your heart the next morning.

What a way to start the year.

Joel shifts from one foot to the other, his stare back on you as his fingers grip his pint way too strongly.

You're only his partner during patrols. That's all you two are supposed to be. He has no right into even thinking about those things about you. God he knows that. And he really, really shouldn't be feeling this tight twisting in his stomach right now.

The song suddenly comes to a flamboyant end as the rhythm stops, everyone clapping, some guys throwing their partner in the air. But not Dave. Oh no, Dave pulls you closer. He's holding your waist as you're bowing backward, and is downright devouring you with a hungry stare, eyes half-lidded, lips bitten.

Joel's finger joints are turning white. His feet are itching. That clenching sensation in his guts becomes unbearable. It's a turmoil, savage and dark and unstoppable.

You lil' piece o' shit.

Dave's lifting you back up all against him. Your chest is pressed against his.

Let go of her.

You're laughing, the sound so pleasant to his ears, but discordant, tainted, next to that asshole.

She's…

Dave's lips smoothly take advantage of the movement to get closer; and you don't fucking pull away.

Mine.

He puts his beer down so powerfully that a dead silence cuts through the others' discussion. Tommy calls out his brother's name, but he doesn't even look at him. His whole body is turned toward one precise direction. Like a lethal weapon launching.

His legs finally move on their own. He rips through the crowd as if crossing a field of grass bending in his wake. Each step he takes worsens his state, as nails being hammered into Dave’s coffin.

"Hey, get away from her."

You both snap your heads to him. You instantly pull away from Dave's embrace, more from surprise than anything else.

Joel's voice is insanely calm. But not that quiet, peaceful calm, more like a barely contained anger, that blankness that holds threats and hatred and violence underneath.

"Joel?" You ask dumbly, confused, as your eyes search his face for answers.

"What's wrong, man?"

The oldest doesn't even listen to him. His eyes are fixated on you. The soft tones of his hazel pupils are all gone, leaving only a green so dark they almost look entirely black. Like an ancient, dense forest at night, where the leaves and trunks merge into one in a heavy, menacing darkness. The young boy takes a step back, his eyes jumping from you to him in an awkward manner.

"Dude, there's no problem here…" He tries to stand his ground, but his stare falls to the ground, hands fidgeting with something on his jacket.

Joel is as silent as a tombstone.

Dave gives in, stiffly walking away, praying this mountain of a man won't come and find him in his nightmares.

You, on the other hand, don't move.

"What the actual Hell was that, Joel?"

"He's bad business."

"Wh- so what?" "Since when are you interested in what I'm doing, uh?"

No answer.

"I don't know what you're trying to do. But I do what I want, and sorry if ya don't like it."

You get out of the Church. The air inside was too thick to breathe, and you didn't like how everyone had suddenly seemed so interested in this little play you two were displaying.

You're not able to walk two meters away from the building before feeling a large hand grab your wrist.

"Hey, let fukcing go of me!"

Your patrol partner drags you away from the crows, behind the back of the church. Words of explanation do not seem to be part of this man's DNA.

He lets go of you, your boots slipping a bit across the layer of ice, and you find yourself facing him, with your back to the wall, while he stands stiff as a board in front of you.

You're trapped.

"Just- Shit." Joel's concerned voice sounds almost too loud in the quiet atmosphere. The light of the party looks so far away in the distance, barely illuminating the thick layer of snow covering the entire town. "Listen t'me. Dave's a real jerk to girls, I know him. He just want to..."

"He just wants to what, Joel?"

His mouth stays shut as he looks at you with harsh eyes. He has a hand on his hip, the other is waving the air in defeat, his camel jacket waving along. You won't make him the pleasure to help with any of it. He has the audacity to come and bark on your date? Pull you aside like a child being grounded? Well, he sure as better spill the beans.

Your eyebrows move up in a half-annoyed and half-interrogative expression, watching him sigh and struggle. Finally, after what feels like an eternity, he explodes:

"He -He just wanna lay with ya!"

"And you don't?"

There's another tense silence. Frozen, he's genuinely surprised you're being so upfront about it, scowl still deep on his eyebrows.

"Come on, I'm a woman, dumbass. I know how you guys look at us. You really think you were discreet? Watching over me all the time when we're out patrolling. Jesus if I wanted a pair of eyes sticking to me 24/7 I would have glued a pair of googles on my ass."

"You're always so smart uh? You think you know everything, you don't need anyone or anything-

"I sure as hell been doing fine without you, Joel. So yeah, I don't need you to be my fuckin' watchdog and bite every man I'm seeing." You spit, taking a few steps towards him.

"What the hell did you just call me-" His threatening tone do nothing to stop you.

"Why don't you fucking admit the truth for once in your life, mh?" He brought you down with him into the fire pit of anger now, throat tight and muscles tensed. "You don't want anyone else to dance with me? To sleep with me?" You walk closer to him, pointing an accusing finger upward. "If I didn't know better, I'd think you're just jealous."

His scowl worsens at that last word. You're bot a few meters away from each other.

You're suprised to snow isn't starting to melt from the rage you're radiating.

Joel's voice drops again, so low now it's almost a menacing growl,

"Take one more step and I'm done playing nice."

Oh, yeah? You don't even think about it twice.

Of course, you take that step. Feet stomping on the ground as your fiery eyes stay stuck on his. Because that's what you always do.

Pushing his buttons, testing his limits, driving him insane.

Enough of this.

It's quick, almost instantaneous. The moment you're chest to chest, his hands are on you, one grabbing your neck, the other holding the side of your waist. You hitch at this sudden grip, and almost as a late realisation, it hits you;

If he really wanted to, this man could break you.

"You know what? Maybe you're right." The same tone as before inside the church. Except this time, you can feel this isn't anger that's hiding beneath the flat blankness of his raspy voice. It's another raw, physical kind of urge.

With every word, he pushes you back against the wall, annihilating in the blink of an eye the steps you had taken toward him.

"I"

He traps you between the wall. His chest hard and warm, pleasantly warm in the cold air.

"Want ya,"

The words seem to sting his lips and intoxicate him with freedom all at once.

"For myself."

You sigh, rewarding his confession by reaching for his jacket, keeping him close, encouraging, daring him to continue. The leather feels nice. His face is only a few inches away from yours.

"So when a lil' piece of shit like David Mathews puts his disgusting hands on you," His fingers grip your neck tighter, "Ya can't expect me to stay god damn seated!"

He's a bow bent to the maximum, ready to snap any second. His words come out loud and deep, rumbling like thunder that had been held back for too long. And in his soul, too, his tired eyes almost crushing you under his stare.

"I wouldn't have it any other way." You lift a hand up to his face, caressing his skin from cheek to jaw. His beard is softer than you had expected. "Joel…"

It's as if whispering his name had just cut him loose; a sign that you really wanted him. His lips collide with yours instantly, unable to wait for just a second more. It's wild and hot and messy, just like you needed him to be. His hair scratches pleasantly against your mouth, and you slip your tongue between his teeth, earning a low growl. His other hand on your hip is losing patience, pressing you more against him, as if he needs your two bodies to merge.

His breathing gets more labored, his movements urgent. The hand you had on his face smoothly travels to his hair, long and curling on his neck. Brushing, touching, discovering. And then, tugging. He groans louder at it, internally swearing, losing his usual composure with every new touch from you.

Of course, you notice.

"Y'know, you're not as controlled as you think." You tease with a cheeky grin, between two heated kisses.

"Eh, maybe I ain't." He concedes with a small smile of his own, probably the first of his entire day. "You… Y' wanna do it here?" He asks in a hopeful and almost disbelieving tone, scanning your face, his body stilling for a few seconds.

"God, fuck yes." You pull his waist against yours, a finger looped around his belt. "Here, anywhere —I don't fucking care."

A deep chuckle shakes his chest, "Well ma'am, might as well please ya as I can."

He unbuckles his belt, movements controlled but eager. His hands then reach for your own pants, pulling them down as well as your panties all at once, and he spins you face against the wall, ass bared for him. The stinging cold surprises your skin, but your head can't focus on that information, too troubled by what's coming next.

"Lord, I've been waiting for this." You can't help but whisper as he places himself behind you.

"Definitely should have done that sooner," He agrees, starting to press against your slit, a big hand flat holding your lower belly up.

Every inch of him pushes inside, spreading you slowly, almost too slowly. But Joel knows what he's doing. He knows he will hurt you if he doesn't give you some time to adjust to his size. And even in such a heated state, it's a risk he won't take.

He's the one who'd never hurt you.

"You good?"

"Yes, Jesus-" Does he even know how having him entirely inside without any movement makes you feel?! "Please, Joel, go on already!"

He snorts through his nose, pleasantly surprised to discover you so avid. Not another word crosses his lips as he answers by retrieving himself and smashing back his hips against you, making your whole body jerk forward.

"Oh, fuck!"

Both of his hands hold your hip now as he sets a slow, deliberate tempo. Every time he thrusts into you, it's hard, hitting a spot deep down inside of you that you could never have satisfied yourself. That obscene, hot sound of his balls smacking your skin mingles with your barely muffled moans and his growls, your breaths in the cold creating huffs of mist twirling together before getting lost in the air of the night.

"Are you still going to see that guy?" Joel asks between thrusts, his grip on you tighter than ever, "Be… -mmf- very careful, about your answer, sweetheart."

"N-No, I won't."

"Good girl". The praise rolls from his tongue to your ears like the sweetest liquor. "From now on, when you'll feel like having some fun at night, who you gonna turn to?"

"Y-you, only you!" You can believe how pathetic you are right now, but you want him to continue so bad, you can't do much else but bend at his will. "Joel, faster, p-please."

"Ya want faster, uh?" He slows down, on damn purpose. "Say you're mine."

"I'm yours Joel please! I'm … I'm yours."

"Damn right you are."

And he grounds his legs, picking up a relentless pace, fucking you good and proper, right there against the church's wall just a few feet away from everyone, the muted sounds of the party vibrating through the cold stone against which you're pressed.

His cock is so hard inside of you, rutting your cunt with such intensity and speed it's hard for you to even form a single thought. All you can do is keep your ass up for him as your insides burn, that familiar feeling building up more and more under the strain of his ruthless treatment.

"Joel," You can hear him letting out a pleasured groan, one of his arms leaving your side to snake around your chest, "Joel-I'm-close!" you urgently stammer through your shaken body.

"I know baby, I got ya." His upper body is pressed against your back now, both of you intertwined in an impossible embrace. "I got ya, now give it t'me."

Cheek to cheek, his face nestled above your shoulder, you can feel his beard, coarse but also weirdly pleasant against the side of your face. His body is engulfing you whole, your smaller back arching as he keeps pleasuring you, wanting more than anything to make you come. You're almost suffocating from the warmth he beams around you, like flames licking and twirling all around in the glacial snow.

"That's right, you're so great girl, so good-" His throat tightens as he barely contains his own relief, "Yeaaah just like that!"

Your pussy obeys his every word, and with another push, you let everything go, his shaft buried deep inside as you clench around it, the feeling so perfect the satisfaction makes you see stars, body making one with him completely, even just for a few seconds. He holds you tight during the whole length of it, whispering tender encouragement in your ear. They're almost out of place considering how his hips are still pounding inside to drag every inch of your orgasm out of you.

You mutter his name again and again like a prayer as you dissolve in his arms, your forehead against the wall. He lets a small kiss on your temple, praising you for how good you've been to come for him.

He then reluctantly withdrew his burning hot and still painfully hard shaft from you, smiling to himself at the frustrated little sound you let out.

"Trust me, I would have preferred the first option too, sweetheart-" He pants, curling a big fist around his base, "But we can't take that risk just now."

"S' okay." You pull your clothes back up before gently adding your hand to his grip, fingers joining his. "Let me help you."

He nods. The feeling of your smaller hand on his shaft already sends shivers all the way through his body now that he doesn't have to stop himself from cumming, his pleasure freed and wild making his toes curl and his brow crunch in delight.

You don't waist anytime teasing him again, stroking him hard and fast to match the pace he had inside of you. He moans like he's been hit in the guts, eyes squinting shut, one of his forearms taking support on the stoned wall above your head.

"Shit, keep doin' that," He ordres as he removes his hand to leave you total control.

You can feel how close he already is after fucking you to your relief, and you're well determined to give him back just as much. He's so vulnerable right now, so beautiful with his cock in your hand. His gigantic body to your mercy, his hair disheveled, its gray color sublimated with subtle silvery glints, like the snow-covered landscapes around you.

"Yeah, Jeee-sus," He whispers more loudly than he should, feeling his relief coming. Your hand keeps rubbing his length just like he needs it, all the way up and down as fast as you can, your wrists starting to burn slightly.

He brings his forehead to yours, and you use the opportunity to seal your lips with his. He huffs through the kiss, almost moaning, his pleasure an unstoppable wave crashing on a fragile, immaculate shore.

And with a few more perfect moves of your hand, he comes just like that, his cock spurting his spent all over your clothes, your scent filling his nose, your taste, his mouth. His breath stops for a few seconds, a cry caught tight in his throat, before sighing deeply through his nose. He breaks the kiss, gasping for air as he had just been underwater the whole time.

You gently let go of his softening member, a satisfied smirk plastered on your face. There's a little silence, a bit awkward, where you watch him put himself back in his jeans, and wipe a few beads of sweat on his forehead. How beautiful it is that you succeeded in making this man sweat during the coldest night of the year.

You both seem lost in thought, neither of you daring to speak first, as if doing so would seal something between the two of you. As if it would taint the moment, anchoring that timeless instant in reality. In problems.

After heavy minutes of quiet, Joel's mouth opens, a sound almost crossing it, but a loud, sudden noise surprises both of you.

"Happy New Year!"

Everywhere outside and inside the church, people of Jackson are celebrating, drunken shouts piercing the night, bearers of joy and a well-deserved moment of shared togetherness.

You both look at each other while euphoria surrounds you.

"Happy New Year, Y/N."

"… Happy New Year, Joel."

He awkwardly steps away, disappearing into the falling snow. You sigh, your feet slow, your brain too occupied to process what had just happened.

There was this taste on your throat, bitter. Like those fizzling sweet candies that taste so good but leave your tongue burning. A nagging sense of incompleteness. A painting destined to be a masterpiece, barely begun, from which the artist has been torn away.

A few promising brushstrokes left behind, right there in the middle of the canvas.

You finally move, searching for your loved ones back in the party to wish them all the good stuff for the new year to come.

And you promise yourself that you wouldn't let Joel get off that easily.

a/n: heeey I hope you like it, thanks for reading!! Consider rebloging/commenting if you did!! That means the world to us authors 🫶🏼

“Where’d you hear about that anyway?” Joel asks, his eyebrows raised. He puts another log into the fireplace, where a crackling fire is warming your living room. You shrug, your cheeks hot and red.

“I…didn’t.”

Joel looks over his shoulder, wipes his hands on his jeans, and gets up. He looks so big from your spot on the couch, tall as a skyscraper when you look up at him.

“You came up with that all by yourself, kid?”

You shrug again. You’re pushing it, you know you are. It took Joel weeks to finally fuck you after you begged him to, to see past the fact that you’ve been calling him Dad for the past six months, ever since you came to this place.

“C’mon,” he says softly, walking over to you and looping one thumb through the belt loop of his jeans. “Spit it out.”

“When you…took me on patrol. And we found that raider, and you thought he might have information on who tried to blow up the gate…you slapped him.”

Joel doesn’t answer for a couple of seconds, then he sighs.

“Kiddo, I tortured that man for information. You want me to stick a knife in your knee, too?”

You blush further, and shake your head, but keep looking up at him, expression hopeful.

“Christ almighty, you’re serious, huh?”

Another nod, and Joel sits down next to you, pulls you against his broad and warm body.

“You want me to slap your pretty face?” His voice is low and quiet, an undeniable tenderness laced through it. “Sweetheart, it’s gonna hurt.”

“I like your hands,” you mumble, and wrap your fingers around two of his, your thumb tracing the lines on his big palm. “I like how strong they are.”

Joel chuckles, and lets his hand drift up and down your thigh.

“Don’t say I didn’t warn you, kid.”

***

“Please, Dad,” you say, eyes wide, and Joel thrusts into you again, a low grunt falling from his lips.

“You’re too pretty to hit,” he argues, and places his hand on your stomach, applying pressure gently until you see stars. He fucks into you deep, and not gently, but slow. He’s thorough. Taking his time, pressing his fat cock into you until it’s on the brink of painful, his full body weight on top of you.

“Please,” you beg again, and wiggle your hips impatiently when Joel stills inside of you. He stares down into your face, his breath coming in huffs.

“You mean it?”

You nod frantically.

“You want your old man to hit you?”

A hint of disbelief in his voice, but something else, too. Anticipation, maybe. You know Joel likes his strength, especially compared to your lack of it.

“Yes,” you breathe, eyes wide and glued to his. He clears his throat, his cock still deep inside of you. You know you’re fluttering and squeezing around him, you can’t help it.

“Alright, kiddo. Alright.”

His hand leaves your stomach, he slides it up your sternum and over your throat, then grabs your jaw.

“Bite down,” he orders, “don’t want ya to accidentally bite your tongue.”

You obey, and he nods. Then his hand is gone from your face, and you close your eyes in anticipation, but Joel speaks again.

“Look at me.”

You do, your hips twitching upwards involuntarily. He chuckles at your impatience, and you whine, needy and desperate for him to start rutting into you again.

Then, his palm collides with your face, hard. The impact knocks your head to the side, and all the air in your lungs leaves your body with a wheeze.

“Oh fuck,” Joel groans, and his hips push you further into the mattress, as he tries to fuck you deeper. His brain catches up, realises he’s already all up in your guts, and he drags his cock out of you, then slams back into you. Your cheek burns and stings, but the shock of the impact is somehow worse. Joel has never fucked you like this before, so uninhabited and out of control. You register your own moans and whines, as you lay under Joel’s heavy and big body, and simply take it.

He slaps you again, and your pussy spasms around him, your body unable to keep up with all the sensations you’re feeling. You feel tears prick at the corners of your eyes, from the delicious pain, but also the sheer amount of stimulation. They roll down your cheeks, and Joel chuckles.

“I told you, baby, didn’t I? Y’don’t know how to handle a beatin’.”

He picks up the pace, his cock hitting your cervix with each thrust, and suddenly it’s all too much. A sob wrecks your body, because you feel so good, so much, because Joel is everywhere, and you can’t help it, you start to cry.

“Oh baby,” Joel coos, never stopping, “you need a break?”

You move your head, half head shake and half nod, and Joel laughs quietly, his body pressing you into the mattress as he thrusts in and out of you.

“How about you come for me, see if you feel better then? All wound up, kiddo.”

“Yeah,” you breathe, your hand digging into Joel’s biceps.

“Yeah,” he agrees, “you just let go, sweetheart.”

And you do. It feels like your whole body tenses up, and you whine, as Joel presses his cock into you repeatedly. Erratically, your hips move upwards to meet his, but it doesn’t matter you’re not meeting his thrusts, he’s too strong anyway. Just keeps fucking into you, as you twitch around him, your eyes wide but unseeing.

He almost never comes at the same time as you. He likes to wait it out, watch you twitch from the overstimulation. But today he grunts as soon as you’re done, and you feel his thick ropes of seed spill deep into you, your hands going limp with satisfaction and sliding down his arms.

“There ya go, kiddo,” Joel mutters, his cock still spurting and twitching inside of you. “There you go.”

His movements still, and he’s breathing heavily, his heavy body resting on top of you. It’s hard to breathe, but you don’t mind it, your eyes fluttering closed. You’re exhausted, satisfied, plugged up with Joel’s cock, and used. His lips find your cheek, and you make a soft, satisfied sound.

“That what you needed, baby?”

“Yes,” you breathe, “thank you, Dad.”

the door opens with a click, and he walks out, his hair is peppered with white, tousled with sleep. he runs a hand over his mustache and patchy scruff, and then looks at you. shivering, jacket lost somewhere in the bar, minidress and hair loose, makeup still glued onto your face. you look like a doe under the lights of the hallway, big lashes framing your eyes as he looks at you. 

“wha’…?” he says, voice rough with sleep. he’s a sleezebag, but you know he sounds hot. like his voice is enough to hold you tight. 

“mr miller, i’m sorry….” you sniffle, half from the cold, half from the bottom of your heart to wake him up at 3:25am on a monday morning. he probably had work to do, shit to get to, so did you. 

“s’okay.” he places a hand on your shoulder, so warm in this cold... you lean into his touch, like a little lost squirrel, and he’s feeding you nuts. he has keys to most of the apartments, probably, and you hope to just get a spare of the key to your apartment to get back. maybe make yourself a meal because god knows you can’t afford to order in anything these days. 

“i-” you’re trying to stave off a sob, an onslaught of tears, your hands curl around nothing, and your breath hitches – “i left my keys in my room.”

he looks at you, a shivering mess at his porch, your tangled hair mussed, mascara and eyeliner smudged. you look like you’ve been in a tornado, with your doe eyes looking up at him through the moonlight. the spaghetti straps of your dress dig into your shoulder, he trails a hand over your soft skin, the goosebumps prickling your skin. 

your eyes seem hazy, too bright in the night, and he can see tears sparkle in them. they’re too wide, your lipstick smudged past your lips and staining the corner of your mouth. you look up at him, desperate in a way that he’s seen you before, just not at him.

if your eyes weren’t that hazy, you’d see how he looks at you, with open want. his eyes linger at the sweetheart neckline of your dress, the fact that you haven’t worn a bra, your nipples poking through the cheap, thin fabric. he’s never seen you like this, dreamed of seeing you like this, your soft curves in full view for him to kiss and claim. you don’t even notice yourself, don’t even notice your body’s reaction to the cold and to his touch, just focusing on his face as you try and form words that make sense.

he stares at you, and swallows thickly, “call a locksmith, ‘s not my problem.” he says, cruel in a way you don’t understand, you can’t afford a locksmith, can’t afford to pay the $100 to get back into your house. it’s a test, and you pass with flying colours, you just look down, and sniffle, before stepping backwards. 

“s’cold.” your teeth chatter, and you wrap your hands around your bare arms, your voice is so small, hoarse from the kareaoke in the bar, probably from all the shouting, you were going to have a horrible sore throat. the single shot of alcohol burned your raw throat as it went down, and now your stomach feels warm and fuzzy, but you feel so cold. 

“i’m sure we can work out somethin’ “ he says, in that voice that makes your breath stutter, he holds you tight with a large hand around your bicep, and pulls you into his apartment. 

it’s so much warmer inside, his apartment’s nicer too, you assume it’s because he can afford to buy apartments like yours and then rent them out, he lives in a different block, bigger apartment, bigger windows, and it’s warm. 

he’s been nothing but decent – okay. perhaps less than decent sometimes, with the way his eyes linger on you as you walk past him, rushing to get to work when he’s smoking a cigarette in the morning. okay perhaps even less decent, with the way you can often feel his warm breath on you, or his big hands on you when he stands too close. the diner where you work at gives you the shittiest shift timings, and a terrible wage, but it’s the best you can do in this stupid city, just like this apartment block is the best you can do in this stupid city.

now you can feel his breath on your neck, weighing down on you, you’ve always found him handsome, for some reason. his broad frame a recurring theme in your dreams, and now there’s a hand on your waist as it guides you to the couch. you stumble in your heels, and collapse onto the couch, kicking them off, your hands twisting in your tight minidress. fuck. it was just stupid, stupid and sad. sad that you were still stuck in this city, with this job, still single with all your friends so far ahead of you.

they looked at you with pity, that’s how it felt when you met with them tonight. that’s why you were miserable, even before realising you didn’t have your keys. they looked at you with a pity, for you were a fool. a fool who had waited too long, and her life had stayed still. 

“i’ll call the locksmith tomorrow morning.” he says, looking down at you, before writing it down on a post-it note. if you looked past the blur of your tears, you would see his eyes on you, staring at your legs as your dress rode up, “s’like a three hundred and fifty dollars for a new lock and key.”

“don’t need a new lock.” you mumble, wiping a tear away from your hand, your face is so cold, “my old key’s in there, jus’ need to get back in.”

“two hundred for a new key then, to open the door.” he says, your left shoulder’s strap slips off, there’s a tickle in your throat and you don’t know if it’s the cold or the sob. 

“i have a hundred.” you say, with your small voice, a hundred if you budget well enough, and by that you mean you don’t buy groceries for a week. 

“s’two hundred.” he repeats. 

“i know.” your eyes fill up again with tears, but you wipe them with the back of your shaky hand, “can you cover me?”

“m’your landlord girl, not a bank.” he says, unkindly, but not too much so. 

“i’ll pay you back.” you plead, but you probably won’t, you’ve been behind on rent for three months now. 

“just like you said you’d pay your rent?” he asks, and he leans down at you, so your faces almost touch, his eyes stare at you for a moment too long, down at your chest and then back up at you.

“that was-“ you bite your lip, breath hitching, “swear i’ll pay it back.”

“i can take your ass to court.” he pokes a finger in your chest, “file an eviction notice, sue for rent too, n the legal fees, s’that something you want?”

he pulls back his finger, but not before brushing over your nipple, having it harden just a little more under the thin fabric.

“only reason i haven’t done it yet is because i like looking at your ass as you leave for work.” his hand grips your waist instead, squeezing it, holding it. “s’ wasted on that diner, but it’s not enough for me to forget three months of rent.”

“you liked my ass right?” you say, voice wobbly, eyes like that of a deer in headlights. when you blink, you can see the look of pity they give you, a dead end job in a diner, a purity ring on your finger that stayed on a little too long,  “think i can pay you back in another way.”

he lets out a laugh at that, his hand shifting from your waist to your ass, pinching it, “woah, eager aren’t we?” he strokes his thumb over it, before teasing the inside of your thighs instead. something in you breaks, and you feel your breath getting quicker and quicker as his fingers are on your skin.

“please?” you sound so sad, so helpless, but so eager, he can’t say anything but yes. it was so incredibly easy, you were so easy.

“course darlin’,” he drawls, his other hand now on your chest, “say, i’ll even write off the locksmith thing.” 

you let out a whine as he kneads your chest, pinching at your nipple until it’s sore and angry, clear through the dress. it goes straight to his dick, and he can feel himself strain against the heavy denim fabric. 

“okay baby,” he says, “down to your knees.” he tugs you off the couch and you sink to your knees with an eager look, to please, and yet he wants to please you. 

he unbuckles his belt, and pulls down the zip, and his half hard dick springs out, slapping against his tshirt. it’s so big, is your first thought, the second thought is how the hell does it fit up there. 

“a whore like you must’ve seen quite a few of these.” he says, it comes out crude, but you’re determined to let him believe it, suck his dick and have this done with, even if you’ve thought about doing this a hundred times.

“s’this how to do it?” you stammer out, as you tentatively give a kitten lick at it, smelling him, how much of a man he is. 

something in his face falls, but he has you for tonight, you offered. a girl as pretty as you course ain’t ever seen this before, he realises, you’re good in a way that makes saints weep, a madonna and now his whore.

“kiss it.” he instructs, and the tip is red and angry, weeping with precome. your lips kiss it gently, tasting him, how manly he is. you’re clumsy with it, never having done something like this before. your hands shake around his length, and he places a larger hand over yours.

“silly girl, y’don’t even know how to do something as simple as this?” he laughs at you, before gripping your hand with his, and rubbing his precome over his length, covering your hands with it. 

something about it makes your thighs clench, your breath stutter, and you buck your hips against the air, he looks down at you, there’s a flicker of pity in his eyes. 

you look up at him from your knees, doe eyes framed by your hair. “m’i doing it wrong?” you ask, voice so small. and he swallows, perhaps it’s not right, but he wants it, and deep down so do you, why else would you have sank to your knees so quickly. 

“s’okay sweet girl,” he says it gently, “i’ll teach ya.” he says it with such care that you almost believe him, before he grips your hair, to pull your head up to face him. 

he guides your head, holding you still as he slides his cock into your mouth with a rock of his hips, you can taste the salty precome as the cockhead hits the back of your mouth. 

“breathe through y’nose, come on.” he says, and you take in a deep breath, smelling him as he pulls out of your mouth, just to push it in again. with every thrust, he gets deeper and deeper, and they harder.

you suck him in as best as you can, his cock so much bigger than your mouth, and you do your best so your teeth don’t get in the way. 

“s’good isn’t it?” he teases, seeing the way your face flushed in pleasure as he kept bucking his hips, ans, you let out a pathetic moan around his cock.

“y’good too.” he praises you, and that gets your panties wet in a way you don’t understand. simple words of praise have you rocking against the air, against nothing at all. “can’t believe this is y’first time suckin’ cock, mouth so perfect f’me.”

he comes in your throat, and you can feel his cum coat the inside of your mouth, sticky and salty and a man. and he pulls out with a sigh, noticing you lick your lips to taste the salty cum spattered on them.

you start to get up on your wobbly legs, but then he grasps your hand, looking at you. looking at you, maybe you want to do this again, and again, poison laced with sugar.  

“what kind of gentleman would i be f’i didn’t return the favour.” he says, and he’s not a fucking gentleman, he’s whored you out for money. but, then again, you’d whored yourself out for money, he was just accepting services instead of money. 

you sit back down on the couch, and his hand pushes away the hem of your dress that rides higher and higher until it reaches your soaked panties. “see, she’s eager, ain’t she?” he whispers in your ear, and his voice is so rough, it seems like it’s out of a dream.

he peels off your panties with his fingers, thick, that trail over your sensitive nub and your drooling cunt. they’re simple, with a lace trim, and he crumples them up and puts them in his pocket, for later, whenever that would be.

you cunt is so desperate, so wet, and your hips buck against the air. he doesn’t even have to ask if he’d be your first, here on his couch, in his living room, your greedy cunt sucks up his finger as soon as he pushes in, lips glistening with your arousal.

he makes you feel so full and warm, just with his fingers, and then he pistons it in and out, his finger stretching out your tight hole. “s’it a lot?” he asks, a bit too kind, and you nod pitifully.

then he slides another finger in, and you grind against his hand, desperate as your cunt drools more, all so needy with your arousal. he starts pumping his fingers into a steady rhythm, and his fingers curl inside of you in a way that feels right. 

your clit twitches with overstimulation from his hand, and he rubs at it one more time. something breaks in your stomach, and you feel your orgasm crash over you, eyes rolling back in pleasure as you feel yourself gush around his fingers.

you take a few deep breaths, hands that expect to grip the fabric of the couch feel his warm, strong arms underneath you, holding you. 

“y’came from my fingers?” he slides them out, and you feel empty as he does so, “fucked my couch up.”

you frown, but you still look up at him, holding your loose limbs. “s-sorry.” you just mumble, feeling the dizzying pleasure all over you. 

“y’sweet.” he says, after a minute, and you can swear you feel a kiss pressed to the top of your head in your blissed out daze. your body still twitches, and you can feel the stickiness between your thighs. 

he cleans you up with a gentle cloth, and you wake a few hours later to your thighs being dry and your heels on your feet. you think at least the walk of devastating shame wouldn’t be so bad, until you realise that your apartment is still locked, and you can’t get back in.

your eyes shift to the table, a stack of bills and a key with a post-it note underneath.

“should cover groceries, called the locksmith about the key. see you next thursday. rent’s due for this month.”  it’s just $50, but it is enough for groceries, you sigh in relief that he isn’t taking you to fucking court. the key sits in your pocket as you walk back to your apartment, your lack of panties hidden by the dress’s hem. see you next thursday, he says, rents due this month, he says, and it doesn’t feel like you’re whoring yourself out.

How he’d tilt his head when Tommy said something, the rough scrape of his palm across his jaw as he wiped at the sweat there. Little things. Ordinary things. But to you, they landed sharp and heavy, gathering in your stomach like storm clouds.

It wasn’t new. You’d been dating Joel for months, falling into something you both refused to name. Boyfriend felt too simple, too sweet. What you had with Joel wasn’t delicate. It was quiet, careful, and lately, it was growing teeth.

You’d started noticing how often he stood just a little too close. His fingers would brush the line of your jaw when you kissed him quickly and breathlessly before pulling away, and his gaze would linger as you walked off.

It built in small moments, like the weight of a hand resting just above your knee or the rough timbre of his voice dropping when no one else was around. You hadn’t slept with him yet. Not because you didn’t want to. Hell, you thought about it more than you cared to admit, but because nervousness was curling inside you. Shy wasn’t quite the right word either. It was more… the sharp ache of wanting something you weren’t sure you deserved.

And now, watching him, his back muscles flexing beneath that worn shirt, the heat of the afternoon clinging to his skin, it was getting harder to push it aside. The ache settled low like an insistent pull. You crossed your arms tight over your chest, as if it might hold something back.

Joel turned then, catching your gaze across the yard. His brow quirked, a small smile tugging at the corner of his mouth, like he could feel how you were looking at him. Like he’d known for days.

Heat bloomed beneath your skin, crawling up your neck as you tore your gaze away, fixing your eyes on Nathan, though his words barely registered. Something about fence repairs, or the weather turning — you couldn’t hold onto it.

Still, your eyes betrayed you, flickering back toward him before you could stop yourself. He was bent to his work again, hauling another bale onto his shoulder. It shouldn’t have felt like a punch to the ribs, but it did.

You swallowed hard, your pulse tapping insistently against the hollow of your throat. The world's edges seemed to dull, the chatter of the others, the scrape of boots against dirt. All of it fading beneath the weight of your restless thoughts.

Was this what he wanted?

For you to unravel like this, so wound up with want that it pressed heavily between your legs, that you could barely think straight when he was near? Or was he oblivious to what he was doing to you and how every careless brush of his hand and lingering glance set something alight under your skin?

It gnawed at you, the not-knowing. 

And yet, the truth you didn’t want to name was this — he wasn’t going to make the move. Not unless you did. Joel was a man of long silences, sidelong glances, and letting things come when they came. He wouldn’t push. Wouldn’t ask.

Which meant it had to be you.

You’d have to find the nerve to tell him what you wanted. To ask for what kept your body restless in the dark, your fingers brushing over your skin, and pretending they were his.

“Hey. You alright, darlin’?”

Joel’s voice startled you, and you jumped like he’d caught you doing something you weren’t supposed to. Your gaze snapped up, and he stood closer than you’d realized, brow knit, a bead of sweat trailing down the side of his temple.

Your throat worked around a swallow, words catching somewhere between your chest and your tongue. He watched you, eyes narrowing just a little, like he could see straight through whatever half-assed answer you might give.

“I—” you started, but then he reached for the hem of his shirt, tugging it up to wipe the sweat from his temple.

And you looked. God help you, you looked.

Your gaze dropped before you could stop it, catching on the flash of tanned skin, the curve of his stomach, and the faint trail of dark hair beneath his waistband. It was a brief, careless motion on his part, but it landed like a spark in a dry field.

Heat flooded your face so fast that it made you dizzy. You could feel your pulse thudding hard behind your ears, your skin prickling beneath his shadow.

You shouldn’t be staring, but your eyes clung to the sight a second too long, hunger stirring low and sharp in your belly before you wrenched your gaze away, pretending to focus on the ground, the fence, anything else.

Joel’s voice came again, softer this time, a little amused. “You sure you’re alright?”

You nodded, a weak, mortified thing, still refusing to meet his eyes. “Mhm. Fine,” you mumbled, though your voice sounded thin and unconvincing even to your ears.

Joel let out a quiet hum, the corner of his mouth ticking up in the faintest ghost of a smirk. He didn’t call you on it. Didn’t tease. Just stood there a beat longer than necessary, letting the moment's weight hang between you.

“Was gonna head to the mess hall,” Joel said, his voice a low rumble as he looked down at you. “You hungry?”

You almost choked on the answer you wanted to give — yeah, hungry for you — but managed to bite it back at the last possible second. A wild, half-panicked thought crossed your mind: Jesus, did I say that out loud?

Your stomach twisted, your face heating under the weight of his gaze. God, you probably looked like a wide-eyed, needy, half-feral stray cat someone left out in the rain.

“Sure,” you murmured, the word barely scraping past your throat.

You turned quickly, eager to put a little space between you and your humiliating thoughts, when his hand caught your wrist. 

“Hold on a second,” Joel said.

You swallowed hard, your eyes darting up to his, searching for a hint of his thoughts. The sun caught in the flecks of green in his irises, and something about how he looked at you made your knees go loose.

His hand slid from your wrist, brushing a piece of hair from your forehead, tucking it gently behind your ear. It was a simple thing. Innocent, probably. But it made your heart race. Your skin flushed hot, a shiver chasing down your spine. Every inch of you prickled, hypersensitive to the warmth of his fingertips and the low hum of his nearness.

“Joel?” you managed, breath catching with confusion.

He smiled, small and easy, like none of this meant anything to him. Like he didn’t know what it was doing to you.

“Had a ladybug in your hair,” he murmured, holding his palm to show you.

A tiny red dot crawled along the callused skin of his hand. He glanced at it, then back at you, eyes crinkling at the corners.

You let out a breathless laugh, though it came a little shaky, your heart still hammering in your chest. “Oh,” you said weakly, cursing yourself for sounding like you’d forgotten how to speak.

Then, as casually as if he hadn’t just unraveled you with a touch, he flicked the ladybug off his hand and nodded toward the mess hall. “C’mon, let’s eat.”

You followed, your skin still tingling, the ache between your legs a quiet, insistent thing you pretended wasn’t there.

The mess hall was half-full when you and Joel walked in, the scent of something savory and sweet hanging in the air. Conversation buzzed low around you, the scrape of utensils against plates, the distant clatter of a pan in the kitchen. You trailed behind him, still feeling the ghost of his touch at your wrist, the warmth of his hand brushing your hair, as if your skin hadn’t quite recovered.

Joel snagged a tray for you both, and you followed him down the line, not trusting your voice enough to speak. He didn’t say much either, just handed you a cup, grabbed two bowls of stew, and steered you both toward an empty table near the window.

He slid into the bench seat, and you sat across from him, putting what you thought was a safe amount of space between you. But the benches were narrow, the table not much broader, and you felt a jolt of awareness at how close his knee was to yours beneath the wood.

You kept your gaze fixed on your bowl, shoving a spoonful of broth into your mouth without tasting it.

The conversation started easily. Something about the weather turning colder, and a fence that needed fixing on the east side: his voice was low and easy, and you found yourself relaxing in it, sinking into the warmth of his presence like slipping into a hot bath.

And then it happened.

A brush. The softest, accidental sweep of his leg against yours under the table. A spark of contact. Barely there, but enough.

Your breath stuttered. You glanced up sharply, but Joel was looking down at his stew, like nothing had happened. No flicker of acknowledgment on his face.

So maybe it really was nothing. Except it happened again—a shift in his seat, the press of his knee to yours, lingering this time.

You swallowed hard, your pulse skipping. Your hand tightened around the spoon, and you hated how flustered you felt over a small, easily brushed off touch.

Joel’s gaze finally lifted to yours, and the corners of his mouth tugged up, just enough to make your stomach swoop.

“You sure you’re alright, darlin’?” he asked softly, voice dipping below the steady hum of the room.

“I’m fine,” you managed, though the words scraped out a little rough, your throat drier than it had any right to be. “Just hot today. Stew isn’t helping.”

Your fingers fidgeted with the edge of your tray as you said it, gaze flickering anywhere but his face: the window, the bowl, the half-empty room. But you could still feel the heat of his knee against yours.

“Yeah,” he said after a beat, his voice low, a little rough. “Hot as hell today.”.

Your pulse kicked up, a flush creeping higher along your neck, prickling at the back of your scalp. You bit the inside of your cheek, willing yourself to pull it together, to stop reading into every damn thing he said, every glance, every touch.

But then his boot nudged against yours.

You glanced up, and there it was — that look. The one that made your stomach dip, like stepping off a ledge. His eyes were steady on yours, his mouth soft at the edges, like he wasn’t in a hurry for anything but wasn’t about to stop, either.

Your breath caught, words dying on your tongue.

Joel’s gaze lingered another beat before he gave a small, almost imperceptible nod and went back to his stew like nothing had happened.

Leaving you burning alive in a room full of people, your skin too tight, the air too thick, and the taste of something dangerous hanging heavy on your tongue.

By the time you both stepped out of the mess hall, the sun had slipped low, painting the sky in streaks of pink and amber. The air had cooled, but your skin still felt too hot, prickling beneath your shirt like it hadn’t quite forgotten the way Joel’s knee had pressed against yours.

You shoved your hands into your pockets, trying not to fidget as you fell into step beside him.

Joel didn’t say much, and you weren’t surprised. He never did during these walks. Just let the quiet stretch long and easy between you, the steady crunch of boots on gravel the only sound for a while.

The streets of Jackson were mainly empty now, with folks settling in for the night. Porch lights glowed warm in the dusk, and the faint hum of voices and the distant bark of a dog carried on the cool evening air.

Your heart tripped a little when Joel’s hand brushed against yours.

It was light, barely a touch, just the back of his knuckles grazing yours as he shifted something in his pocket. You didn’t pull away.

Didn’t move closer either. Just let your hand linger where it was, close enough for that accidental contact to happen again. And it did. Once, twice, each time a little longer, like the space between you had started to shrink on its own.

Your pulse tapped steadily at your throat, words thick behind your teeth. You wanted to say something about the stars coming out, the stupid ladybug earlier, and how you weren’t just hot from the weather.

“Y’been quiet,” he said, his voice soft. “Somethin’ on your mind?”

You swallowed hard, your gaze flicking to him in the dim light. How he looked at you — steady, unhurried, like he had all the time to wait for you to speak — made your chest ache.

“I’m fine,” you lied, a half-smile tugging at your lips, though your voice felt thin.

He didn’t push; he just let his hand brush yours again, slower this time, his fingers grazing along the side of your pinky before drifting away.

When you reached your front porch, the ache between your ribs felt sharp enough to cut.

“Thanks for walkin’ me home,” you managed, turning toward him, fingers itching at your side to reach for him, to hold him there a little longer.

Joel gave a small nod. “Always, sweetheart.”

He lingered a beat, like he might say something else. Might lean in. Might close that inch between you, but then he tipped his head, a flicker of warmth in his eyes, and turned away, heading back down the path.

You gasped, the sound catching sharp in your throat as Joel turned away, his broad shoulders fading into the dark. He always kissed you goodnight. A soft, lingering thing that left your stomach flipping and your skin buzzing for hours after. But not tonight.

He was leaving you like this — strung out, aching, every nerve stretched thin.

A flicker of heat shot through your chest, chased by something sharp and restless. This had all been some way to rile you up. Hadn’t it? The way his hand brushed yours, the weight of his knee against yours, those long, quiet looks that said everything without saying a damn word.

Your head spun, heart racing so hard you could hear it pounding in your ears.

Before your mind could catch up to your body, your feet were already moving, gravel crunching under your boots as you crossed the space between you in a few quick steps. Your hand shot out, fingers curling around the firm line of his bicep.

“Don’t you dare,” you blurted breathlessly, voice rougher than you meant it to be.

Joel froze. He turned slowly, his brow ticking up, and the look on his face made your stomach dip, like maybe this was exactly what he’d been waiting for.

“Don’t I dare what?” His voice was soft with a gravelly edge. Your fingers tightened on his arm, and your skin buzzed against his warm skin.

“Leave me like that,” you blurted, your voice sharp, a rough edge of breathlessness clinging to the words. “You did all this on purpose because you’re too scared to ask for more.”

It came out in a rush, heat flushing your skin, your chest rising and falling like you’d just sprinted a mile. You scoffed, glaring up at him, though your hand still hadn’t let go of his arm.

Joel’s face changed. The steady calm he wore like armor cracked, his brow furrowing, mouth parting like he was searching for something to say.

“No,” he said, voice low and uneven. “It—it ain’t like that.”

Your heart kicked against your ribs, throat tight. “Then what’s it like, huh?” you fired back, your words tumbling over each other. “You flexing those stupid muscles in the sun, pulling that thing with the ladybug, then the—the knee thing—”

Your voice faltered, heat creeping higher up your neck.

And then you saw it.

The way Joel’s expression shifted — not guilt, not smugness, but realization. His eyes widened, something dawning behind them that made your stomach drop. The kind of look that made you realize he hadn’t been playing a game at all.

At least, not on purpose.

His hand came up, rough fingers scratching at the back of his neck, eyes dropping for a beat before finding yours again.

“I thought…” he started, voice soft now, a little raw around the edges. “I thought you were bein’ quiet ‘cause you didn’t want more. I figured… maybe you weren’t ready. Or maybe you didn’t see me that way. Hell, I’ve been holdin’ back, darlin’. Tryin’ not to scare you off.”

“Yeah, well,” you muttered, looking down, your voice quieter now, almost a whisper. “Turns out you scare me more by not doing anything.”

Joel let out a breath, his hand brushing your jaw, tilting your face up so you’d look at him. “Didn’t mean to leave you hangin’,” he murmured, thumb tracing the edge of your cheekbone. “Was just waitin’ on you.”

You exhaled, chest tight, your eyes searching Joel’s face like you might find courage there. The night pressed in around you, thick and heavy, and your throat felt too tight to swallow.

“Go on,” Joel coaxed, his voice low with the faintest rasp. “Tell me what you want.”

The words made your stomach clench, your pulse skipping. You opened your mouth, but nothing came out immediately—just a stammer, a shaky breath that made your cheeks flush hot.

“I— I want…” you stumbled, the words catching like burrs in your throat. It felt impossible to say it out loud, though every inch of you screamed for it.

Joel’s thumb brushed along your cheekbone again, his touch making your skin prickle. His hand tilted your face, his eyes steady, soft but dark around the edges.

“It’s alright,” he murmured, a small smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. “Ain’t no need to get shy on me now, sweetheart.”

You bit your lip, your gaze flickering to his mouth for half a second before dropping back to his eyes, heart hammering so hard you swore he could hear it.

“I want you,” you whispered, trembling but sure. Your hand found the fabric of his shirt, twisting it in your fingers. “All of you, Joel.”

Something flickered in his eyes, and he nodded, leaning down to press his lips to your forehead, his breath warm against your skin.

“Atta girl,” he said, and the sound of it, low and thick, made your stomach swoop. “We can do that soon. I promise.” When he started to pull back, you shook your head, catching his shirt tighter in your grip.

“No—no, Joel,” you breathed, the words slipping out without permission, a boldness breaking loose from the tight coil in your chest. “I don’t wanna wait. I want you now.”

Your voice cracked on the last word, all raw want and aching honesty.

Joel stilled, his thumb retracing your cheek, his other hand resting against your waist. The air between you felt electric, every inch of space charged with what you’d both been too careful to say.

His gaze locked on yours, unreadable for a long, heavy second. Then he clicked his tongue softly, head tilting just a little.

“You sure about this?”

You nodded, probably too fast, heat blooming under your skin. Your hand slid down from his bicep, lingering over the steady rise and fall of his chest, feeling the warmth of him through the worn fabric.

“I’m sure, Joel,” you said, softer this time, but with a steadiness that surprised even you.

His jaw flexed, something unreadable passing over his face, and you took the chance to grab his hand, threading your fingers through his calloused ones as you tugged him toward your house.

The walk felt unreal, like the air had thickened, every step a little heavier. Time stretched and slowed, your pulse thrumming in your ears. When you reached your front door, your stomach was full of nerves and anticipation, your skin tingling.

Inside, the house felt too quiet. You took your boots off without looking at him, suddenly hyperaware of every movement. The air between you crackled with so much unspoken want that it made your hands shake.

Joel stood just inside the doorway, his fingers grazing the back of his neck as he glanced around, like he wasn’t sure what to do with himself.

“We… uh… we should get comfortable,” he said, voice low and rough.

You laughed, breathy and nervous, the sound spilling out before you could stop. “Like… on the bed?”

It wasn’t that you hadn’t done this before. You had, but never with him; somehow, it felt different. 

Joel’s gaze flicked back to you, and that tiny, crooked grin you’d grown addicted to tugged at his mouth. “Yeah,” he replied, like he knew exactly what you felt. “Like on the bed.”

Your stomach swooped, heat curling low in your belly as your fingers found his hand again, threading through the rough warmth of his calloused palm. You tugged him gently down the hall, your pulse thudding hard in your throat.

You half-expected Joel to stop you, to push you against the wall, to kiss you stupid before you even made it to your room, but he didn’t. He followed, his thumb rubbing lazy circles against the back of your hand.

No rushed kisses. No frantic tugging of clothes. Just the sound of your breath, shallow and quick, and his heavy footsteps at your back.

The air felt thick inside your room, and the only light came from the lamp on your nightstand. You turned, half breathless, your heart pounding so hard it made your fingertips tremble.

And still, Joel didn’t make a move.

“Uh… Joel?” you asked, voice soft, your brows pinching together. “Do… you not want me?”

His face changed instantly. Whatever restraint he’d been holding flickered into something raw and painfully tender. He stepped closer, his hands cradling your face like you were something breakable, his thumbs brushing beneath your cheekbones.

“Sweetheart,” he murmured. “Of course, I want you. Been wantin’ you for a while now.”

“I just… I can tell you’re nervous,” he went on, one thumb tracing the corner of your mouth. “And I don’t ever wanna do somethin’ you ain’t ready for. I’ll wait as long as you need.”

A rush of warmth spread through your chest, relief crashing into something hotter beneath your skin. “Oh,” you whispered, a little breathless now, your voice unsteady for a different reason entirely.

Joel’s gaze searched yours, and then, finally, his mouth brushed yours—a slow, careful kiss.

You sighed into it, your fingers sliding up to tangle in the hair at the nape of his neck, the heat of his body seeping into yours. His lips moved against yours, coaxing, unhurried, and you melted into the steadiness of him.

When he finally pulled back, it was only enough to press a soft kiss to the corner of your mouth, his smile grazing your skin.

“Let’s get comfortable,” he murmured, voice warm.

You nodded, cheeks flushed, and after awkward shuffling and nervous laughter, you both stripped down to your underwear. Joel’s broad, tanned chest made your stomach flip — the thick lines of muscle, the smattering of hair, the faint scar along his stomach you hadn’t seen before.

You bit your lip, your eyes tracing over him as you memorized every inch.

Joel sat back against the headboard, reaching a hand out toward you. “C’mere.”

And without thinking, you settled in his lap, straddling him, your knees bracketing his hips. The feel of his hands on your thighs, his thumbs stroking along your skin, made your breath hitch.

You just sat there, hearts pounding, eyes searching as your hands explored tentative, lingering touches like it was the first time you’d ever been allowed to want someone like this.

Joel’s gaze darkened, pupils blown wide as his fingers traced a deliberate path up your sides, the rough drag of his calloused thumbs brushing the soft swell of your ribs. His touch made your skin prickle, a hot shiver rolling down your spine.

“You’re so fuckin’ pretty,” he muttered. 

You leaned in, catching his mouth with yours in newfound hunger. The kiss was deeper, your tongue slipping against his, tasting him, pulling a deep, guttural groan from his chest. It vibrated against you, making your thighs clench.

His hands tightened at your waist, and when you shifted — chasing the ache building between your legs — the heat of your clothed pussy dragging against the firm muscle of his thigh made you gasp. Your hips stuttered, a soft, needy whimper spilling into his mouth.

Joel pulled back just enough to watch you, a brow arching, his lips slick and parted, his expression downright sinful.

“Hm?” he rumbled, one corner of his mouth curling. “You like that?”

You bit your lip, your face hot but too far gone to pretend otherwise. Another tiny roll of your hips, and your breath hitched again, the friction sending sparks through you.

Joel let out a low, rough chuckle. “Go on, sweetheart,” he coaxed, his voice molten in the dark. His hands gripped your hips, guiding you as he positioned you just right over one of his thick thighs. “Take what you need.”

You braced your hands against his shoulders, feeling the hard muscle flex beneath your palms as you rocked your hips, the pressure sharp and perfect. The soft fabric of his boxers against your soaked underwear made you gasp, your head tipping back.

“Good girl,” Joel murmured, a dark edge curling around the words as his hands guided your hips. “Look how fuckin’ pretty you look, all needy for me.”

The rough praise hit you low in your belly, a sharp jolt of heat rushing through your veins. You pressed down harder against his thigh, chasing that friction, your hips finding a desperate rhythm as your eyes fluttered shut.

“Joel,” you whined, the sound slipping out raw and breathless.

“Atta girl,” he rumbled, his hands tightening at your waist before one slid up, fingers teasing over your breast through the thin fabric of your bra. The contact made your breath hitch, a sharp gasp catching in your throat. “Just like that,” he coaxed, his thumb brushing over your nipple, making it pebble beneath the lace.

Then his hand cupped you fully, kneading, squeezing, and his mouth brushed your ear, the scrape of his stubble making you shiver.

“I wanna see you,” he murmured, voice filthy sweet. “Can I, darlin’?”

You nodded frantically, your eyes flickering open to meet his. The hunger in his gaze made your pulse stutter.

“Yeah,” you breathed, already arching into his touch.

Joel wasted no time, his fingers working the clasp at your back with practiced ease. The straps slid down your arms, and then your bra was gone, leaving you bare before him.

For a split second, your hands twitched, like instinct wanted to cover yourself — nerves mingling with the ache inside you. But Joel caught your wrists and shook his head, his gaze never leaving yours.

“Don’t hide from me, pretty girl,” he rasped, his thumbs brushing slowly over your skin. “Let me see you.” How he said it with want, like you were the only thing he’d ever cared to look at, made your heart flutter. 

You let your arms fall to your sides, your pulse thundering, and Joel let out a low, appreciative groan, his gaze dragging down to your bare chest.

“Fuck, you’re perfect,” he whispered, leaning in to press a hot, open-mouthed kiss to the swell of your breast, his tongue flicking over your nipple before he sucked it into his mouth.

A broken moan tore from your throat as your hips rocked harder against his thigh, the steady pressure sending sharp, electric heat through your core. Every nerve in your body felt stretched thin, your skin flushed and tight, slick with sweat. The rough drag of your soaked panties against the thick muscle of his leg had you trembling, chasing the edge without shame now.

“Oh—Joel…” you gasped, your voice cracking as you buried your face against his neck, breath hot against his skin. “I’m so close. Didn’t—didn’t think I could… come like this.”

Your words sounded wrecked, desperate, and it only made Joel groan, his thigh flexing beneath you, giving you something firmer to grind down on.

“You can, darlin’,” he rasped against your ear. “You will. Look at you—makin’ a mess on me, fuckin’ beautiful.”

His hands were everywhere, broad palms skating up your back, cradling the nape of your neck, guiding the roll of your hips, holding you together even as you started to come apart.

You felt it crest fast and hot, a sharp, aching coil deep in your belly snapping loose as a strangled, broken whimper slipped from your lips. Your entire body went tight, thighs quivering as you pressed down hard against his thigh, riding the wave as it crashed through you.

Your orgasm hit in pulses, slick soaking through your underwear and onto the soft fabric of his boxers, and you clung to him, gasping his name like a prayer.

Joel’s mouth was at your ear, murmuring through it, his voice low and steady as your body trembled. “That’s it, sweetheart… atta girl…perfect.”

When you finally sagged against him, breath ragged, your face buried against his shoulder, Joel’s hand stroked soothingly up and down your back, one arm tight around your waist.

“Damn,” he said, a grin in his voice. “Been wantin’ to see you like that for so long.”

You exhaled, a breathless, dizzy smile pulling at your lips as you looked at him. Your cheeks were flushed, skin still buzzing. “Never done something like that before,” you admitted, your voice shy, words soft around the edges.

Joel’s hand cupped your cheek, rough thumb brushing tenderly along your jaw. “Me either,” he whispered.

Your gaze dropped, and there it was — the thick, straining outline of his cock pressing hard against his boxers. Your pulse skipped, heat flooding low in your belly as your hand instinctively reached down, fingertips brushing over the bulge, eager to touch him.

But Joel caught your wrist, his grip firm but gentle.

“Not yet,” he rasped, eyes dark, pupils blown. “I know you can take it, but I wanna make sure you’re good and ready for me first.”

You blinked up at him, your breath hitching, and your body was already throbbing and aching to be filled. Confusion flickered across your face, but before you could speak, Joel moved, guiding you off his lap with a firm hand at your waist.

You barely had time to process before he was behind you, broad chest against your back, his legs bracketing yours on either side. 

Joel’s mouth brushed the shell of your ear, his voice a dark, sin-soaked murmur. “I want you to touch yourself for me.”

Your stomach flipped, breath catching sharply in your throat. “W-what?” you gasped, turning your head to glance at him over your shoulder.

He smirked, his eyes gleaming in the low light, and leaned in to graze his stubble along your jaw. “Like you do when you’re alone,” he whispered, lips brushing your ear. “Wanna watch you fall apart for me, sweetheart.”

“But, Joel—”

“Be a good girl,” he murmured, one hand slipping down to rest between your thighs, cupping the heat of you through the soaked fabric of your underwear. “Show me.”

Your protest died on your tongue, replaced by a soft, broken moan as your hips rolled into his palm.

Your hands moved on instinct, slipping beneath the waistband of your underwear, tugging the drenched fabric down your trembling thighs. Joel helped, his hands spreading your legs open over his, leaving you bare and exposed against him.

“Goddamn,” he growled, his lips trailing down your neck as he dragged one hand up to knead your breast, the other stroking slow, possessive lines along your thigh. “Go on, pretty girl… show me how you touch that sweet little pussy.”

The room felt too hot, the air thick with the scent of sweat and skin. Your hand dipped between your legs, and Joel’s voice was right there, rough and ragged in your ear.

“That’s it, good girl. Just like that.”

When your fingers brushed your slick folds, a soft, wrecked whimper tumbled from your lips, your body already so strung tight that the edges of your vision went hazy. The heat between your thighs was unbearable, the ache sharp and insistent.

“Joel… please,” you gasped, your fingers circling your clit in tight, desperate little motions. “Want your fingers, need you—”

“Not yet,” he murmured, lips grazing your ear, the words sinking into your skin like warm honey.

A needy, broken sound escaped you as your hips rolled into your touch, your body arching against the hard line of his chest. Your eyes squeezed shut, your thighs starting to press together, chasing friction.

“Uh-uh,” Joel’s voice came rough, command thick in his tone. “Keep ‘em open for me, sweetheart.”

His hands slid down, thumbs skimming up the sensitive, trembling skin of your inner thighs, coaxing them apart. The cool air against your soaked skin made you shudder.

“Let me see how fuckin’ wet you are for me,” he whispered, and the sound of it, low and filthy, made your pulse stutter.

Your fingers worked faster, slick sounds filling the space between your ragged breaths, your head falling back against Joel’s shoulder.

His hand reached down, closing around your wrist. You whimpered at the loss of contact, your body protesting the sudden emptiness. Before you could beg again, Joel brought your fingers to his mouth, those dark eyes holding yours. His lips closed around them, tongue curling, sucking your slick-coated fingers into his mouth with a groan.

“Christ,” he rasped, releasing them with a soft, wet pop. “Taste so goddamn sweet.”

The heat between your legs pulsed harder, your thighs trembling.

“Can I have you now?” you whispered, voice trembling with need, your whole body aching for him.

Joel’s teeth grazed your ear, his breath hot and ragged. “Yeah,” he growled. “You’ve been such a good girl for me, darlin’.”

Joel’s hand released your wrist, his fingers trailing down your thigh in a possessive glide that left a shiver in their wake. Your skin prickled, heat rolling through you in waves as his touch dipped lower, teasing over the sensitive skin at the crease of your thigh.

Then, finally, one thick finger slid between your slick folds, gathering your wetness in a lazy, unhurried stroke. The contact was almost too much, your hips jerking against his hand, a soft gasp slipping from your lips.

“Fuck…” Joel groaned, his voice a dark, reverent thing against your neck. His lips pressed hot, open-mouthed kisses along your throat, stubble scraping deliciously over your flushed skin. “You’re drippin’ for me. Look at this,” he rasped, his finger teasing at your entrance, circling but not pressing in.

Your whole body arched, chasing him without thinking, a whimper clawing up from your chest.

“Please,” you breathed, your head lolling back against his shoulder, legs falling open wider.

Joel chuckled softly, his free hand tightening around your thigh to keep you spread for him.

“Such a good girl,” he murmured, his finger finally slipping inside you, the thick stretch making you moan. “Knew you’d feel this perfect.”

Your walls fluttered around him, greedy and desperate, and he groaned again, his teeth grazing the curve of your jaw.

“You’re gonna take every fuckin’ inch of me. But not yet,” he warned, teasing you with the slow thrust of his finger. 

“Oh, please, Joel,” you moaned, the words breaking apart on a gasp, your hips rolling down into his hand, greedy for more.

“You sound so pretty like this,” he rasped, his voice thick with hunger. 

His single finger pumped into you, the slick slide of it making your skin burn, every drag against your walls sending sparks through your core. The way he worked, you open with patience like he was savoring every twitch and whimper, made you dizzy.

Your hands clutched at his thighs, your head tipping back against his shoulder, a broken whine slipping from you as the ache inside sharpened.

“More,” you breathed.

He groaned and, without pulling back, slid a second thick finger inside you. The stretch made your breath catch, your thighs trembling as your walls fluttered around him.

“Goddamn, sweetheart,” Joel growled against your throat, pressing a hot, open-mouthed kiss to your neck. “Squeezin’ my fingers like that.”

His fingers moved in a steady rhythm, scissoring slightly, working you open, coaxing moans from your lips. Your hips couldn’t stay still, grinding down against his hand, chasing every stroke, every curl of his fingers as your body tightened around him.

“You feel that?” he said, his voice a slow, dangerous drawl against your ear. “How good you’re takin’ my fingers?”

You whimpered, your body so close to unraveling, you could barely form words.

“Joel… I—I can’t—”

“Yes, you can,” he coaxed, his other hand cupping your breast, thumb teasing over your nipple. “Gonna fall apart on my hand first… then I’ll fill you up like you fuckin’ need.”

Your hips moved of their own accord now, grinding down against Joel’s hand, every thrust of his fingers making you moan, your whole body drawn tight like a bowstring. The heat building low in your belly threatened to snap, sharp, hot, and overwhelming.

Joel’s mouth stayed at your ear, lips brushing your skin as he spoke, “That’s it, darlin’… just like that,” he murmured, his fingers curling deep, hitting a spot inside you that made you cry out. “I can feel you clenchin’ around me. You’re close, ain’t you?”

A broken, breathless whimper was all you could manage, your head tipping back against his shoulder, eyes squeezing shut as the tension in your body coiled tighter and tighter.

Joel’s free hand gripped your thigh, keeping you spread wide for him as his fingers worked you open, the wet sounds of his hand moving between your thighs mingling with your ragged breathing.

“Gonna come for me, pretty girl?” he rasped, teeth grazing the shell of your ear. “Wanna feel you fall apart on my fingers. C’mon, sweetheart, be good and give it to me.”

Your body shuddered around him, a sharp, blinding pleasure tearing through you as your orgasm crashed down. A cry ripped from your throat, your hips bucking helplessly against his hand. The wave of it pulsed through you in hard, aching bursts, wetness spilling over his fingers as you came, trembling and wrecked in his arms.

Joel groaned against your skin, his hand slowing just enough to drag it out, milking every last shudder from your overstimulated body.

“Good fuckin’ girl,” he growled, kissing the curve of your neck, savoring the way you fell limp against him, breathless and shaking.

You couldn’t speak. Could barely breathe. Your head lolled to the side, cheek pressed to his shoulder, heart pounding so hard it echoed in your ears.

Joel’s hand left you, and you whimpered at the loss, already missing how his fingers filled you. He brought his fingers to his mouth, licking them clean with a soft, satisfied groan. “Sweetest goddamn thing I’ve ever tasted,” he muttered. 

You exhaled a shaky breath, your body still humming with aftershocks. Your eyes fluttered shut as you pressed a weak, lingering kiss to the curve of his neck, your lips brushing over the rough stubble and salt-slick skin.

Joel sighed softly and leaned down to kiss your temple. “Need a minute, darlin’?” he murmured against your skin.

You gave a slight nod, the last of your strength pooling in the simple motion. Your body felt boneless, and your chest rose and fell in slow, uneven breaths.

Joel shifted behind you, pulling you close until you were tucked against him, your back to his chest. His arm wrapped around your waist, holding you there.

“S’okay,” he murmured, his hand tracing lazy, soothing patterns along the bare skin of your back. “You did so good.”

The praise made your heart flutter, emotion catching you off guard in the quiet. You turned your head slightly, your cheek resting against his bicep.

“But… what about—” you started, voice small, the words snagging as guilt and tenderness tangled in your chest.

Joel’s fingers stroked through your hair, tucking a damp strand behind your ear. “Nah,” he rumbled, brushing another kiss to your hairline. “Don’t you worry about me, sweetheart. Tonight was all about you.”

And it wasn’t just the words, but how he said them, like nothing mattered more than seeing you like this, wrecked, held, and cared for.

You let out a soft, contented sigh, your hand finding his and lacing your fingers over your stomach. “I like it when you take care of me,” you admitted quietly, a shy smile tugging at your lips.

Joel’s chest rumbled behind you, a low, rough sound somewhere between a chuckle and a pleased groan. His arm tightened around your waist, pulling you in closer, until there wasn’t an inch of space left between your bodies.

“Yeah?” he murmured, the warmth in his voice like a slow drag of heat along your skin. “Well… why don’t we get cleaned up—”

“No,” you blurted, cutting him off so quickly it made him pause. “Joel, I want you.”

His breath caught, the shift in your voice — the ache there — pulling his gaze down to you.

“I meant it,” you whispered, your fingers tightening around his, a boldness rising beneath your skin, fueled by how he touched you. “And besides… you didn’t even get off.”

Joel let out a rough sigh, his thumb stroking over your knuckles. “Told you, baby… tonight was about you.”

You pulled away just enough to turn toward him, your thigh sliding over his. The air seemed to thicken around you again, the ache sparking right back to life beneath your skin.

“Joel,” you said, firmer this time, your hand finding the back of his neck, your fingers threading through the damp hair. You met his gaze, heart pounding, a raw, desperate honesty in your voice. “Please. I need you. Need to feel you.”

He cursed under his breath, his jaw flexing tight, the last of his restraint hanging by a thread. His hand was already sliding down your side, his fingers rough and warm against your overheated skin.

“You sure about this?” Joel rasped, though his voice was low, strained, like he already knew your answer. “Ain’t lookin’ to overdo it. Don’t wanna hurt you.”

You brushed your lips against the sharp line of his jaw, your breath hot against his stubble, and how his chest rumbled beneath you made your stomach clench.

“I need you,” you whispered, soft but sure, the ache in your voice pulling a low, guttural sound from deep in his throat.

Joel surged forward, catching your mouth in a rough, hungry kiss that left no room for hesitation. His hand slipped between your thighs, fingers finding your slick heat, teasing the sensitive, swollen flesh there. You moaned into his mouth, hips bucking into his hand, the heat between you reigniting like a match to dry kindling.

“Jesus,” he groaned, his forehead pressed to yours as his fingers circled your clit, his voice frayed and thick. 

Your breathing stuttered as you cupped his face, your thumb brushing along his beard-rough cheek.

“How do you want me?” he rasped, voice rough against your lips, the question loaded and reverent all at once.

You bit your bottom lip, a breathless grin tugging at the corner of your mouth. “Wanna ride you,” you panted, pressing a soft, lingering kiss to his lips. “Don’t want your back hurting you.”

Joel huffed a soft, wrecked chuckle, its fondness unmistakable even through the thick heat of the moment. “Look at you,” he murmured, leaning back against the headboard. “Always thinkin’ about me.”

You smirked, sliding down his body, your fingers hooking into the waistband of his boxers. His cock strained against the fabric, thick and flushed, and your pulse skipped at the sight of him.

“Been wanting this all night,” you admitted, your voice rough with want.

Joel’s gaze stayed fixed on your face, like he didn’t wanna miss a second of how you looked touching him for the first time. You pushed his boxers down, his cock springing free, thick and heavy against his stomach.

You took him in your hand, relishing the heat, the weight of him. Joel hissed a sharp breath through his teeth, his hips lifting slightly into your touch.

“Fuck, baby,” he groaned, his eyes dark and heavy-lidded, his hand tangling in your hair. “Look so good with your hand on me.”

Your thumb dragged over the bead of precum at his tip, and his jaw clenched, a muscle ticking there as he fought to stay still.

“You keep doing that,” he warned, voice a wrecked rasp, “and I’m not gonna last long.”

A wave of heady confidence surged through you, the kind that came from how Joel looked at you. Without overthinking it, you climbed into his lap, straddling his thick thighs, your knees bracketing his hips. His hands immediately settled on your waist, squeezing, his thumbs stroking over your skin. 

You reached between your bodies, wrapping your fingers around his cock. Joel groaned, his head tipping back against the headboard as you guided his tip to your entrance, teasing yourself with the slick, aching slide of him against your folds.

“Sweetheart,” he rasped. “You tryin’ to kill me?”

You bit your lip, shivering at the feel of his blunt head nudging against your clit, dragging slick over your pussy.

“Been thinkin’ about this all night,” you whispered, watching his face as you shifted your hips, letting just the tip slip inside. The stretch made your breath hitch, your body clenching down instinctively.

Joel’s hands shot up to your breasts, kneading the soft flesh, his thumbs teasing your nipples as a guttural groan broke from his chest. “Fuck—look at you,” he murmured. “So goddamn perfect.”

You whimpered his name, a shaky, desperate sound, and slowly started to sink, inch by inch, the thick stretch of him making your thighs tremble. Every time you took a little more, Joel’s hands gripped tighter — one sliding down to your hip, the other still toying with your breast, his thumb circling your nipple as he cursed under his breath.

“Good girl… that’s it,” he praised. “Takin’ me so fuckin’ good.”

Your head tipped back, a moan spilling from your lips as you finally bottomed out, the fullness of him stealing your breath.

“God, Joel,” you gasped, your hands bracing against his chest, feeling the flex of muscle beneath your palms. “So big—feels so good.”

He groaned, his mouth catching yours in a messy, desperate kiss, teeth scraping your bottom lip as he held you there, his hips giving the slightest, needy thrust up into you.

“Move for me, baby,” he rasped against your lips. “Show me how you ride me.”

You nodded, lips parted, a breathless moan slipping free as you started to move — slow at first, lifting your hips and then sinking back down, feeling every inch of him drag against your walls. Every thick vein, every stretch of him filling you so deep it made your vision blur.

It was better than you’d imagined in those restless nights, than the fevered dreams that left you aching. Nothing compared to the heat of him inside you, the way his hands gripped your hips like he couldn’t bear to let go.

“Oh, Joel,” you panted, your fingernails digging into the hard line of his shoulders as you rode him, your pace quickening with every wet, desperate slap of skin against skin.

A ragged groan tore from his chest, his head dropping back against the headboard as his eyes squeezed shut.

“I ain’t gonna last,” Joel growled, his voice frayed, the muscles in his arms flexing as he fought to keep his hands steady on you, to let you have this.

“Me either,” you gasped, your head tipping back, hair sticking to your damp skin, every roll of your hips sending sharp, perfect sparks of pleasure through you.

Joel’s hand slipped up your back, threading into your hair, tugging gently to pull your mouth back to his. His kiss was all tongue and teeth, messy and greedy, swallowing your cries as your pace stuttered, chasing that edge neither of you could hold off much longer.

“C’mon, sweetheart,” he groaned against your lips, his hips starting to thrust up into you, matching your rhythm, rough and deep. “Give it to me. Wanna feel you come all over my cock.”

You were so close, teetering on the edge, every nerve in your body strung tight and ready to snap.

“Joel, I—”

“Yeah, I got you,” he said, his voice breaking as his control unraveled with you.

Your body tightened, a sharp, desperate clench around Joel’s cock that made your entire frame tremble. The pleasure hit suddenly and blinding, your orgasm crashing over you in hard, pulsing waves. A broken, wrecked whimper slipped from your lips as you buried your face against his neck, your nails digging into the hard muscle of his shoulders, clinging to him.

Joel groaned, deep and raw, his grip on your hips tightening as your body spasmed around him.

“That’s it,” he rasped against your ear. “Such a good girl. Doin’ so fuckin’ good for me.”

His control slipped as you came, his hips thrusting up into you as he chased the tight, wet grip of you clenching around him. The slick sound of it, the heat of your release coating him, only made his breathing rougher, his jaw clenched tight.

You felt him tense beneath you, his body shuddering, and then he was pulling out, a ragged groan tearing from his chest.

“Fuck, darlin’,” Joel panted, one hand wrapping tight around his cock, the other steadying you against his chest.

You slid off his lap, legs weak and trembling, sinking beside him on the bed. Your eyes locked on the sight of him, fist working over his thick, slick length, his stomach tight, sweat-slick skin flushed. The way he looked at you—wrecked, desperate, the last of his restraint burning away—made heat pool low in your belly all over again.

“Wanna see you,” you whispered, your voice rough and needy, watching how his hand moved over his cock.

Joel’s eyes darkened, a low curse falling from his lips as he stroked faster. “Keep lookin’ at me like that, darlin’,” he growled, his voice breaking, “and I’m gonna fuckin’ lose it.”

With a deep, guttural moan, his hips jerked, thick ropes of heat spilling into his hand, across his stomach. His head fell back, chest rising and falling in heavy, uneven breaths as he worked himself through it.

You watched every second of it, a small, satisfied smile tugging at your lips as you reached out, your fingers brushing his thigh.

“Give me a second,” Joel muttered, his voice rough and wrecked, a breathless, half-laugh slipping out as he glanced at you. “I’ll get you cleaned up in a minute,” he added, dragging a hand down his face, his lips quirking in a crooked, spent grin.

You smiled, your pulse still unsteady, and scooted closer, closing the last bit of space between you. Without a word, you curled into his side, your head tucked beneath his chin, one hand splayed over his chest's steady rise and fall. His skin was still hot, his heartbeat thudding under your palm.

Joel let out a low, contented sound and slipped his arm around you, pulling you in tighter. His hand rubbed slow, absent circles along your bare back.

You smiled against his chest, pressing a small, lingering kiss to his skin before your fingers brushed along the line of a faint scar on his stomach, tracing it without thinking.

Joel’s hand stilled briefly, then resumed its gentle path along your back. He tilted his head, kissing the top of your hair.

“You’re trouble,” he murmured, a grin in his voice now. “But I like it.”

A quiet laugh slipped from you as you snuggled closer, your limbs heavy, the ache between your legs a pleasant, distant throb.

Eventually, Joel kissed your temple again, his voice a soft promise against your hair. “Still gonna clean you up… just need a minute, sweetheart. Might not ever wanna let you go.”

You smiled because right then, neither did you.

For a moment, Joel thinks about retreating into his bunk and winding down for the night, but his eyes dart back to the diner. The welcoming light that pours from the large windows, and the flickering neon open sign. Goddamn does a warm cup of coffee, and the opportunity to stretch his legs after a long drive sound good right about now.

His eyes dart back to the beat up blue hatchback parked around the side. He recognizes it, or rather, he recognizes who it belongs to. He feels like a teenager—you make him feel entirely out of his depth, and he’s not sure why. There’s nothing between you.

You’ve never been anything but friendly and accommodating toward him. You know exactly how he likes his coffee and make for good conversation. The problem lies in what you don’t know—in the moments between a sip of coffee in the diner, and before he passes out in his bunk. The secret between his fist and his cock when all he can think about is you—you in that fucking dress, you with that gorgeous smile, you who treats him with genuine interest. He’s pathetic. As mindless as a moth to a flame. As dumb as a fool to his execution.

When he finally finishes stewing in his guilt, staring blankly at the blinking amber lights of his dashboard, he musters up the courage to leave the comfort of the cab of his truck. He makes the walk across the parking lot a quick one—beneath the light drizzle of rain drops prickling his skin. He forgot his jacket in his truck, but he knows if he returns to his rig now he won’t be able to convince himself to venture back out.

Joel shoulders open the door with a huff as cool air rushes inside with him. The door falls shut and warmth envelops him in its place. He dares a glimpse at his reflection in the smudged glass and cards a hand through his unkempt hair. Turning, he surveys his surroundings for the first time, tamping his boots on the door mat. 

Booths are nestled along one wall, their red pleather upholstery spiderwebbed with fissures that reveal the foam cushioning beneath. Chips and scratches litter the table tops, the varnish worn around the edges where elbows have often come to rest. The checkerboard floor is weathered all the way down the aisle, certain tiles marking the well trodden path. The walls are covered in all sorts of dusty relics; old license plates from various states, road maps, and flags. Posters peel away from the wall at their corners and photographs have yellowed with the years.

He’s certain that this place hasn’t been renovated since its opening. It’s dingy, and unremarkable, and most things here have been wasting away for decades. The diner itself isn’t why he keeps coming back, though. He could just as well head over to the convenience store next door for a quick meal and a drink.

His eyes land on you. You’re standing behind the counter that runs the length of the room, chrome stools with red tops line the other side. You wipe down the surface with a damp rag. The radio crackles, crooning some tune that you’re too busy humming to notice his entrance.

It’s late and the place is empty—as desolated and deserted as the parking lot outside—a far cry from the bustling morning rush on those days when he’s barely able to get a word in while you rush around, topping up coffees or balancing trays of food. But now, you’re lost in your own world, and Joel finds himself hanging onto every second that you’re unaware of his presence because the view is a bit like art; a painting that he wouldn’t mind having hung in his home, or permanently etched into his mind’s eye.

You’re entirely unlike everything else in this tacky, run down diner. You are bright. You radiate warmth. You are something to be admired, cherished, and held dearly, or placed upon some pedestal. And he thinks that he might’ve spent an eternity memorizing every facet of you—every line that makes up your face, every contour that shapes your body—if you didn’t look up just then.

The smile that lights up your face is nothing short of a privilege to witness. He has half a mind to throw a glance behind him because it certainly can’t be for him—he can’t be the reason for something so beautiful. He doesn’t warrant that kind of look, but he’s the only one here and he doesn’t want to make himself look stupid, so he gives a curt nod.

Clearing his throat, he takes a stilted step towards one of the tables before settling into the booth. He watches as you disappear into the kitchen, and return with a coffee pot and mug in your hands. Dutifully, you set the mug in front of him and pour him a cup. The steam curls up into the air and one of his hands wraps around the ceramic mug, feeling its warmth. He glances back at you. You’re still standing there and you look a little antsy. He gets the feeling that he might be your only customer for the night.

“Workin’ the graveyard shift, huh?” He asks, lifting the mug to his lips and taking a sip. He pulls a bit of a face and sets it back down. The coffee is just okay, always has been, but the coffee isn’t why he keeps coming back. Again, his eyes flit to you.

“Yeah, I needed the extra shift,” you say as you set the coffee pot onto the table before sitting down across from him. He feels your knee brush his beneath the table and his jaw clenches. “And you? Heading home or heading out?”

You lean forward, bracing your elbows on the table and resting your chin in your hands, as if preparing yourself to cling to each word he has to say. The angle provides him the perfect vantage point. His eyes naturally snag on the pillowy tops of your breasts and the hidden valley between them. His fist knocks the table as he leans back against the seat, shifting uncomfortably. They look about ready to spill out of that dress with the first two buttons undone. Fuck, had it been unbuttoned when he’d first walked in? Surely.

“Home. Gotta week ‘fore I’m on the road again,” he grumbles, lifting his gaze away from where they definitely shouldn’t be. It means a week before he has a chance at seeing you again. For some reason that thought stirs an ugly feeling within him, twisting and unfolding in the pit of his stomach. The silence stretches between you, and neither of you reach to fill the void. He notices your nails are painted a baby blue to match your dress. Cute. 

The quiet becomes too much and he decides to put an end to it. “What’s the pie of the day this time?” It’s a question that he’s made the habit of asking, but he’s never made the habit of ordering a slice. A little routine between the two of you, and one that instantly has a smile tugging at the corners of your lips.

“Oh, um, I’ve never tried it before,” you say and your leg jolts against his, your bare skin grazing the denim of his jeans. “Does my opinion matter? Unless you’re actually planning on ordering it this time?”

You hum as you think it over, making an effort to recall it, and the moment you do, your eyes light up. “It’s banana cream pie.”

“Ah? S’it any good?”

There’s something about you then—that glint in your eyes, the subtle curve of your smile, the teasing lilt of your voice. You’re adorable. He wants you all to himself. But he can’t have what’s out of reach. He’s struggling to keep up this act around you. The facade that he’s normal about you because he’s anything but normal about you. There’s nothing normal about his feelings for you at all. He is a beast that wants to swallow you whole and you are too naive to see it. Right? He blinks, eyes catching on the low dip of your top again, and then he feels your leg rub up against his once more. The touch feels almost purposeful, but he tries to convince himself otherwise. His imagination, his desire must be conjuring things—gleaning want where there is none. His throat goes dry and he swallows hard. 

“Nah,” his eyes lower to his coffee, still full, but he stands anyway, and you’re standing up with him, looking confused. “I should get goin’, it’s been a long day.”

“Really? Stay and finish your coffee at least, Joel,” you say, stepping closer. He locks up, muscles going rigid. It’s both a curse and a blessing to have shared his name with you last time. The way it floats from your lips, something wispy and reluctant, and in that dulcet tone. It’s euphonic. It does things to him—terrible, awful, thrilling things. 

He swivels around and you’re mere inches from him, peering up at him all doe eyed. He doesn’t have the bandwidth to deal with this right now, but you look up at him like that—like a lost puppy trailing after him, and he knows deep down that he never really stood a chance. Not when it comes to you. It’s just been a matter of time—of how long he can manage to convince himself of his own lies and turn the other cheek.

”Did… Did I do something that bothered you?” Your voice wavers. It makes him feel like an ass for ever making you question yourself because there’s not a single thing you’ve done to upset him. The only upsetting thing is the way he feels about you, the way want and desire roil in his gut the moment he so much as sees you, or remembers the fact that you exist. It’s purely impulsive and frustrating, and the most blissful feeling. He never wants to feel this way again and he never wants to stop feeling it simultaneously. Two opposing outlooks at an impasse within him.

“No- No ‘course not,” he says, waving his hand dismissively but you still look so unsure, and his hand lands on your shoulder in what’s supposed to be a comforting gesture. His thumb rubs a gentle circle there because he can’t stop himself. “Like I told you, just been a long day.”

You blink, your lip wobbling as you search for your next words. “Oh… it’s just that I was really enjoying your company.”

The last thread of his restraint pulls taut, the flame of tension between you whittling it away, and singeing one tiny, miniscule fibre at a time. You look upon him like he’s something worth a dime—someone of value who merits praise and admiration, but he isn’t. He’s sure that he isn’t anything more than a dumb, pathetic bastard too far ahead of himself to turn back now.

He knows that he’d be a fool to mistake your kindness for interest but, hell, if the way you bat your lashes at him, and worry your bottom lip between your teeth, and sway your hips with every approach isn’t interest, he’s not too sure what is. 

So the thread snaps, giving way to that searing fire and he surges forward, all but stumbling into you. His lips are on yours, clashing with yours—hot and heavy as he licks into your mouth. His breath is hot and laboured, fanning over your face.

You shake in his hold, your hands hovering and unsure of what to do. He pulls away and takes in the sight of you. Flushed and warm with those glossy, wide eyes staring at him in surprise. But you shouldn’t be shocked. You’ve seen this coming, haven’t you?

“You’re just a little fuckin’ tease, ain’t you?” He asks, and you have the audacity to look bewildered, lips parted in a soft exhale. You are good at this innocent act, he’ll give you that. “Knew what you were doin’ the whole damn time, I bet.”

“Yeah, bet you like havin’ that kinda control over a man like me, huh?” He questions, taking a step forward and into you, crowding you against the table. You’re stunned and locked into place, hands falling to grasp the lip of the table. You make no move to push him away. And that’s the confirmation he needs. He’s right. He knows he’s right and it only emboldens him. “Well, are you gonna say somethin’ or just stand there lookin’ pretty?”

“I- I don’t know what you’re talking about,” you say, your voice barely above a whisper. He’s sapped the air right out of your lungs.

“Bullshit, you’ve had me dreamin’ ‘bout this cunt for weeks now,” he scoffs, spinning you around and pressing a hand firm to your back, bending you over the table's edge. He’s got you pinned there.

“Joel…!” You squeak, gasping out.

“Fuck… been achin’ to taste it,” he says as he sinks to his knees behind you, and flips the back of your skirt up. His hands skim up your legs, lingering on the plush of your thighs in gentle up and down motions before grabbing a hold of them and prying them apart. His fingers graze your cotton panties—they’re that same baby blue, he notes. He clicks his tongue when his fingers come away damp. “Yeah, you’ve been drippin’ since I walked through that damn door, haven’t you?”

Your reply comes out as a weak, wavering sound—somewhere between a whimper and a mewl. Not very talkative, huh? There’s none of that denial anymore. No, he’s worked you into submission in a few measly seconds. But this is what you’d wanted. It’s what you’ve been getting at—been wanting some grizzled, old man like him to fuck you until there isn’t a single thought left floating around in that pretty little head of yours. Blissful oblivion.

“You’ll let me have a taste, won’t you, sweet girl?” He asks, hooking his fingers into the waistband of your underwear, and dragging the flimsy fabric down your legs. He smacks the side of your thigh when you don’t reply.

“Mhm!” You hum, not so subtly pushing your hips back toward him. Eager little thing. But he’s not one to make things quick. He won’t give you what you want just ‘cause. He’ll relish in it—in the things he can do to you not only with his touch, but the things he can do to you with the absence of it.

“Gotta use your words f’me…” he coos, his thumb pressing into the tender skin where your thigh meets your most intimate place, parting your lips gently. He exhales sharply at the sight—pink and glistening just for him. Precious. “C’mon, be a good girl.”

“Please-! I need you,”  you keen above him, and he can hear the unadulterated desperation dripping from your words. It feeds into him and into his ego—into the beast you’ve created of him.

“Need what? Oughta be specific. ‘M no mind reader,” he murmurs, moving his hand to slide two fingers along your slit as he asks his next question. “D’you need my fingers?”

“My mouth?” Next, Joel leans in close to press a kiss to your inner thigh, just shy of your pulsing heat. He feels your legs quiver at the daring proximity—so achingly close to where you need him and, yet somehow, incredibly far. “Or does this greedy cunt need somethin’ more…?”

He is rock hard in his jeans, uncomfortably so. His erection pushes against his zipper but he ignores it, keeping his sole focus on you—the object of his desire, already weak and warbling from a few infinitesimal touches.

“Uh huh- please, anything…!” You beg so pretty, and how can he deny that? He has you in the palm of his hand, your muddled mind incapable of making a simple decision. You’ve relinquished control and deferred all choice to him. He relishes in it and he takes the responsibility in stride. 

“Poor thing can’t even make a decision for herself,” he says as he draws nearer to lay a kiss over your dripping folds. He flicks his tongue out and his thumbs part you at your seam. You squirm and a moan falls from you. He can’t see your face right now, but Christ, does he wish he could. He’ll just have to settle for his imagination which is something he’s not entirely unfamiliar with.

“That’s okay. You don’t gotta think too hard when I’m here, just have to sit there and take what I give you, right?” He pulls back to whisper, the bridge of his nose ghosting over the sensitive skin. “Just gotta stand there bein’ good and dumb for me…”

Joel doesn’t bother waiting for a response before returning his mouth between your legs. He marks a trail of kisses all the way back to your cunt. And when he tastes you again, he lets out a languid groan, tongue flattening over your clit. He laps and suckles at it, siphoning shuddering moans from your lips. Your hips jolt and he moves higher, prodding at your entrance, flicking his tongue there.

He doesn’t belong here. Nothing he’s ever done renders him deserving of this blessing, but he’ll earn it. You whimper above him—tiny, bitten-off whines tumbling from you over and over as he licks into you, laving over your clit again and again. The sounds are downright obscene, filling the empty room as he feasts on you like it’s his final meal and he’s to die tonight—his last will and testament. His fingers dimple the flesh of your thighs, wrenching you open wider and nudging your entrance again.

You’re close. He can tell in the way your legs begin to tremble and your knees threaten to buckle. His hands lower to brace you, a silent gesture, as if to say ‘I’ve got you.’ And he does. He’s not letting you go until you’ve reached that peak and then some. He returns all his attention to your clit, swirling his tongue and suckling—working you up, up, up and coaxing you over that crest.

“Oh…! Nghh, Joel-!” You wail. Your orgasm is a wavering, jittering thing. He can feel your muscles convulsing against his tongue. He grunts and works you through it, drinking up every last drop. 

It’s too easy to push you down and wind you up. Your body is pliant, willing, and accepting of everything he gives you. Even as it spasms and jerks, a weak sound of protest falling from your lips as he refuses to let up.

This moment, right here in this empty diner, is limbo—a space between two destinations in which time ceases to exist. He can’t get enough of you. He never will. He’s addicted, so he continues to take and take from you. The pleasure he imparts unto you is his own, his cock twitching in his pants.

Joel mouths at your pussy. He does not stop to breathe. He smothers himself in your wet, messy folds, teasing and licking—pushing and pulling. Raising you up and bringing you back down each time he diverts his attention to another sensitive place.

You are a mess. A heap of shaking limbs, sinful sounds, and babbled words—garbled and disjointed pleas. He doesn’t think you realize your own contradictions. A quiet ‘I can’t-’, a stuttered ‘no more’, followed by a ‘please don’t stop!’

He won’t. He will not stop until he’s torn another orgasm from you. He knows that you’re capable—you’ll give him what he wants and comply with his whims because you’re his good girl. You will give him another whether or not it’s dredged from you weeping and tremoring.

And you do. Your body coils like a spring, his hands move to your hips, tugging you closer against his face. One more pass of his tongue and your body unravels, unwinding and releasing all that tension.

“Oh God! Ah- Joel… fuck!” you cry out. When he pulls away, his face is slick with your arousal, droplets clinging to the scruff of his beard. He stands up behind you, his hands coasting up your sides as he does. You’ve gone limp, still folded over the table.

Shucking off his belt, Joel pushes his pants down alongside his boxers, freeing his painfully erect cock. It’s flushed and leaking, aching to be inside you already. He shuffles behind you, guiding his cock between your legs and dragging it over your seam, and slipping it between your pussy lips.

“You let any man have his way with you?” he questions, tapping the bulbous tip against your clit before sliding it back and notching it against your entrance. “D’you spend weeks practically beggin’ for it? Temptin’ any bastard that happens to pass through?”

“No! No, just you, only you.” you say, breath hitching and eyes watering.

“No? Just me? That’s damn right.” He grins and begins to sink inside, drawing a ragged moan from the both of you. Your pussy hugs his cock as it cleaves you open. “This cunt belongs to me.”

He starts off slow, bringing his hands to rest on your waist as he eases in and out of you, feeling your warm, tight walls clutch and flutter around his shaft, seeming to cling and suck him back in each time he pulls out.

“Fuck yes, baby…” he croons, eyes fluttering shut as he begins to set a faster pace. The mug and coffee pot rattle with each thrust that jolts your body against the table. The mug inches closer and closer to the edge. His hips meet your ass, bottoming out with each drive forward. Opening his eyes, his gaze lands on the window in front of you. The two of you look out onto the empty parking lot.

“Would you look at that, darlin’…” he remarks, giving your hip a squeeze to grab your attention and direct it forward. “Anyone could walk on past and see you gettin’ railed… you like that don’t you, though?”

There’s truth to his words. The looming threat doesn’t take away from it. No, your cunt contracts around his shaft, dragging him deeper at the acknowledgement of such an indecent thing. You enjoy the risk—you both delight in it.

To be caught now would be so easy. You’ve been put on display, vulnerable and exposed, beneath the glaring lights reflecting off the glass. Rivulets of rain water slip down the wide, open pane. All it would take is one lone traveler pulling into the parking lot, or the convenience store cashiers switching shifts, and a singular glance in the diner’s direction. 

Just like that, and they would know that you’ve let this man defile you at your place of work. They’d know what a dirty girl you are. But it’s not off-putting in that way that it should be. It’s exhilarating.

“Mhm, you get off on it, filthy girl,” he teases, rolling his hips into you. You’re a wordless, mindless jumble of nothingness beneath him. Completely and utterly drunk on his cock, and unable to string together a single thought, let alone form a coherent sentence. You speak only in helpless mewls and keening moans. His focus is trained on your dazed, dumb expression in the reflection. You look fucking divine.

“Well, go on, look.” He reaches for your hair, tugging it and forcing you to face your mirror image. “Watch me fuck you.”

Joel knows he shouldn’t be so rough with you. You’re fragile and teetering, but he wants you to witness the sight—to face the image of what you’ve been taunting him with for weeks. You’re a work of art. He wants you to know that and remember the reflection in the glass in case this is the last time he bears the privilege of having you in such a manner. 

“Joel, please!” you whine over the wet plap, plap, plap of his thrusts, your hands grappling with the flat table top. He’s not sure what you’re pleading for and he thinks that you might not even know yourself.

He hums, rubbing his hand up along your spine and then back down to the knot of your apron. He tugs it loose, and pulls you upright and against him, tossing the apron aside. Sliding his hands around you he undoes the rest of the buttons of your dress in quick succession until your breasts spill out. 

“My beautiful, fuckin’ perfect girl,” he whispers, leaning in to press a kiss to the side of your neck and then another one as his hands cup your tits, kneading them and feeling the way you shudder against him. 

Joel tips your head back, running his fingers along your jaw in a tender caress. They curl there as he thumbs your bottom lip, prodding and encouraging you to open up before tucking two thick digits inside. Obediently, your mouth closes around them as though it’s a habitual act. He smooths them over your tongue, unable to stifle the strained noise that escapes him.

The silky heat engulfs them and you practically purr, dissolving further into his arms. Drool pools at the corner of your mouth, and he pulls his fingers from your mouth with a schlick. His hand then slithers down your body and slips between your legs.

He feels the way you’re stretched wide around his girth, wedged open in a way he’s certain you haven’t been before. He continues to rock up into you as he seeks out your swollen clit, fingertips circling the bud in small, vigorous circles. His head drops to your shoulder, feeling that tight, delicious clamp of your pussy. Quiet utterances and muttered curses stashed under his breath flitter over your ear.

“So good… you feel so fuckin’ good, baby…” He drawls, fighting to keep his eyes from clenching shut because he wants to savour this moment and you. Blissed out and empty-headed, taking each inch of him. He adores you—everything about you. Every curve, and dip, and extra bit of plushness.

“You’re so damn perfect,” he moans, his thrusts turning sloppy. If he had the time to dedicate to worshiping every aspect of you he would. He’d spend hours working you through orgasm after orgasm, but you haven’t got the time, and he can feel himself inching closer and closer to his own.

“Shit, I’m close-!” he mumbles, folding you over the table again and following suit. His chest is pressed to your back, and his cock sinks deeper somehow, hips bumping yours against the lip of the table. You slap a hand over your mouth in an effort to suppress your moans.

His arm winds around you, curling beneath your stomach. His hand, large and roughened, fans over the plumpness there—so often hidden by the flared skirt of your dress. He squeezes gently. Groaning, he saws his cock in and out, feeling the unhurried, slick glide as the crown passes over that delicate and sensitive spot inside you. He feels you tense beneath him, another one of your sweet sounds is muffled against your knuckles. His free hand grabs yours and shoves it flat to the table.

“None’a that, darlin’. Lemme hear every damn sound,” he grunts, pressing his palm firmer against your stomach. “Ya feel that? Feel me right fuckin’ here?”

“Yes! Yes, feel you so deep, mmph…!”

“Where do you want it?” he asks, feeling that pressure brim and ache. “Tell me or are you too dumb and drunk on my cock to make up your mind?”

You babble beneath him—a jumbled mess of pleas and yesses, but no definitive answer to the question he has posed. He’s right. You’ve been reduced to a brainless, insatiable, needy thing. Hopelessly keening for more and more even when your body can’t take it.

“It’s alright, baby… I’ll just have to give you a taste of that cream pie you said you’d never tried,” he murmurs, continuing the staggering rhythm of his thrusts.

“Inside’s where ya need it, filling up this greedy cunt, hm?” His voice is hushed, dropping low and husky. The words are like a secret for your ears only. He feels you tense beneath him, a strangled cry is pulled from the depths of you as your walls convulse around his cock. He moans at that sensation. It’s addictive. It’s incredible. You’re writhing and unfurling for him—fracturing into pieces atop quaking legs. “Uh huh, can feel her sucking me in. She’s begging for it, ain’t she?”

“Please, give it to me…” And that’s all the permission he ever needs—that breathless, resigned request.

It’s uncontrollable. The pressure erupts as he bottoms out one last time, nestling deep. His cock swells and twitches, balls drawing tight as relief finally sweeps over him. His hips involuntarily jerk as the first jet spurts inside of you. He sucks in air through his teeth, suddenly feeling deprived of oxygen as his head spins and his mind goes blank. His pelvis spasms, grinding into you. His eyes fall shut and a groan tumbles past his lips. He stays there, shooting warm rope after rope, until he has nothing left to give and then a few moments longer.

When Joel peels himself from you, he slides himself free. Instantly, his eyes catch on your cunt and the way your entrance contracts around nothing. His spend oozes out in what can only be described as an obscene display. 

You lay there panting until you find the will power to stand up and face him. Your legs wobble and you lurch, but he’s there to catch you, propping you up against him. “Easy now,” he mutters, bringing a hand up to brush back a stray hair. 

“Right, sorry,” you say with a giggle, hands braced on his shoulders as you look up at him. You’re damn near delirious. He’s the one who’s brought you to such a state. His stomach churns. His eyes dart between yours and your lips then out the window to his rig in the parking lot. It doesn’t feel right to up and leave, so he makes the decision that he won’t. Not yet.

“Nothin’ to be sorry for,” he murmurs, cupping your face and tilting your chin. You smile up at him. It’s set in stone. He’s set in stone. There’s no pulling him from this moment anytime soon.

There was blood on your hands, so much of it, even if you werent the one to pull the trigger, or plunge the knife deep into someone's flesh and bone. The blood and bodies accumulated, so did the guilt.

Being in Jackson felt wrong for many reasons, you were a deplorable human, yet you were living now–lavishly. Electricity, hot showers, warm clothes and a full stomach. Hell, even a giant christmas tree in the centre of the civilised town.

Wrong. Wrong. Wrong.

What about those people that died? Their children, the women, the men. Good people.

Jackson winters are harsher than any you’d ever endured, the wind swirls around the snow jacket and penetrates your skin, landing on your skin and spreading like an infection. Your hands are freezing, fingertips red from being exposed.

He always knew where to find you, how much you torture yourself with guilt. He offered the hand that wiped your tears, the ear that listened to you as you sobbed into his chest. The heart that offered a home for you. Somewhere only you knew. Offering you a haven within him that he had opened for you alone. It was simple, really.

That was the worst part, that he had willingly opened his door, his arms, given you his heart on a silver platter. Falling for a man that tried, that gave you all he had. He could just as easily pull it all out from underneath you.

His multitude attempts of courting you, asking you to be his girl–all gone unanswered or denied. So he stopped asking, knowing that when the time was right you’d come to him.

Joel was aging, he would take any minute he could to spend with you unknowing of what day would end everything. The risk climbs with each patrol.

He knows where you’ll be, by the back of the stables, watching the horses as they play in the snow that had fallen on the ground over the past week. The snow surrenders under his feet, walking the pathway to you he knew like the back of his hand.

With the softest voice he could muster, he attempts not to startle you. “Hey.” He leans on the fence beside you, his elbow barely grazes your own. “Everythin’ okay? You've been here a while, ain’cha?”

It stings, to turn and look at him. The muscles in your neck seem frozen as you manage a small smile, realising that you've been leaning against the wooden fence for a while, the sky is thick and dark with snowcloud. Snowflakes fall around the two of you.

“Just thinkin’,” you clear your throat and manage to choke out. Inhaling sharply, you wiggle your nose in an attempt to clear the mucus from your cold nose.

Turning to face you, he knows what's going on within you, although the two of you weren't exclusive, he knew what the two of you shared. Something that felt so fragile in moments like this. He hums, gravelly noise cuts through the wind.

In a swift pivot, he's turning to face you, his gloved hands delicately brush the hair from your vision. “What is it?”

“Everything,” You're barely able to look at him, managing a quick sideways glance. The last thing you wanted right now was to start breaking down. Moments of you opening up were sparse, and Joel knew now was not one of those times.

He had to treat carefully, nursing your emotions delicately so you wouldn’t back away, start rebuilding your walls he had carefully and pliantly plucked one by one. To get here, where the two of you were, had taken months.

Dropping his hand to cradle your stiff neck, with gentle encouragement manages to coax you to face him, a gloved thumb caresses your cold cheeks. “Everything’s a lot to be thinkin’ about.” He utters in thought, “wanna tell me about it?”

Conflicting, the ache in your chest. Guilt. The urge to blurt it all out in one ugly, uttering cry, as if it were some dirty confession. “Not particularly.”

His brows furrowing were a response of disappointment, knowing that if he weren't careful you would brazenly resort back to isolating yourself. “You know how much I care about you.” Preferring a statement, a confession, it left no room for you to start questioning yourself.

“I know.” Part of you cracks a tight lipped smile.

The forced smile doesn't appease Joel, his own lips tight, hand curling around your jaw to look at him. Things seemed particularly bad today, he recognised. “Stop lyin’ to yourself an’ me, tell me the truth.” the attempt to coax you failed, with you pulling away from the gentle grasp on your cheek.

As you pull away from Joel's touch, your skin feels cold. All of you feel cold. It felt so wrong to pull away from him, but to confront the fiery flames of truth–you would bear the cold.

His hand falls to his side, the ever tugging frown on his features deepens as you pull away from him. Refusing any comfort he offers, a noticeable feat between you. The exhausted expression on your face, eyes weary, and now defeated silence.

But Joel had questions, something he desperately needed an answer to. “Are you happy?”

It was a loaded question, confronting. Are you happy here. With him. With your life. You can’t manage to decipher which one of those probabilities he wants answered. So it seems impossible to come up with an answer that was acceptable. “What do you want me to say Joel, that I’m thriving?”

Of course you resort to lashing out. “I want the truth,” his eyes take you in, the way you stiffen as he refused to be spooked by your natural act of stoicism. He shifts on his feet, you bet the cold is starting to take a toll on his aching joints.

The silence had become unbearable. “I'm miserable, Joel.”

“What is it that’s makin’ you miserable–”

With a stern warning, you interrupt him. “Don't go there.”

Each emotion you felt in this moment, guarded but vulnerable to him. He knew what was causing this turmoil. Him. your feelings for him.

“It’s me.” He utters matter of factly between you, looking over the fence as the horses whine and run inside the stable as the snowflakes start to fall faster. His hand contemplates holding your hand, realising that they are bare. Deciding against it, he pulls off his own gloves, sliding them onto your own.

“You ain’t happy because of me.” his bare fingers run through the hair at the back of his head and rub his neck as he exhales deeply.

Fixing the warm gloves on your fingers, it feels like you’re getting some much needed circulation. “It ain't like that.”

He was trying to give you the flexibility to open up to him at your own accord, but he's beginning to hurt, wondering if his love will be unacquainted until he’s buried beneath the soil, if your hand would be the one to push him in with an unwelcome gaze.”Then tell me what it’s like..” he pushes again.

All he wanted was for you to drop the veil, to reach forward and bring you to his chest and remind you that he was here, always had been.

“I need to learn to live without you.”

You can't swallow the shocked expression on his face, now bare fingers clutching onto the fence, the warmth of his palm melting the snowflakes that had fallen there. “You think I wouldn't miss you if you just walked away from this?”

“Don’t,” you plead, he was breaking your guard down.

Vulnerability and desperation roll of his tongue in a firm utterance. “I would.”

Deciding against what your reaction might be, he reaches out and takes a hold of your hands, thumb rubbing against the leather in an attempt to soothe you, to calm you before you could flee.

“I go on missin’ you as it is. You go on days without lettin’ me in. I can't stand it, everyday i don't see you is hell knowing you’re right there an’ dont wanna see me. Knowin’ you don't wanna be mine.”

Pulling away from his grip again, you step away from the fence, fleeing. “Don’t. Don’t fucking do this to me.”

With one long stride forward he's snatching your wrist, turning you back around to face him. God dammit, he was trying. He wanted to be everything you need. If you would just let him in.

He growls at the realisation. “Don’t what, huh? Say how I feel because you won't.”

“I’m fucked up!” You shout, emotion thick in your throat, unable to pull away from his vice like grip.

There's a tremble in his voice, a swirling mix of despair and desperation. “I’m tryin’ to be here.”

A bitter scoff rolls off your tongue, “that doesn’t fix anything!”

His chest heaves, up and down repeatedly until he finds the words to say. All of the pent up emotions he has toward you all rising to the surface. “Then what will?”

“You can't fix me.”

He drops your hand, “bullshit.” That was something he couldn't handle hearing, he was good at fixing things, repairing, protecting. The thought that you were a lost cause was as good as enough for his chest to begin constricting.

His fingers are succumbing to the exposed cold, tips of his fingers are cold on your cheeks, cradling your delicately compared to the ruthless things he had done with them.

Taken lives, stolen, abused substances, relieved himself, all with anger, all without meaning. But you–holding you was something he wanted to do right. He would do right. There was no room for mistakes. “I need to fix this..” the whisper is so quiet it's almost swept away in the wind.

It felt like a slap to the face when you pull away from his hands, the shared warmth from skin to skin was ripped away as you step backward.

That's all you knew how to do, retreat.

“You’re still pushin’ me away. Tell me when you’re gonna let me in,” the bitter edge was a clear indicator of the pain and disappointment he was feeling.

“The last thing I need is to trust you! Then what? You turn around with my heart in your hands and stomp over it?”

There it was, whether you realised what had slipped past your lips. Your greatest fear. Abandonment.

For a brief moment Joel hates that you distrust him after all he has done for you, proving time and time again that he would do anything for you. But it's quickly swept away by the realisation that you’d unclogged the blockage that kept him at arm's length. “How..” he pauses, realising he has one shot at this.

“What can I do, to prove that I ain’t ever gonna hurt you?” Of course, of course he looked absolutely torn, his throat bobs up and down as he swallows nervously.

The fact that you were still standing before him was a good sign. “How can I trust this is real?”

“Because I love you. I’m gettin’ old an’ I need somethin’ to rely on.” his hazel eyes softened with the admission, searching your face for any sign that you felt the same way. That you wouldn’t tear his heart open here and toss it to the snow, letting it freeze over once again as it had been before he met you.

He couldn't bear to go back to that, the loneliness, lack of heart and purpose.

There's a million thoughts running through your head, begging for your tongue and voice to cooperate, to blurt out somehow that you love him too.

His eyes continue searching your face at your silence, hoping to find any glimpse that you felt the same way. “Nothin’ to say then?” His heart ached, tone bitter.

This could be the end of everything.

In this moment of utter vulnerability, there are no words you can find to pluck from your throat, barely registering that you’re reaching up to grasp his face with both hands, pulling his head down to meet your own cracked, wind burnt in a soft kiss, lips brushing against each other.

For the short moment they are pressed together, you feel them warm against his, your heart races in reaction to the bold display.

“I.. I love you too,” you whisper thickly once you part from his lips, praying it wasn't too late. Foreheads pressed together, this is what Joel had been dreaming of, a simple act that had made his heart race, relief sparking each vein in his body.

“Oh.. baby..” he whispers, his own hands grasp your hips, grounding himself. Holding onto something to convince him this was real.

But at this innocent gesture, a small breathless moan rattles through his brain.

God.. the thoughts he had about you.

He stutters, “baby.. d-don't do that. You have no idea what it does to me. Tryin’ to be good to ya.”

Running the risk of taking things too far, you kiss him again, this time more desperately, seeking the validation and love Joel had always devoted to you, a newcome hunger growing within you. Your lips clash against his own, and you moan into the kiss, your hands roaming through his hair as you grasp onto the soft, overgrown follicles.

The both of you get carried away, both touch starved and seeking physical affection after having tension brewing thickly for months. Your hands find solace in the softness of joel's hair.

He cannot keep his hands on your hips, greedily giving in to your willingness to reciprocate his affections. Tracing the curve of your ribs to your hips, memorising each curve and dip. The way your body squirms closer into his chest as his revenant exploration of your body makes you whine into his mouth.

Deepening the kiss, his tongue wrestles with your own. Finding a rhythm that the two of you manage for a desperate long minute. His hands are groping the curve of your ass desperately through your jeans, whinging when he pulls you closer to him, the hard bulge in his jeans rub against your mound.

“Joel..” you whine, breaking away from him, his own hazel eyes blown out from the fiery kiss. Your lips are moist with a mix of his and your own saliva. Chests heaving in sync as the tension between you expands into something that cannot be contained another moment.

Without another word your gloved hands are attempting to unbutton his jeans, with much difficulty. Frustration wears your short fuse and you tear them off your hands, unbuttoning and yanking down Joel's zipper.

“I ain’t lettin’ you go, baby.” He utters as his hands work quick to tear your own jeans, pulling them down until they reveal your ass, getting stuck mid-thigh. He lets out a deep grumble at the sight of you, bare ass and pussy all for him.

“We’re in the middle of town, dirty fuckin’ girl.” He scolds breathlessly against your neck, his hands commanding you flush against his chest, holding your wrists together with one hand.

Bending yourself forward a fraction, you whine, feeling his hard cock spring against your bare ass. “Let them see.”

Closing his eyes for a moment in an attempt to ground himself, convince himself this was a bad idea, the rational part of him loses the internal battle. “Fuck you’re gonna be the death of me, you and this pretty pussy,” his voice husk with need.

With his free hand, he positions himself at your hole, damp and warm. A wonderful contrast to the rest of him that's freezing as you stand in the mild snowfall. Your hole opens up for him with no protest, his thick tip pushes into you with carnal need.

His hand frees your wrists, grabbing onto your waist, his thick fingers curling around the skin of your hips. “Made f’me baby.. fuckin’ hell.”

There's a slight sting as you adjust to his girth, but he can't hold himself back, bottoming out in your warmth, grunting into the nape of your neck, leaving an opened mouth kiss.

The pace he sets is relentless, ploughing into your willing hole that slicks more with each thrust. His cock is coated in your arousal, nevermind how loud you are as he pumps into you. Not bothering to try and be subtle, uncaring of the straggling townsfolk of Jackson on the other side of the barn that are entering the hall for lunch.

“You’re gonna.... get us caught baby..” he ruts into you desperately as he utters his concern. Pressing his chest against your back, unable to pull away from you.

“Don’t care,” you manage to choke out incoherently, your hole clenched around him. Theres a warmth in your stomach, feeling the pressure build as he fucks into you like his life depended on it.

With one hand, he forces his hand under your chin, grasping onto your throat, fingers squeezing the sides lightly. Applying enough pressure to make your eyes roll, a soft moan of surprise and lightheadedness equals the raw pleasure of the pad of his pointer finger rolling around on your swollen clit.

“You wanna get caught like this hm? Sweet girl getting fucked by an old man, what would they think of you, hm?”

The thought makes your stomach twist, attempting to close your thighs to stop his hand from swirling softly against the wet bundle of nerves.

He tuts, “uh uh, this is what you wanted, wasn't it? You’re gonna cum for me, baby.”

Throwing your head back, he applies a fraction more pressure to your neck and you cry out with a crack in your voice, spiralling as your hips rut against his hand. Legs and hips unwillingly jerk as you orgasm. His muffled voice is runging in your ear as Joel continues to fuck you through your intense climax.

“Atta girl, so good f’me.”

He releases the grip on your neck and snakes his hands underneath your jacket, the warmth of your skin underneath his desperate fingers.

There’s some distant muttering you don't understand, too overstimulated and crying from still taking Joel’s cock as deep as he can bury himself inside of you.

He gropes your tits harshly, crossing his arms around you as he forces you down onto him, taking his thick cock as he bottoms out, his cock twitching as he fills you with his warm load. Turning your head to kiss him as he cums, you moan into his mouth.

“Oh my god–that is them, Joel and–” the voices utter your name and you tune in as you hear your name being spoken from a distance, hearing slowly returning. Your cheeks warm as you realise that someone has indeed caught the two of you in the middle of town.

Joel slides his hands from underneath your shirt, covering you the best he can. “You gonna stand there creepin’ or y’all gonna move the fuck along?” He snaps in irritation at the invasive eyes.

With a whimper, he pulls out of you. Both of you slide your jeans up. He turns you to look at him, pressing a kiss to your forehead.

There’s an expression of vulnerability plastered on his face. “No more runnin’.”

Hopelessly, you nod. “Can we go back to yours?”

With a possessive swat of your ass, he hums. “Our place.” He corrects.