#pedroverse

Joel placed a hand over your mouth, softly muffling whatever noises might spill from your throat.

It should have been a bad omen for you.

Although there was no real necessity for taking such extreme measures—the neighbor's house was far enough away from Joel's house not to worry about disturbing them—Joel liked to silence you when he knew that you were going to be loud beyond the usual moans and whimpers.

But of course, you hadn't realized the allusion back then. No, instead you had wriggled your hips, excitedly arching off the bed while your boyfriend tugged down your pants.

In the recent days, Joel had been so busy with patrols, helping his brother fix his water pipe, and town meetings that he had barely found the time to take care of you. There had been occasional sessions in the evening, but they had been highly limited to the absolute essentials, which consisted of him going down on you and fucking you. Sometimes you had used your mouth on him too, but most days, Joel didn't have the patience for that.

Therefore, it was no surprise that you had especially been looking forward to tonight. It was Saturday, which meant that the two of you would be able to sleep in. And since it was still early, you weren't as tired as you had felt the past couple of days, with your heads already on the brink of falling asleep while making out rather lazily. No, you were on fire tonight, and based on the mischievous luster in his eyes, so was Joel.

"Wearin' my favorite panties…" he growled in that moment, pulling at the waistband and watching it snap back with a smack.

There wasn't really anything special about the olive-green underwear, which was more functional and comfortable than it was sexy, but Joel had once said that the color went beautifully with your skin tone. So you assumed you should just feel thankful for being able to feel desirable for him while there was no stiff lace cutting into your butt cheeks.

"Mhmm yes," you giggled against his palm, bringing your left hand to his wrist to paw at his gorgeous veins.

"You look pretty, babygirl. So… fuckin' pretty. Got so many things in mind for you, sweetheart. An' there's nothin' that's gonna disturb us tonight."

With a low hum, he single-handedly yanked down your panties a bit further until they were hanging around your knees, your hips rolling forward as a cold breeze tickled your pussy lips.

"Daddy?" you mewled, toes curled and your heart thrumming in your chest.

"Yes, kitten?"

"What are you gonna do?"

You just had to know. Joel, who you had expected to be in the bedroom just like how he was outside of it—curt, brusque, and restrained to only the necessary—had a creative mind that often bewildered you. He came up with things that went beyond plain, boring missionary sex, and while he enjoyed teasing you, you were always satisfied in the end.

"You wanna know what I'm gonna do to ya, sweetheart?" His features were relaxed and calm, a certain softness lingering on his skin, which lulled you in automatically.

"Yes. Please, daddy."

"Well, I don't know yet… I got all kinds of ideas… But we'll see. Depends on what I'm gonna feel like doin' to my pretty girl. You're gonna take it either way, ain't that right?"

"Yes," you whispered, biting down on your lip as you watched Joel move to lay on his side next to you, one hand between your legs, stroking up your thigh, and the other cradling your head.

"I know, baby… 'Cause you're so good for daddy. Just give me that smile… that's it. You look so pretty, you know that? Gosh… I can't believe I didn't take my time with ya this week. I neglected your pretty pussy, didn't I?"

You tipped your head to observe Joel's hand disappearing between your legs, but in response, he just clicked his tongue and lightly petted your hair.

"Eyes on me, sweetheart. You don't trust your daddy that he's gonna make it good?" he chuckled lowly and raspily as he rocked the base of his palm against your clit, or rather the whole upper part of your pussy.

"No… I trust you, daddy. Just—it's really achy..."

Your eyes were wide, pupils blown with lust as they met his gaze. The wrinkles around his eyes softened even more, if that was possible, though you also spotted a few golden sparkles around his pupils, telling you that there was more going on behind his brow than his sweet affections for you.

"I know, baby… Let me touch you. Let daddy take care of it."

Lids fluttering, you panted heavily for air as your boyfriend dipped his fingertips inside you, just very briefly, as if to test your level of wetness.

"Good girl…" he groaned, his deep, coarse voice making you tremble with restrained desire. "So pretty 'n' so wet. S'always like that when you know your daddy's gonna touch 'er, right?"

"Yes, daddy," you breathed. You ground your teeth, your jaw clenched as he started to roll his palm, creating pointed friction against your clit, which was pressing into his flesh.

"Do you like that, princess? Talk to your daddy, c'mon."

He was so gentle with you, you wanted to bite into your own hand and squeal into a pillow. Of course, you adored every version of him, but this one might be your favorite of them all. How could you feel any differently with his warm, honeyed voice brushing over the skin at your neck, his beard stubble grazing you ever so slightly that it might as well have been a silken shawl rather than his chin? And he was soft with you, so incredibly soft that you very much felt like his princess, too precious to be talked to at a normal volume. Otherwise, you might have jerked backward.

"It's good, daddy."

"Right 'ere?" he grunted, working two of his thick fingers inside you and hissing out between his teeth at how you cramped around them. At the same time, though, you were slick with arousal, which was why Joel was able to fill you to the brim on the first go.

"Y-Yes. Yes, right—there." You were slowly losing your ability to speak, which you weren't new to at all. Joel just had this effect on you, bewitching you and pushing certain buttons until you couldn't think straight anymore, let alone express an intelligent thought that went beyond answering his questions.

After fully imbibing you with his fingers, he remained still, closing his eyes and feeling the way you pulsated around him. Blood relentlessly rushed to your center and head, creating an intoxicating swirl of emotions in your system. When Joel curled his fingers the slightest bit, using just enough force to tap the pads against your walls, your lips parted instinctively and your hands dropped to his wrist.

"Joel," you howled, pushing against his hand to make him go deeper, which physically wasn't possible, to your misfortune.

"Sweetheart. Hands to yourself, alright?" Joel's stern voice cut through the mushiness of your brain. Then, he snatched your wrists and pinned them onto your stomach. "They stay right 'ere, okay?"

You nodded slowly and accepted defeat. Instead, you sprawled your hands across your torso, occasionally squeezing your own flesh when Joel's slow pumps became a little faster or more forceful.

"How's that, darlin'? Need me to go faster?" he asked a while later, now missing the harshness in his tone, which was to your delight. The last thing you wanted for tonight was to piss him off and ruin the peace of the evening, risking your chances of getting exactly what you wanted.

"No, like that, Joel. Like that, please."

"Good… Look at ya. C'mon, you can look now. Look how your pussy's takin' my fingers. They fit perfectly. An' she's so greedy, isn't she? She been waitin' for it all day?"

"Yes," you replied truthfully, remembering how you had lain in bed this morning, Joel already gone, but your cunt throbbing so disturbingly that you had wished he would turn around on his horse and come back to fuck you senseless. "I missed you so bad… Please, daddy, just—please make it go away."

His lips pressed against your hairline, devouring your scent, as he brought his thumb to your bundle of nerves that had been pretty neglected so far. Yet you had felt too shy to tell him what to do since he had been quite zealously requesting you to just take what he was willing to give you.

"Want me to make the pain go away… 'Cause only daddy can do that, right? Your own fingers can't do it. Only daddy can… And you only want your daddy's fingers on that pretty pussy…" Joel slowly thrust his fingers into you, pointing out once more what parts of your body were his alone. At the same time, his breathing quickened just like yours did, his brow damp with sweat and his eyes darkened, just like they always were when Joel was deeply caught up in pleasure. He wanted you badly, and to be desired by someone who felt the same way was truly one of the greatest experiences you could imagine.

"I'm close, daddy," you whimpered, your walls fluttering around his digits, which hit you so deeply that your stomach coiled hotly every single time he nudged against your cervix. How were his fingers so impossibly long? How did he curl them just right, and how did he—

"Hold it."

Your eyes flew open, sheer startlement etched into your expression.

"What?" you asked.

"Hold it, babygirl. You can do it."

Yes, you could, but that wasn't the part that stood out to you.

Your only question was why. Why did Joel order you to hold back when your orgasm was right there in front of you, waiting to be grasped? He was so tender with you tonight, the perfect teddy bear you just wanted to wrap your arms around and be buried underneath—

"Or can you not?" Joel muttered quietly, his thumb stalling along your clit like a threat.

"No, I can, I just—I thought I—" you stammered, hips stirring to invite him to continue his touch.

"You thought what?"

With glossy eyes, you glared up at him, putting all your longing and submissiveness into your stance.

"Will you not let me cum, daddy?"

"I haven't decided about that yet."

He couldn't have put it more disappointingly. Well, a strict no would have been even more terrible, but this came pretty close.

"But daddy, I… I was good," you whined, feeling a big lump in your throat. At least he continued his play between your legs, flicking your clit to the side and pushing his fingers inside you, though at a slower pace.

"I know you were… I didn't say it was a punishment, did I?"

Just because you don't call it one doesn't mean it isn't one, you thought, but didn't say out loud. Speaking up certainly wouldn't enhance your chances of climaxing anytime soon. Besides, maybe he was right, and you just needed to trust him. What if this was all part of some big master plan, which would eventually reward you majestically?

"Just relax… Just lemme play with 'er for a bit," Joel sighed, adjusting on his side while he trailed his thumb through your folds. "I love playin' with 'er, you know that? And my pretty baby always gets so sensitive after she's come. Complains and says she wants me to fuck 'er. So… why don't we take a little bit of time? We got all the time in the world… And I think she's much too pretty and sweet and wet to stop right now."

For some reason, it sounded like a warning to you, though you couldn't decide if you were being overdramatic. He didn't even bother to ask you for a response, but just rubbed your clit in tight circles while you struggled to let enough air into your lungs. You squirmed on the bed, which made Joel snake his arm around your shoulder, pressing you into his chest and effectively keeping you in place while he continued his torturous toying with your core. Obviously, it felt amazing, but as you grew closer to your high within a few minutes, you reached for his arm, panic-struck, chewing on your tongue.

"Daddy. I—I'm close."

"Hold it," he uttered shallowly, pressing his thumb into your clit with so much force that you whimpered like a pained dog.

"Hold it, baby," he repeated at your noise, though his tone was a lot gentler than his words felt, twisting into your flesh.

"I can't, I—" Your muscles slackened, and it took you a heartbeat to understand that he had let go.

"No," you immediately cried out, blindly searching for his wrist, but you only grasped air. "Please. Please, daddy, I need it. You can't—"

"Shh…" your boyfriend hushed you, threading his fingers through your hair while rubbing your inner thighs.

"You can. You can take it, babygirl."

"I need to cum." At this point, your eyes were damp from all the frustration bundled up within you, but Joel just gently kissed the skin between your eyebrows.

"You will, if you're gonna be good. I know you need to cum, but you will cum when daddy allows you. You know that."

Since you didn't know what to say against that, you did your best to lie still as your boyfriend connected his thumb with your clit again, seemingly thinking that you were ready to be touched without the danger of climaxing on the spot.

He kept touching you like that, sometimes solely focusing on your bundle of nerves, while other times, he slid his thick fingers inside you. Or, of course, doing both at the same time.

You could have burst into tears at how good it felt, but also how mean he was with you. If only he were consistent, at least. If Joel treated you harshly, making his face appear rigid and austere, you would have known that he was mad and making you suffer on purpose. This way, you were just confused. Was he mad and wanted to taunt you, or was it just a harmless, fun little game to him?

"Daddy," you pleaded at some point, stretching your limbs away from you like you were trying to get rid of the tension within you, but none of it worked. Not the way a redeeming orgasm would have, at least. As he didn't answer, you tried again.

"Please. Please, I've been good."

You didn't know how long Joel had kept you on the edge, but what you knew was that whatever force was able to keep you together was fading away. At times, he drove you so far that you could already taste the sweet pleasure on your tongue, and it took all your willpower and physical strength not to let go. But Joel just pressed a hand over your palm, silencing you as he teasingly circled your hole.

"Just a 'lil longer, sweetheart. You're doin' so well right now. All I need ya to do is keep your legs open 'n' hold back. Just relax… Just enjoy it. And daddy's makin' you feel good right now, isn't he?"

Well, he was, in some way. But the fact that you knew he wouldn't permit you to receive the much-anticipated release caused a grey shadow to hang over everything and consequently even made his touch feel a little bland.

"Please," you cried against his palm, sensing a few hot tears streaming down your face. It seemed as though he hadn't made out what you were whimpering, but Joel did see the wetness.

"No reason to cry, babygirl…" he growled, sounding so genuine and loving that you were sure you had finally broken through his merciless demeanor.

"Why are you cryin', mhm?" he whispered against your temple, lifting his hand a little so that you could take proper breaths through your mouth. "You're doing so good right now. Letting me touch that pretty pussy… Just hear the sounds she's making for daddy. She loves it. And you love it too, right?"

"Wanna cum," you mumbled indistinctly, though it came off a bit clearer than your previous pleas.

"My greedy little girl…" Joel chuckled softly. "S'not all about coming."

"But I can't—I can't hold it back, it's—it's too much, daddy, please."

Your pussy clenched hard around his fingers, desperately trying to control the warm liquid pooling in your stomach. If you gave up on your concentration for a mere second, you would make it snap, cum around his fingers, disappoint Joel— He let go again.

Your back arched, hands pushing against his thigh, but he just grabbed them and pushed them onto the mattress.

"Uh uh… Not like that, babygirl, where are your manners? You use your voice when you got somethin' to say."

He kissed your scalp, trying to ground you, his finger drawing a few vague circles on your stomach.

"I thought you would be nice," you sniffled, lips trembling with frustration.

"Oh sweetheart… Am I not nice for giving that pretty pussy so much attention?"

"You know what I'm talking about…" you huffed and flinched when Joel gently tapped his thumb against your swollen clit, which felt like it was about to let go of all this tension at the slightest brush against it.

"But I just love that she's so responsive. You can't possibly blame me, darlin'… S'not my fault she's so tempting… It just makes it hard to stop, you know?"

With that, he was on you again, and if you weren't mistaken, Joel was even faster and more eager to stimulate you as best as he could. At some point, he even pounded your opening with so much force that his palm smacked against your folds, the noises bouncing off the ceiling above you.

When you thought about it later, you didn't know how you could have avoided the outcome. Not just your body was on fire, utterly undercurrent and wobbly, but so was your mind. You couldn't think about anything other than his hand trapped between your legs, couldn't think of the future or the past, and only ran the thought of finally finding relief through your head over and over again. And Joel was well aware of how mushy and messy your brain usually became. So actually, he was the one to blame, right?

In any case, you weren't capable of restraining yourself anymore at some point, and involuntarily let go. You hadn't meant to let it happen, but with Joel relentlessly shoving his digits in and out of you, stretching you deliciously and massaging your insides in such a precise, pointed way, you couldn't stop it.

"Fuck," you cursed airily, briefly buckling and driving your toes into the sheets before coming down from your high faster than you usually did. For one, Joel had instantly stopped his play with your cunt the second that he had noted the signs, and also, it didn't take long for the guilt to set in.

"Fuck…" you whined again, though this time it wasn't pleasure-driven, but the result of your bad conscience.

"I'm sorry. I'm sorry, daddy," you quickly added, tilting your chin up at the stiffness in his features. There were hard lines around his eyes, his lips thin, and his hands hovering an inch or two away from your legs, which made you feel like you weren't worthy of his touch any longer after disappointing him in such a significant way.

"On your stomach."

"Daddy, I—"

"On your stomach."

He withdrew his hands, pointing to the sheets.

"You can choose if you wanna bend over my lap or stay here. I assume you're gonna choose the second option."

Despite your body shivering with worry and new tears drenching your waterline, you had to admit that Joel was right. Being laid out across his lap meant you had much less freedom to move, which was why you preferred to be on the bed while he knelt next to you.

"I'm sorry," you sobbed like there was still any way out of this, slowly moving into position.

"Quiet."

The word carved through your flesh like a knife, and you wished you could turn back time and give yourself a few slaps on your cheek. The worst part about it wasn't the spanking, even though you just knew that Joel wouldn't show any clemency, but how you had failed and upset him.

"How many do you think you deserve?" His voice was a little darker, thick with anger and even something cold and distant, which you hated more than anything.

"I… I don't know, I—I'm sorry, I swear, I tried—" A loud smack interrupted you, and a split second later, hot, pungent pain was flooding through your backside.

"Answer. The question," Joel spat and rubbed your skin where he had swatted you.

"Five?" you whimpered, fisting the sheets because you knew that you would need it.

"Let's make it ten. Jesus… You're a little slut, you know that? An ungrateful, spoiled little princess who takes everything she gets for granted." Joel brushed over your cheeks as if to explore the flesh he was about to mark with his hand. "I'm too fuckin' nice to ya. Playing with your pussy… letting her drip all over the fucking sheets only for you to disobey the one order I gave you."

Smack. You jolted forward, away from him, but he immediately pulled you back by your hips.

"Now, where do you think you're goin'… Mhm? I'm not done here yet. Count, you ungrateful brat."

"O-One," you stuttered, closing your eyes to brace yourself for the next one out of so many—too many—but he wasn't done talking yet.

"Stupid, silly girl… We could've gotten along so well tonight. You were doing so good, but then… I know what happened… I can tell ya what happened. Your little brain shut off and you turned into a mindless, stupid kitten. S'how you got yourself here."

"But you—" you started, but were cut off at once by his large palm landing hard on your left cheek.

"Owww," you whined, feet kicking the air and eyes pinched shut.

"I know, baby. I know it hurts. But this is what you deserve. Count. I'm not gonna remind you again."

"Two."

Tears soaked the pillow your face was pressed against, and even though you couldn't breathe so freely, you were glad that you could hide away in it.

"You cum when I tell you to and you don't disobey my fucking commands."

Three.

"You use that 'lil brain of yours and do as I say. You're not gonna get your soft, kind daddy when you behave like a little whore."

Four.

"It's hurtin' now 'cause you didn't play by my rules. That's what punishment means. Next time I'm gonna play with your little cunt, you're gonna remember this and make more of an effort."

Five. You sobbed without holding back anything, and didn't even bother to try and turn away from him when he grabbed a fistful of your hair and forced you to meet his gaze.

"Do you wanna use your safeword, babygirl?" he muttered, his tone warmer now to ensure that you knew there would be no consequences if you said yes, that he would stop at once, let you go, and cradle you in his arms like nothing had happened in the first place.

"N-No," you stammered hollowly, licking over your brittle lips that you were continuously biting down on.

"Are you sure? You say it, and I stop. This is a punishment. But you still got control over everything, you know that, right?"

"Yes."

Joel threw you one last doubtful glance, but then released your hair, allowing you to bury your face in the pillow again.

"Alright…" he murmured and, by the sound of it, rubbed his palms together. "Remember to count. And goddamnit, stop crying."

You wished you could steer your tear ducts like that. Instead of listening to your body's wants, more salty wetness collected in the corners of your eyes without pause, then trickled onto your cheeks before wetting the pillow. By the time you had reached eight, Joel had to hold you down with a hand between your shoulder blades, and when you had just survived the ninth hit, you dropped to the side, knees pulled to your chest.

"No, baby, no…" Joel soothed you, snatched the back of your neck, and pulled you back into place, splayed out in front of him.

"You wanna say it?" he asked again, patiently brushing the hair aside so that he could keep his firm grip around your neck.

"N-No," you whispered, holding onto the thought that the next one would be the final one. You could do this. You had gotten through nine spanks, even though you had wondered how you were going to survive this after the first one.

"Okay, sweetheart. Last one now. And I want you to remember that we all got so much more fun if you're a good girl and don't get on my fucking nerves with your disobedience."

Smack.

Your skin was already red and raw, which made the sensation even more nerve-prickling and painful. There was a wildfire spreading across your cheeks, and the worst part about it was that it didn't just burn right where he had delivered the slap, but on your whole backside.

With a squeal, you finally released the sheets you had held onto so desperately and pushed your head into the cushion with so much force that you couldn't see nor smell anything other than Joel's aftershave, which had contaminated every set of linen. It surely had something comforting about it.

When you felt a sting on your pussy, you jolted, pressing your legs together, but now there was no need for it anymore. It seemed as though he had also given one spank to your folds and your clit, which had been responsible for your loss of control in the first place. But then it was over, and Joel hauled you up by your bicep, turning you onto your back and forcing you to look at him even though your face was probably a mess. Your mascara was running down your cheeks, your eyes were rimmed and puffy, and you probably had sweat all over your face, old sweat from while Joel had fingered you, and new from while he had slapped the shit out of you.

"It's okay, princess…" he cooed, helped you up, and tugged you against his chest. "It's okay. It's over, baby. It's over, you did it. You were so brave for me, angel, good girl."

He kissed the top of your head again and again, stroking your scalp and whispering words of comfort in your ear, which didn't all reach you. But most of them did, and it really helped you a lot with your distressed state of mind. Soon, your crying died down, and a little later, you raised your head from his collarbone, grabbing the sides of his face just to feel him and the stiff hairs against your palms.

"Daddy," you whimpered when he connected his left palm with your blazing cheek, the other remaining on the small of your back.

"I know. It's gonna be fine. You don't gotta do anything right now. It's over. And you learned your lesson, didn't you?"

Slowly nodding, you traced the contours of his stubble.

"I knew you would. And now I'm not angry with you any longer. 'Cause you took it and I know you're gonna do better for your daddy next time."

"Daddy, please," you panted, causing Joel's eyebrows to shoot up.

"What is it, doll?"

"Please fuck me, daddy. Please."

He laughed out loudly, tightening his hold around you to lift you a little higher until you were straddling his hips.

"You want me to fuck you, little one?"

"Yes," you sniveled, wiping your nose with the back of your hand.

"I'm not so sure about that…" Joel allusively glanced down at your running nose and those swollen eyes, but your chin jutted forward at his words, resolution shimmering in your facial expression.

"I want you to. Please, daddy."

"And what about that pretty little butt, mhm? S'gonna hurt ya to lay down on your back, babygirl."

As if to prove it to you, he ran a hand up your thigh, which made you flinch away the moment he met the sore curve of your ass.

"You see? I think you need to rest, pretty lady."

"And if I ride you?" you whispered, placing your hands on his shoulders and pawing at his tendons.

"Darlin'…" Joel hummed, though he looked a lot less appalled by the idea than he had before. "You sure you can do that? You sure you want it?"

You gave him a nod.

"You sure you're not too tired? It's gonna be exhausting."

But you had already made up your mind, smitten by the thought of closing the night by feeling him inside you. Perhaps you just didn't want the day to end like that, you disappointing Joel and him delivering a spanking to you, which had ended with a crying attack from your side. Before you would allow yourself to rest, you wanted to be with him again while doing it right this time. And hopefully, he would cum inside you at last. Yes, then you would be able to get a nice, relaxing sleep.

"Please, daddy," you muttered, cleaning your face of the last traces of tears your skin was coated in and blissfully smiling at him.

"Alright, kitten. Hop on."

Joel quickly moved to the end of the bed, sitting with his back against the wall. Then he manhandled you on top of him, and you could immediately sense in the way he was holding you that you wouldn't be the one to do all the work on your own. He avoided brushing against your sore backside and rather clutched his hands around your waist, keeping you hovering a few inches above his center while you glared down.

"Okay, baby. Slowly, alright? We're gonna do this slowly."

You nodded and felt both relieved and sulky about his instructions. On one hand, you had to admit that you were incredibly tired and probably would have preferred to go slowly either way, but on the other hand, you wanted to feel him so badly you couldn't wait to take him in as fast as you could. Still, you obeyed his request, with the punishment you had just received right there at the top of your mind. Joel assisted you with lining himself up with your hole, and you sank down on him and nearly choked on your spit.

"Oh," you made, mouth agape and hands frantically moving all over Joel's chest as he was buried all the way inside you, your pussy and his cock throbbing in the same rhythm, if you weren't mistaken.

"Good girl. Just stay like that for a while."

"Yes, daddy…" you mumbled, your lids feeling so heavy all of a sudden. Had you been feeling like that just now? Gosh, you couldn't even lift a single finger.

"Sweetheart…" Joel chuckled, pinching your chin between two fingers with little force.

"I'm sorry, daddy… I'm just—so tired." You had weakly opened your eyes again, but you realized that your body felt a lot better keeping them closed.

"I see… You don't wanna move?" Joel asked you and shifted you on his lap until your chin was resting on his shoulder, his mouth so close to your ear you could hear the slightest alterations in his tone.

"N-No… Just… So—tired."

"That's okay, baby. That's alright. How about you just stay like this? Do you like having my cock inside you? Just like that?"

You nodded and would have liked to tell him that you believed you could fall asleep like that, but you didn't have the strength to move your tongue.

"Yes," you just whispered, hoping that your boyfriend would understand anyway.

"Okay, kitten… How about you just rest for a while with my cock inside ya. My pretty girl is tired… So you should relax. Sleep, if you want to."

"But Joel, I—" you started, feeling beyond a little guilty for asking Joel to fuck you multiple times and then collapsing after the very first thrust.

"It's okay," he cut you off, nudging your head closer against the crook of his neck. "It's okay. I'mma stay right here. With my cock warmin' ya. Just rest for a bit. And then we see what's gonna happen the rest of the day."

You still felt a bit bad while you closed your eyes again, breathing steadily with Joel's hand traveling up and down your back.

It is way too hot outside to be doing anything but laying in an ice bath, yet here you are leaving at 9am for your shift. The walk to the bus stop isn’t bad, but it does mean you have to walk by Joel’s house.

Joel.

He never followed through on that promise of taking you out for dinner, but it’s only been a month since that night. The two of you had been friendly in passing, since it’s hard to avoid one another, but you can see the avoidance in his eyes. A little while ago you looked up when “neighbours day” was, remembering how he said to let him know. But, it turns out that’s all the way in May, and it’s currently July… So. 

So you’ve been avoiding each other a little. That’s fine, it was a weird situation for the two of you to find yourselves in. You stared at Joel’s grey-blue truck when it rolled back down the street that night, the headlights flashing yellow on your walls. The hand resting on your chin still smelled like him, like his dick. 

Honestly, everything on you smelled like him for a little while, your shirt especially, but also your skin. Joel wouldn’t leave you alone, even though he physically was. Watching him from your window started to become an obsession, seeing the sweat soak through his t-shirt when he’d mow the lawn on the weekends. You couldn’t stop watching him, remembering how needy he was.

Your achy need for him was a constant at night, only competing for dominance over your mind by wondering how needy Joel was.

Nothing could drive the memory of his whimpers and groans out of your mind, the throb of his cock in your hand, and the way his hands twitched and grasped at nothing when he came. It would attack you at random times throughout the day, especially when you were on the bus coming home from work. Most of your days are boring, repetitive. The same texts from your mom, the same job, the same… everything. Joel was the most exciting thing for you, but that was short lived. It was just one evening.

It’s kind of fucked up how you just have to move on, sweaty palmed every morning as you pass by Joel’s house. It isn’t even like he’s home when you walk by, he starts work at around 8am. You would know because Tommy’s truck is noisy as all hell, it works great as a last minute alarm. 

Or at least he isn’t usually home. 

“Mornin’ darlin,” calls Joel as you step off your porch. 

His voice is just as warm and sweet as ever, like the sun today if it were kinder, but there’s an extra cheerful lilt in it. Turning your head, you see Joel still in his pajamas. It’s a weekday, so that’s odd, but what’s more odd is that he’s hanging balloons outside. 

A light grey wife pleaser stretches around his torso, showing off his thick arms and shoulders. This is not something you’ve seen Joel wear before, but he must have slept in it if the plaid pajama pants are anything to go by. 

It’s the polite thing to do to go over there and say hello, right? That’s what your mom would want you to do, to be neighborly. You’re not going over there to check him out. That would be crazy.

Crossing the grass from your house to his is easy, but spit is all caught in your throat by the time you get over to him. Jesus, are you drooling? 

“Hi Joel,” you manage to reply to his greeting as he tapes another balloon up to the overhang of his garage, “what are the balloons for?”

He grunts as he twists to fix the tape, the balloon nearly falling on his head. The way he’s stretching up is making the wife pleaser stretch up, exposing the skin of his waist. Your fingers twitch, wanting to touch there again. It makes your mind spin, thinking about how your hands have been there, that he knows what it’s like to have you on him. An explicit secret that neither of you share. You wish he was facing the other way so you could see his tummy, the plushness of it was so comfy against your arm.

“S’for Sarah,” he finally responds, turning to face you. 

And oh… oh that’s why he’s so damn happy. He had talked about it in passing a few times during the small talk you had made. Sarah’s birthday was in July and she planned on coming home for it, Joel was so bright everytime he talked about it. His smile is so much bigger when he talks about his daughters.

“Is she coming home today?” You ask, shifting on your feet. Joel nods, tearing off another piece of tape with his teeth.

“Uh-huh, pickin’ her up around noon. We’re doin’ a dinner tonight,” he says. You can see how his eyes are a little unfocused, excited. He sticks the tape to the knot of the balloon and starts to continue his sentence, but is cut off by the front door opening.

The sound catches your attention, your eyes flicking to the door. You didn’t see his truck in the driveway, but there’s Tommy Miller in all his glory.

You won’t lie to yourself, the Miller family clearly has good genetics. Tommy’s got these gorgeous waves in his black hair, and a charming smile too. But, he isn’t nearly as soft as Joel is. Not a player, but Joel’s been worn in by 2 daughters and a divorce, like a well loved plushie. Tommy hasn’t been worn in by anything, in fact he’s known for wearing things out. As much as you’ve heard the whispers at neighborhood events, the other Miller brother has never interested you. Tommy, of course, has shown interest in you once or twice. A few bottles in and he’ll talk to anything.

Today though, Tommy is behaving. He flashes you a kind smile, and nods.

“Hey neighbor-girl,” he greets.

You almost snort. You know Tommy knows your name, but he’s being weird. Did Joel tell him? Probably not. Do brothers share that sort of information? You’re getting sweaty again–

“Saw the flowers y’bought Ole Joel,” Tommy grins, “thought maybe his ex’d dropped by.”

Oh. Oh thank god. Thank god the flowers gave it away.

Joel snorts and then scowls at Tommy, shaking his head. He mutters something about you “having a name,” and suddenly all you can hear is the blood in your veins. A hot rush flies over you, but you’re flushed from the sun anyways. What difference will a blush make? It’s not that obvious. 

Distracted with your anxiety around the two, you barely realize that Tommy is scolding Joel now.

“S’nice girl gave you flowers and y’ain’t even invited her to the dinner tonight?” Tommy scoffs, folding his arms over his chest. Your eyes flash to his arms and Jesus does being brothers mean you’re both built as fuck? 

“Tommy,” Joel says, voice tight, “I was midway through a conversation with’er. Was just about to.”

They exchange a look you can’t really decipher. Tommy raises his eyebrows and Joel curls his lip in response. Then, Tommy turns on his heel and goes back in the house.

The heat outside is already uncomfortable, but now you feel awkward. You didn’t realize that Joel would invite you to something. Maybe he didn’t even want to, he just didn’t want to look like an asshat in front of Tommy. Joel looks sheepish in his pajamas, downturned frown neutralizing to a softer smile. He breathes in to speak, but now you don’t want his invite.

“Joel,” you say quietly, “you don’t have to invite me. I’d hate to intrude on your family time with Sarah.” 

You really thought that you’d want to speak to Joel after all this time, but this feels humiliating. A pity invite to his daughter’s birthday dinner? It’s not what you expected, or wanted. As much as you’d like to see Sarah, something about it feels wrong. What would you say?

“Hey, it's been awhile. How’s college been? Good! Aw, I’m glad. Yeah last time I saw your dad I jerked him off. Oh, you’re in STEM?”

No, that’s not what you want. He looks like he’s going to protest, but you have to shut him down. You’ve never really spoken to his other daughter, Ellie. It feels like a nightmare waiting to happen.

“I’m just your neighbor,” you wave your hand, as if you could make this go away.

Joel’s brows furrow, his mustache curling back downwards with his frown. Skittishly, his eyes flick away.

“I… I’d like it if y’came. Even if we’re just neighbors,” Joel says. He seems embarrassed about inviting you, a red hue glowing beneath the sweat on his neck. 

Alone, in front of the garage, it feels like he’s under you again. Why is he so shy? So bashful? Something in you is frustrated. You’ve been waiting for a month for any scraps, anything more than neighborly chit-chat, and now you have to turn him down. Doesn’t he realize you’ve been waiting for him? 

You don’t want to be just neighbors with this Joel, you want more. You want to know him more than just as “hot-single-dad-next-door.”

You want to know him the way you did when you were behind him on the couch.

But… Maybe this is Joel. You saw the pictures all over his house, and he runs a company with his brother. Family is clearly everything to him, and even if this isn’t a dinner-date like he promised, this is something more. It’s closer for him, this is his own version of pulling you in.

Besides, your mom would want you to say yes. It’s polite, right?

You concede to Joel’s wishes, as much as you want something else. He smiles really big when you agree, a shy “okay” leaving you. It’s not like you could ignore him anyways, not with the way his wife pleaser is stretched around him so… pleasingly.

He tells you that there’s a colour theme of black and blue, since Sarah wants everyone to match in the pictures. Joel starts to blab about what a good photographer she is, but you actually shut him down this time, so as to not miss your bus.

—

Somehow, standing on Joel’s porch is a lot worse than last time. You don’t have a bunch of flowers for your neighborly crush, or a set of hands to ease his back. All you have is the guilt in your gut for showing up at his daughter’s birthday dinner. 

It took you almost 45 minutes to pick an outfit. He mentioned blue and black, but didn’t mention what shade of blue. Everything you had felt either too dressy, or was literally pajamas. Eventually you found something that worked, but now you’re in your own head. Will Joel think this is nice? Does Joel even think you’re pretty in the first place? You can’t remember, your mind is blanking. 

Jesus, chill out. You’re going over for dinner, and this isn’t even about you. 

Swallowing the saliva in your mouth, you knock.

“I’ll get it!!” A voice yells from inside. Not Joel’s.

Tommy grins at you after he swings open the door. He’s done his hair back, instead of tying it back, and he’s wearing a blue and black, plaid, flannel. The Miller brothers seem to have a flannel for every occasion. 

“Well helloo Neighbor-Girl,” Tommy greets. His smile is devious as he stands in the doorway. 

Loud footsteps rush up behind Tommy and he’s suddenly being yanked out of your view by a hand. 

“Christ, Tommy, leave’er alone.” Joel grunts.

He isn’t wearing a flannel, which surprises you. His usual casual clothes have been replaced by a nice, black, western shirt. The stitching across the chest is done in black as well. Not unlike Tommy, is his slicked back hair. It’s short still, but it looks good pushed back. 

He tells you to keep your shoes on as he leads you to the backyard. You can’t keep your eyes off him as he and Tommy walk ahead of you. That black shirt, stretched across his back, the curls that lick upwards where his hair isn’t slicked. God, he looks stupidly good.

The house looks about the same. Same couch where you jerked him off, same table where the flowers used to sit, same pictures of his family on the walls. Everything feels different. Why doesn’t it look different?

Finally your eyes reach the backyard, and it looks magical. Various lights have been set up to create a relaxed atmosphere, with some comfortable lawn furniture set up on the deck. The barbecue is clearly cooking something, and Tommy walks to it automatically. 

Sarah and Ellie seem to be giggling to themselves, hunched over in secrecy. The sisters whisper to one another, but part once they see you.

“Hi,” Ellie says immediately, her bright eyes looking at you excitedly. You greet her in return, then wish Sarah a happy birthday.

She’s wearing a matching shirt to Joel’s, which is adorable. You know for a fact that Joel wouldn’t dress up past a button up or flannel for most occasions, meaning Sarah probably begged him for this. Even the wash of their jeans are the same. 

You’re just about to strike up a conversation with the two girls when Joel comes up behind you and squeezes your upper arm gently.

“‘M sittin’ over there, if you’d like to join,” he motions to an outdoor couch identical to the one Sarah and Ellie are sitting on.

It’s close enough that you could go back to talking with the girls, but once you’ve sat down beside Joel, they’re back to giggling. 

—

It feels like everybody knows.

This fear from earlier has manifested in front of your eyes, this awful anxiety growing. You could barely finish your food, even though it was delicious. Your mouth is dry all the time, you can’t stop drinking water. You hyperfocus on every little action you take, feeling crazy,

Tommy has been staring at you like he’s holding a secret, his eyes seem to say “I know something you don’t,” and every time you turn your back Sarah and Ellie are giggling again. For them, you try to cut some slack. Ellie is a teen, and Sarah isn’t a lot older than her, they’re young girls, of course they’re giggling. It’s Tommy who’s making you anxious, especially with the scolding scowls that Joel keeps sending him. 

The conversations are fine once you stop eating, mostly with you listening and observing the dynamic in the family. Tommy talks about this recent client he and Joel have been working with as you all eat cake, but it’s hard to focus when it feels like everybody knows what you did.

Joel seems to notice this anxiety over the course of the night, looking at you with mild concern a few times. He even asks if you’re alright at some point, holding the “darlin” for once, and you just tell him you had a rough day at work. Total lie, the only rough thing about this day is how you feel like you’re going to throw up all your food anytime someone in his family starts to perceive you.

Later in the evening, Joel rests his hand on your knee when he reaches for his beer, and you flinch. He seems caught off guard by this, but luckily nobody else notices. His eyes are apologetic as he looks at you, all brown and sappy.

Shame is burning in your veins. He’s invited you here to spend this special night with his daughter and family. He's been so kind to feed you too, but now you’ve made him feel weird too. It feels like your anxiety is leaking out of your pores, a haze of guilt clouding your mind and flooding his. Joel hasn’t seemed bothered at all tonight, or at least he hasn’t shown it. 

But there he is, accommodating you as he leans a little closer and asks;

“S’gettin’ late. I could walk y’home.”

There he is, there’s your Joel. Your Joel, the one who you know as a caring man. In any other situation this would feel like someone politely requesting you leave the party early, but not with Joel. He’s conscious of your emotions, and he can tell you’re too overwhelmed to be here anymore. There’s your sweet boy, reeling you in before it gets to be too much.

You only nod in response.

It’s a few more minutes before you get out of there, with Tommy and Ellie stacking copious amounts of leftovers for you onto paper plates, lidding them with tin foil. You use this time to talk a little with Sarah, asking about her time in college. She’s happy to share with you, and you can see Joel in her. She has the welcoming energy, the same warmth in her that pools in her eyes. Even without the outfits they would match. 

Ellie, however, must be spending too much time with Tommy. They both wear shit eating grins as they hand you the stack of plates stuffed with leftovers, with Tommy asking you to “Come back anytime.”

Blood rushes to your face fast, and you toddle off to the door quickly after saying thank you.

—

The air on the porch is cooler, but your adrenaline is making you run hot. You want to stop sweating, but all the looks and giggles and comments from the night are running through your mind repeatedly. What did they know? How did they know? Joel wouldn’t tell them anything like that, would he? Thank God you didn’t stay long enough to be in those pictures that Sarah wanted to take. 

The front door thuds shut a moment later. Joel’s steps fall heavy behind you, then he’s beside you. He’s barely touched you tonight, and even now he keeps his distance. You’re glad for it, you couldn’t have handled it anyways.

You both walk the short distance to your house, using the pathway rather than cutting through the grass like you usually do. It feels like you should be enjoying these extra seconds of time with him, but all you feel is embarrassed.

He breathes in the cool air of the summer night through his nose, chest puffing, then blows it out.

“I am so, so, fuckin’ sorry,” he says.

It takes you off guard immediately. You felt like you were acting crazy all night just by your own overthinking, but it was also fuelled by Joel’s non-chalantness about everything. He didn’t seem to notice anything all night but you and how anxious you were. This feels like the start of a conversation, so you put the leftovers down on the bottom step of your porch. 

“I– Ellie, when I brought her home after you were over last,” he begins, “she got home and saw the flowers right away. I told her not to make nothin’ of it, but she went and rattled off to Sarah and Tommy.”

Oh, okay. It was just the flowers. That’s good, at least they think you’re a lovesick loser, rather than the neighborhood floozy. 

“I told them to act right tonight, begged’em to. The three of’em have been torturing me about it, I think it’s why I avoided you,” Joel admits quietly. 

He’s doing it again, soothing your worries without meaning to. He’s a cooling balm on your burning brain, a sense of sanity cleansing you. 

Joel wasn’t ashamed of what happened between you two, his family was just being shitstirrers about him receiving flowers. It wasn’t on purpose, and most importantly–

“I’m really sorry, angel. I should have called or– or somethin. Askin’ you to come tonight was askin’ for trouble from them. My daughter’s birthday ain’t makin’ up for shit, ‘specially not when they’re actin’ like that.”

An apology. Joel Miller seemed like a solid man before, one that was dependable, polite, and kind, but now he seems near-perfect. He’s taking accountability, admitting how he acted and why, and apologizing. No wonder he has two incredible daughters, both of whom love him dearly. 

You stand there for a minute, a little speechless. You can’t remember a time that a man apologized to you and seemed to really mean it, or at least understand what he did wrong. But there’s Joel, in his black western shirt that’s rolled up his thick forearms, eyes soft and sorry as he looks at you in the blue-black night. He’s not like any man you’ve met before, not like your dad, friends back home, or your ex-boyfriend. 

Tonight isn’t like any night you’ve had in Texas so far, but for so many different reasons. You’ve had a few weird nights, sure. Like what you shared with Joel, or the time you took the wrong bus home and got lost downtown, but it’s weird in a good way.

Tonight, you get to accept an apology from a man who truly seems sorry. Who’s admitted his wrongs, explained what happened, and more than that he’s been earnest about it. You didn’t have to beg for this apology, or argue why he should apologize. He did that on his own, made up his mind, and said sorry like a real man would. 

It’s hard to make up your mind on what to do though, whether you should throw yourself at him and kiss him dizzy, or to just say “It’s alright, no hard feelings.”

You settle somewhere in the middle, taking his hands into your own. Your thumb pads rest in the centre of his palms, pushing down and massaging his hands. 

“It’s okay,” you say finally, voice unsteady. 

Joel isn’t at fault for his family being devious and obviously way too interested in his love life. What he is at fault for, is avoiding you. Brave enough to apologize, pussy enough to avoid the girl he likes. You keep talking.

“I wish you would have spoken to me about this, it made me feel awkward,” you tell him.

He looks up from your joined hands then, looking at you face on. Shame is painting his features, but he’s trying to be courageous, you can tell.

There is no “I know I should have,” or “I’m sorry you felt that way.” Just his voice saying, “I’m sorry.”

No if’s, and’s, or but’s. He’s sorry without excuse or pride. 

The night air is still brisk on your skin, but Joel is warm everywhere. If you laid a hand onto his cheek you would feel hot flesh burning you back. His eyes flit from your own for a moment, decisive. 

“I’d really, really, like to have dinner with you sometime. I know tonight was a disaster, so I won’t be offended if y’say no, but… I wanna make this up to you.”

This feels so much realer than last time, like he’s gripping your heart in his hand and squeezing as it beats. Joel isn’t just saying this in passing after he’s come in your hand, he’s not awkward and politely asking to return a favor. Joel wants this, wants you, wants to have dinner with you. It probably should have occurred to you when he invited you to his daughter’s birthday dinner, but it’s only hitting you right now. No more pity invites, he wants this. 

Joel Miller wants this, he wants you, and he’s standing there with your hands in his, with his stupid soft eyes and with his heart on the line. He’s beautiful right now, standing with you as sorry as he can be. You’ll let him have this, he’s asking for it himself. Joel’s being so much braver this time around.

“I think we could do that,” you reply quietly.

His shoulders relax, brow unfurrowing. You can see the relief flood over him instantly, and he looks beautiful then too. 

It’s easy from there. Joel’s voice is so soft when he’s grateful, quiet as he thanks and arranges a date-night with you. The two of you decide that a night in would be fine, since Joel ends up working late pretty often. You’re fine with this, and would honestly rather have him to yourself anyways. No more prying eyes when you’re with him, no more over-bearing perceptions that make your brain fizzle out with anxiety. Just you and Joel. 

Admittedly, this silly crush on Joel began at a pretty surface level. Not shallow, but all you knew about him was that he was a hot dad and a nice guy. Now, though? Now he’s proven himself, shown you that there’s something in him that you can reach for. Everything’s bigger in Texas, but so far it’s only made you feel small. Being around Joel hushes you, like a kiss to a scrape. You want to know him deeper. 

He squeezes your hands, then drops them so you can pick up your leftovers. You feel a little shy turning your back to him as you make it up to your door, but then he speaks.

“You looked real pretty tonight, angel, more’n usual.”

You hope he can’t hear the squeak you make when the door shuts behind you.

—

It’s a few days later, and Joel is supposed to be coming soon. He warned that he’s been working late recently, that he probably won’t be off work until eight that evening. You don’t care, you made him dinner. 

It’s sitting in the kitchen, ready to be rewarmed when he gets to your house. It’s 8:30 now, he should be here soon. You’re tucked away on the couch, settled after recooling the house with your air conditioner. To be honest it should be illegal to cook during summers like this. You sweated so much you thought about taking another shower, but it wouldn’t have helped.

Besides, Joel’s showing up to your house in probably 10 minutes, sweaty and gross from work. It won’t be like you’re any grosser in comparison.

As predicted, he does show up ten minutes later. His hair is a mess and he smells like hard work, but it doesn’t matter.

Nothing matters when he’s in your doorway, toeing off his boots, and asking how your day was. Joel’s eyes keep shyly meeting yours as you lead him to your living room and turn to face him. He’s nervous, clearly, but it’s sweet. You’re both out of your element again, this time in your house instead.

Joel’s eyes flit around the room when he’s avoiding your eyes, taking in your home similar to how you did his when you were there not so long ago. You wonder what he’s thinking, hoping he doesn’t find you to be boring. He keeps clenching and unclenching his fists and laughing nervously, and you keep watching how his adam's apple bobs in his throat, and how he vibrates with his laughter. He looks puppylike in the soft light of your home, brown eyes glistening.

“Are you hungry?” You ask him, tilting your head upwards. He looks so huge in your little space.

Joel nods sheepishly, and so you lead him into the kitchen.

—

They say that the way to a man’s heart is through his stomach, and maybe Joel is the reason they say that. He groaned his way through dinner, with his eyes rolled back and compliments flying off his tongue when he wasn’t chewing. He listened to every word you said intently, taking his time with the food you had made. It had taken almost 40 minutes for him to finish that plate of food, and you saw just earlier that week how fast he could pound back a meal.

He’s savoring you with this silent praise you’ve never experienced.

And now he’s sat beside you on the couch, arm around your shoulders, and you’re snuggled back into him. The remote seems like a prop as you use it, aimlessly scrolling through a streaming service for a movie. Your thumbs are just rubbing over the rubber buttons now, your eyes focused on how his chest rises and falls. 

“I really don’t mind what you wanna watch, baby,” He says.

His voice seems so much nicer up close like this, when his face is just above yours and you’re beside him. 

“Or we don’t have to watch anything at all, we can just talk.”

How are you supposed to control yourself around him? How can he just walk into your home and fit right into your space, and look that good and be so warm? It feels like your bones are fighting against your skin to move, like the blood in your veins is yearning to jump rope. Joel is turning you on in a way you didn’t think possible, in a way where he’s never touched you, but you need him all at once. He’s softening the both of you.

It’s the middle of the hottest July of your entire life, but you’ve never felt warmer than right now.

“I’m sorry, was that weird? I jus’ like to hear you talk an–” Fuck he’s so nervous. Why is he so nervous? You want him loose and pliant again, like he was on the couch. 

“You should kiss me,” you blurt out. 

It’s funny how this is not the most insane thing you’ve suggested. The first crazy thing you suggested was “helping” him out with his boner when you went to his house on father’s day. 

Still, Joel is surprised. 

“You think so? I jus’ ate, I probably taste like food,” he says it like it’s an excuse.

You shift your body so you can face him better, chin tilted up so you can see his face. He’s not blushing, but he does seem surprised. This is much different than the embarrassed girl he walked home not even a week ago.

“Joel, I’m sure. I just– I don’t know, I’m sorry,” you bumble out.

He’s shaking his head, eyebrows pinched in that stupid way that makes his eyes look like a baby animals. 

“No, no, baby, it’s alright I’m just gross from work and I…” He drops eye contact with you. 

“I don’t want you to think that all I want from you is physical. You’re beautiful in a lot more ways than that.”

Fuck this guy, seriously. He’s so nervous, and clearly still thinks he’s fumbling this. Your bones are still vibrating, you’re so close to jumping out of your skin and into his. 

“Joel you’re incredible too, but I just really need you to kiss me,” you breathe. 

He seems to get it then. You clearly have deeper feelings, but after so long apart, and that disaster with his family, you’re pent up. Joel knows he’s kept you waiting long enough.

His first kiss is hesitant, just a small one that ends in a mumbled apology.

“S’been awhile,” he excuses before going back in.

And from there, it escalates. He’s controlled in his kisses, and seems to be avoiding tongue kissing you. Joel’s hesitancy from eating earlier is there, and you appreciate the courtesy. He makes it up though, when you push him further back on the couch and slide into his lap, arms looped around his neck.

Kisses are dotted from your lips, down your chin, and to the soft skin of your neck, where his mouth nips and kisses gently. Your hands are in his hair as you roll your head back, wanting to allow him however much space he needs to kiss you. There’s no hesitancy for either of you to be quiet, with him groaning as he smothers your neck in kisses, and you whining as he finds your sensitive points. 

It only takes a few ruts of your hips against his for him to be asking you if you want to go upstairs. He’s out of breath beneath you, cheeks flushed, and you can feel how hard he’s gotten.

“Y-yeah, my room,” you agree weakly, sliding off his lap.

Joel can barely keep his hands off you as you scamper up the stairs, grasping at your thighs and laughing softly when you squeak. 

It feels so juvenile, the way he grabs for you as soon as you enter your room. His lips are back on yours even as you try to tug up his shirt and he shakes his head slightly. 

“You first, I have a lot to make up for,” he mumbles, nodding his head towards the bed.

He undresses you once you’ve laid down, with eyes that drag over you in awe and pure attraction. Joel doesn’t mind your plain cotton undies, or the hairs that poke out the front. It’s sweet and homelike, it’s normal. 

He kisses where your hip bone is, murmuring into the fabric that covers it. 

“I really want to eat you out, beautiful. Is that okay with you?”

For the first time in this entire evening, his voice seems to sober you rather than intoxicate you more. Your lungs finally catch up with the rest of you, and you can breathe enough to get some actual oxygen into your brain, so you can think.

Obviously the answer should be yes, but you don’t feel totally comfortable with that yet. You’re not someone who prefers to be shaven, it’s inconvenient, but your bush is a little much even for you right now. On top of that, you’ve been sweating like crazy all day, so you don’t even wanna know what it’s like down there. And if you don’t wanna know what it’s like, then you don’t want Joel to know what it’s like, even if he really wants to.

So you shake your head.

Perfect boy he is, Joel nods and says “that’s alright, baby, thank you for bein’ honest,” as he slides back up your body after placing one more kiss on your hip bone. 

You are okay with him lifting your shirt off, and then unclipping your bra. He palms at your breasts lovingly, kissing them all over and lapping at your nipples. All of his touches are so gentle, but stupidly impactful. He seems to know that you don’t want this to be rough, that you enjoy his sweetness. He’s understanding you without even trying, and it feels like you’re being loved for the first time.

Joel is being careful in a way that doesn’t make you feel like you’re being overdramatic, or fragile. He’s watching your movements so he can do this right, but at the same time you’re getting impatient.

“Joel,” you pant as he sucks your nipple back into his mouth, “Joel, take your clothes off, please?”

He’s stupidly excited as he scrambles off your bed, tugging his jeans down and almost getting caught in his shirt when he pulls it off wrong. Joel touches his boxers and then looks at you with questioning eyes. This is where he hesitates.

“We can turn the lights off,” you offer gently. 

You remember his hesitancy on the couch, how he didn’t want you to look at him, to see him. It doesn’t matter if it’s dark in your room when this happens, so long as it’s him in the bed with you.

Joel turns and shuts the lights off, plunging the room into darkness for a moment before your eyes adjust. In another moment, you feel him on top of you again, his warm skin touching yours. It’s very lucky you cracked your window open earlier, so now your bedroom has become a manageable temperature. 

He’s comfortable on top of you, with his plush tummy pressing against the softness of your own. Your legs tangle as you struggle to strip your undies off, and you give up when they get caught around your ankle. His nose is pressed to your cheek as he just hovers above you for a second. 

“I know I said this earlier, but it really has been a long time,” he admits quietly. 

It shouldn’t warm your heart the way it does, but the idea of him not sharing himself with anyone for so long until you… it’s special. 

“That’s okay. Are you okay?” You ask.

He nods, from what you can feel, and then pulls back onto his knees. Joel isn’t totally visible in the light of your room, but he’s still gorgeous from what you can tell. The pouch of his tummy is so cute, so real, and you hope that you can bite it one day.

“I’m just going to prep you a little, is that okay darlin?” Joel says carefully, trailing a hand down your thigh.

Maybe from the outside this looks like two awkward people having sex, or maybe even like you don’t want each other at all. It sounds like there’s so much hesitancy in the room, but it’s not like that. The two of you are just reassuring one another, Joel to you because he was gone for so long, and you to him because it’s been so long for him. 

So it isn’t awkward, when he plunges his finger into you. He starts with one, gentle as ever, and works up to three very slowly. Joel leans down to your cheek and murmurs the nicest things to you, telling you how nice you feel, thanking you for being so kind to him.

“So patient with me, baby. Don’t know why you are, but it’s so kind,” he says quietly as he curls his fingers in you. They feel so much bigger than your own, but they fit fine. Fuller than you’re used to, but fulfilled in a new way. The feeling chokes your breath and all you can do is whimper softly at him, eyes wide.

“M’gonna be makin’ up my mistakes for a long time to you, an’ not just like this,” he promises, slowing his movements but making them more deliberate, a little harder. Nothing is burning like it usually does, there’s no sting of pain, it’s just a melting pot of pleasure between your legs as he gives himself to you and you to him. 

“Is that okay with you? Is it okay if I wanna make this up to you for a long time?” Joel asks.

You know what he’s asking. You know you want it too, you know you haven’t felt this wanted since you moved to Texas, probably even before. Nothing has felt like this in your life, and he’s requesting you to have it. 

“Yes, yes, Joel, that’s okay with me,” you say.

He leans down and kisses you once, then lets you scoot up and over on the bed so you can fumble in your drawer for the lube. Your hand passes over a silicone toy in your bedside table and you smile at the fact that it will soon be long abandoned as you pass the lube to him.

“Might be cold,” Joel warns before pouring some onto his fingers and applying it to you.

Then, he applies some to himself and settles comfortably between your legs. He drags the head of his cock over your hole and up to your clit, like a teasing warning. He had felt big in your palm before, but he feels even bigger now. He was right to prep you.

Finally, he notches himself and slowly pushes in, letting your locked ankles on his lower back guide the speed at which he slides in. Joel is breathing really heavily, and when he finally feels his pelvis meet yours, he collapses down onto his elbows.

“Fuck,” he cusses.

It feels better than you thought it would. He’s big, but not so much that you want him to pull back a little. You physically feel as comfortable and fulfilled as he makes you feel emotionally.

“So good, oh my god–” you sigh softly, hands reaching up and catching his curls in your fingers. You drag him down, your beautiful boy, and kiss him gently. 

But he isn’t moving. You can feel his thighs shaking and how he’s still breathing heavily.

“Hey,” you start softly after pulling back from the kiss, but he shakes his head.

“If I move I think–  I think I’m gonna come,” he sputters out embarrassedly.

Oh. 

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry baby. You’re just so fucking pretty and it’s been so long and you feel so goddamn good, I don’t know, I can’t move.” 

His nose is near enough to yours that you can brush them together, nuzzling the side of his face.

“Joel it’s okay, I’m not going to be upset,” you tell him. It’s oddly sweet for him to have such an overwhelming reaction to you. 

“No, I know that I just… I really wanna make you come. I wanna feel it," he admits.

And so you wait. Your unending patience seems to extend to him again in this moment and you lay there kissing him until he can finally begin to move at an even pace. 

It’s so worth it.

Joel is so loving as he fucks you, with deep thrusts as he groans and bites at your neck tenderly. His hands come up and palm your breasts, rolling his thumbs over his nipples as he tells you how pretty you are, how grateful and sorry he is.

He apologizes a lot. For the party, for his distance, for how stupid he was to not see how beautiful you were from the day you moved in next door. He’s noisy and apologetic as he keeps a stable pace as he fucks you into your mattress. 

Your mind is entirely fucked for him. You’re whimpering and mewling beneath him, babbling “it’s okay,” and “i forgive you,” everytime he says he’s sorry. Why is he even sorry anymore? Can’t he tell how much you love this? 

The more he talks the closer you get, your body clenching around him as he buries himself deep repeatedly. The stable pace he set should ground you, should keep your head on your shoulders, but it’s actually making it worse. You don’t need it any faster or harder than he’s giving it to you, not with how noisy he is, and how attentive his hands are.

“Do you forgive me?” he rumbles into your ear, dropped on one elbow as his other hand is reached down and gently rubbing your clit. 

You nod desperately, accidentally knocking your head into his. It makes him laugh, asking “yeah?” as he continues to pin his hips into your own. 

“I forgive you, Joel, I swear,” you choke out weakly. 

“Then will you come for me, honey? Please?” he asks.

It’s maybe the dirtiest thing he’s said all night, or maybe it just feels like it in the heat of the moment, but it sends you over the edge right away. You spasm around him and claw at his broad back, gasping for air and squeaking out noises you haven’t made before. Tears prick at your eyes as he works you through it with his fingers and cock.

“Fuck, yeah, there you are baby, that’s a good girl. God– Can I come? Is that okay?” Joel asks once you start to come down. You’re still in your head enough to nod, pressing a sloppy kiss to his lips. 

It doesn’t take long at all, you’re surprised he was able to last as long as he did with everything considered. Joel takes less than a minute before he’s pulling out and letting out deep grunts and breaths as he comes on your tummy, looking down at you with adoring eyes. 

“Thank you, thank you baby, God.” He huffs out as he catches his breath. He’s kneeling between your legs with his chest puffing. 

He continues thanking you as he cleans you up with a washcloth. You had to guide him to it by yelling instructions as he walked on shaky legs to your linen closet, not wanting to spill his mess everywhere. 

Once you’re finally cleaned up, he nestles into bed with you. Your head lays on his still clammy shoulder as he tucks you beneath his arm and presses kisses to your hairline.

“M’so grateful for you, darlin’, I hope you know that,” he mumbles to you. 

You tell him that you know, that he just proved it to you, and he laughs. The noise is so warm in your room, like it was meant to be there.

“Okay, that’s fair, but if you need anything else,” he tells you.

A thought does pop into your mind, but it doesn’t seem totally appropriate. You’re enjoying this peaceful moment with Joel, in your quiet room. His hand is tapping its fingers on your stomach, squeezing the flesh once or twice.

You decide not to say anything, but your tummy does. She growls loud and proud, forcing an embarrassed blush onto your face.

“Um… I think I’m kinda hungry,” you admit.

—

That’s how you and Joel end the night, in the kitchen.

You’re sitting on your countertop while he leans against it about a foot away. The paper plate that Ellie loaded up with cake is sat between the two of you, and your forks steal big lumps out of it.

Joel has frosting in his moustache, but it looks so cute there that you don’t have the heart to tell him. Instead, you just lean over and kiss him. 

“N’ what was that for?” He asks through a mouthful of cake.

You just giggle and shrug, admiring him. 

“I just like you,” you tell him.

He looks like he might roll his eyes, but instead he steps closer to you and kisses you on the cheek. You can feel the residue of the frosting on your skin.

“Yeah, I think I like you too, baby.” 

It’s fucking hot. Like, stupid hot - even for Colombia. You’re half-ass fanning yourself with some random papers lying on your desk. Stechner from the CIA dropped them off earlier, being his usual annoying self.

Shit’s been tense around here lately, DEA shoved into the same damn building with like ten other agencies, all tripping over each other. You started here with Messina as her assistant. You’re not tight or anything, you just do your job, and right now, you’re mostly trying not to sweat through your fucking blouse.

For the past few months, you’ve been fetching her coffee, hauling files, sitting in on her meetings. She’s in charge of the DEA mess - mostly the two biggest headaches: Murphy and Peña.

Yeah. Those two.

They basically did whatever the fuck they wanted before Messina showed up. She was sent here to make sure they’d finally get their shit together.

You? God knows what exactly you’re doing here. But you’re not complaining.

Because… Peña. Yeah. Peña.

Tall. Lean. Strong arms. That hair - always this half-mess, like he barely even tries, but somehow it looks fucking perfect anyway. And the mustache? A little 70s, sure, but you’ve always had a thing for Burt Reynolds, and Peña? He’s got that exact fuck-me vibe nailed down.

First time you saw him light a cigarette, you swear you almost got wet just watching him do it. Stupid attractive. And the worst part? He fucking knows. The cocky bastard knows exactly what he’s doing. Which just makes all that raw, filthy sex energy pour out of him even more.

“Hey, can you bring this to Murphy? I need him to check it out with Peña,” Messina snaps you out of your little 70s DEA agent thirst spiral. “Preferably like, now,” she adds.

“Yeah, sure, got it,” you say, grabbing the file from her hand.

💋ྀིྀི 💋ྀིྀི 💋ྀིྀི 💋ྀིྀི 💋ྀིྀི 💋ྀིྀི 💋ྀིྀི 💋ྀིྀི 💋ྀིྀི 💋ྀིྀི 💋ྀིྀི 💋ྀིྀི 💋ྀིྀི 💋ྀིྀི 💋ྀིྀི

You head straight to their office - the one they got when Messina finally trusted them a bit more. It’s shoved all the way down the hall, dark, barely anyone ever goes in there. Like some weird little shrine for the two of them.

Your thin blouse sticks to your skin, your bra kinda showing through. Whatever. Murphy doesn’t do it for you, and you’re pretty sure you don’t do it for him either. Married guy. And he’s definitely not oozing that kind of sex energy Peña’s dripping with.

You knock, fix your messy bun, and wait.

“Hm?!” Comes from inside.

You walk right in… and there he is. Peña. Sitting at the desk. No Murphy. He looks up, and yeah, his eyes drop right away, straight to your chest. Fuck. That damn bra.

“I’m supposed to give this to Murphy. You two need to check it out,” you say, looking straight at him.

That fucking hair again - perfect messy, like he doesn’t even try but still ends up being the hottest motherfucker in every room. Cream-colored shirt today, top three buttons popped open. He leans back in his chair, still holding a half-burnt cigarette. Thin smoke curls around him, those big brown eyes locked on you, and holy fuck… suddenly it’s even hotter in here.

“So?” he says low, raising an eyebrow with a smirk. “You just gonna stand there, or you gonna bring me that file?”

You walk over, file in hand. You set it down gently on the edge of his desk. He doesn’t even look at it. Doesn’t pull it closer. Like he couldn’t give less of a fuck about it. Unlike you - who he’s clearly very interested in. Which is kinda weird, considering he’s barely spoken more than three words to you since you started here: “hey,” “don’t know,” and “no.”

You start to turn around, ready to leave - his gaze is getting way too intense, and your body’s reacting more than it should. It’s too fucking hot in here. You’re already at the door when you hear him: “You leaving already?”

Your hand lingers on the handle for a second. Then (and you don’t even know what the fuck gets into you) you make a different choice.

You grab the key and turn it.

Click. Locked.

You turn back around, suddenly a lot more confident.

Peña raises one eyebrow, still studying you closely. But he doesn’t say shit about the lock. Doesn’t even look surprised or worried. Something’s definitely snapped in your head but seeing him sitting there all casual, half-reclined, that half-unbuttoned shirt…

Your brain instantly started playing out all the things you could do with him like that.

Fuck! Maybe you read too many trashy romance novels.

You walk toward him, only his desk between you now. He’s in his chair behind it, you’re standing right in front of him. The way he’s staring - he’s not even pretending to avoid looking down your shirt anymore.

You reach up, undo your clip, and let your hair fall, even though it’s hot as hell. A bead of sweat slides down your neck. You notice him noticing it. His arm twitches slightly, he shifts in his seat, jaw tightening. There’s something burning inside him but his eyes never leave you.

“You know… we’ve actually never really talked,” you start. “I kinda got the feeling you never even noticed me.”

He swallows. “I noticed you. Very well,” he says, adding your name at the end. His voice drops lower, rougher. And honestly… you’re pretty sure no one’s ever said your name like that before. “I was actually hoping you’d walk in here one day. Run into me instead of just Steve.”

“Oh yeah?” you say, dragging it out lazily.

The way he talks, the way he looks, his whole fucking body language - you know you’ve got him. Right now, you’ve got him exactly where you want him. You don’t even know how the fuck this happened but suddenly you feel like you can let that little wild thing inside you loose on him. And he can handle it. And you want it. So fucking bad.

Is it weird? Twisted? Yeah. But maybe that’s exactly what you’ve been secretly craving.

“Is that really what you were hoping for, agent Peña?” You circle the desk slowly, standing right in front of him now. He’s still leaning back in his chair. You lean down, grab the arms of the chair, and turn him to face you fully. He doesn’t resist, lets you pull him however you want.

You’re closer to him now than you’ve ever been. You can smell him - that cheap-ass cologne, the tobacco, the fresh cigarette still burning somewhere nearby - and then something else you can’t quite name.

Something so fucking masculine. His own damn scent, probably. Jesus fuck. Sexy as hell.

You keep your hands where they are, leaning in, face close enough you can fucking see the edges of his irises. Same dark chocolate brown as the rest of his eyes. You could count the little lines on his forehead if you wanted to. His lips are a bit parted, pupils blown, staring right into your eyes like he’s waiting for you to kiss him.

Inside? You’re fucking spiraling. None of this matches the cool version you’ve been playing ever since you locked that damn door.

“Yeah,” he finally says, voice low. “I was hoping. Didn’t expect you to lock the door but… honestly, this is better than what I pictured.”

Pictured? You’ve pictured this? So it’s not just me who’s been losing my shit over you? Your brain’s fucking screaming.

You drop your eyes down. The collar. The open buttons. That goddamn fabric. It looks stupid soft. What the fuck kind of fabric is this? You need to feel it.

So you do.

First, you rub the collar between your fingers. Then your hand slides down his chest.

Fuck! It’s even softer than it looked.

Like, what the hell is this soft-ass shirt doing on this cocky little fucker with those goddamn eyes that could seduce a fucking corpse?

You feel his heartbeat pick up under your palm. You press your hand harder on his chest. There’s a faint smell of detergent. Freshly washed.

His breath hitches. He swallows.

Perfect. He’s fucking gone for you. You didn’t think you’d get this far. But here you are. And you know exactly what to do.

“What is this fabric?” you ask, your voice a little shaky.

It takes him a sec to register what you’re even talking about. “Fuck if I know. Some fancy-ass soft shit. You like it?” His eyes drop to your hand on his chest.

“Fuck it,” you exhale and in one quick move, you swing your leg over him, straddling his lap and grabbing his shoulders. “I want you. I wanna rip this shirt off you but I also wanna touch it. I’ve been fucking craving you since the first moment I saw you.” It just spills out.

Peña narrows his eyes, loving every fucking word. Of course he does. He’s a goddamn womanizer. Everybody knows that.

He swallows hard. Those dark eyes aren’t just narrowed anymore, they’re full-on fucking dark now, thick with lust. That look he gives you when you know he’s barely hanging on. “Yeah? Then fucking take it off,” he murmurs, voice rough and low. He starts to sit up a bit, trying to pull you even closer. His breathing’s already uneven, voice raspy. “Or you want me to rip it off for you?”

No fucking way. You want control. You don’t want him to fuck you… you want to fuck him.

That’s the part that’s been playing on a loop in your head every night before you fall asleep whenever his face pops into your brain. And besides - you want that shirt to stay on. It’s too damn soft.

“No. Keep the shirt on,” you tell him, your voice dropping lower.

His pupils blow even wider. You can see it click in his head - he’s not gonna be the one in control today. And for some reason, he looks like he’s fucking into it.

You stare straight into his eyes. “Kiss me.”

He leans in - you feel his breath on your lips - and his tongue slides into your mouth. Hesitant at first, but you let him in deeper, matching his kiss. Hungry. He moans softly into your mouth. You’ve still got your hands gripping his shoulders, straddling his lap.

His kisses burn against your lips and yours must be doing the same to him, because you can feel him starting to get hard. His bulge is pressing right up into you.

You’ve noticed it before - the man’s always packing, even when he’s soft, it’s obvious through his pants. He’s gotta be big.

You slide one hand down and grab his cock through his pants, giving it a gentle squeeze.

Holy shit. He’s hard.

“Oh fuck,” he groans into your mouth.

The longer your hand stays there, the more you want him. You break the kiss, silently sliding off his lap and dropping to your knees in front of him. From the look on his face, he knows exactly where this is going. He leans back in his chair, eyes already completely fucking gone.

You gently spread his legs apart, hands running up his thighs. Jesus, you want him so bad. You can feel the muscles in his legs tense up, and his cock is practically screaming to be let out.

When your hands move up his thighs again, you don’t waste any time. You undo the button on his jeans and go for the zipper. It’s a bit stiff, but you stay patient. Once you get it all the way down, Peña lifts his hips a little to help you pull his jeans down to his knees, giving you full access to his cock.

And the second you start pulling his pants down… you notice. No boxers.

“Oh really?” You glance up at him.

He gives a little shrug, cocky as fuck, and drops back into the chair, pants bunched at his knees.

So this motherfucker doesn’t wear underwear, huh?

Now you finally get a full look at him. Long. Thick enough. And holy fucking shit, that vein running along the side. You let out a soft little gasp before you can stop yourself. You hope he didn’t hear it. But the faint chuckle he lets out tells you otherwise.

To shut him up, you grab his cock. He instantly goes quiet, his abs twitch as he sucks in a sharp breath. You wrap your hand around him, tight.

He’s fucking hard as a rock. Perfect.

You start stroking him… slow, steady, long pulls up and down.

He grabs your arm with one hand. Not hard enough to hurt but it’s obvious what this is doing to him.

You pick up the pace a little. Peña presses himself harder into the chair, his other hand gripping his own thigh. After a few strokes, you slow it back down.

“Fuck,” he breathes, already starting to lose it.

Good. You don’t want him to come from just your hand.

You lean forward, let go of his cock, brace your hands on his hips, and take him into your mouth. He tastes good - a little salty, but clean. Everything about him smells good to you - his dick is no exception.

Peña groans, moving the hand from your arm to your head. He doesn’t push, just holds you there. His other hand grips the armrest tight. He’s fully surrendered to you right now and you both know it.

You also both know if he wanted to, he could flip this whole thing in half a second. He’s definitely got that dominant streak in him. But today, you want him on his fucking knees - metaphorically.

You run your tongue around him and take him deeper, as far as you can go. It’s driving him fucking insane. “Oh fuck… baby, you don’t even have a fucking gag reflex,” he groans, tilting his head back.

You glance up at him, just as he’s looking right back down at you. Your eyes lock while you’ve got his cock buried in your mouth. You swirl your tongue around the tip, right over the most sensitive spot. His hand’s gripping the armrest so fucking tight you’re worried the damn thing might snap.

But you want to drive him even crazier.

You slide one hand down and gently cup his balls, massaging them softly. Careful, you don’t want to hurt him, just push him right to the fucking edge.

Peña starts shifting under you, squirming, while you alternate between sucking the tip and taking him deep again, occasionally grazing him lightly with your teeth. His hips lift off the chair, like he’s trying to chase the release. Trying to cum.

And you want that. You want him to cum in your mouth.

You pick up the pace, stroking and sucking him faster. Your hand keeps gently squeezing his balls, and his grip tightens on your shoulder. Hard.

“Fuck… ohh fuck… baby… I think I–” He doesn’t even finish the sentence.

You suck him harder, as deep as you can take him. His free hand shoots from the armrest to your other shoulder, like he needs something to hold onto. His hips lift again, trying to bury himself deeper down your throat.

That’s when you slide your finger down behind his balls, gently massaging that spot - right between his balls and his ass. The fucking male G-spot.

You don’t dare push a finger in, Peña doesn’t strike you as the type who’d let you go that far. Even as wrecked as he is right now. But the gentle massage? That’ll break him. And you want him fucking wrecked.

You keep rubbing him there while sucking him even deeper, not letting him sit back fully. His knees start shaking. “Oh my god– yes, fuck…” he cries out, digging his fingers into your shoulders.

And then you feel it - his cock starts pulsing hard in your mouth, thick hot streams shooting straight down your throat. Even as he cums, you keep massaging his male G-spot, holding him tight in your mouth, making every wave of his orgasm even stronger. He’s writhing under you but you don’t let go.

“Fuck– baby… you’re fucking killing me…” he groans.

After a few more intense pulses, it finally starts to slow down. You pull your finger back, both your hands now running softly up and down his thighs as he slumps hard into the chair. Completely spent.

You swallow everything he just shot down your throat, and after a moment, you finally let his cock slip from your mouth. He’s still half-hard, breathing heavy as hell.

And you want him inside you. Like - right fucking now. Even though he just came.

You stand up in front of him. He’s still a little breathless, but he’s starting to focus on you again, eyes locked as he watches every move.

You unbutton your blouse, slowly pulling it off but you leave your bra on. You’re not giving him everything. Not yet.

You start moving your hips, slow, like a little private tease, just enough to keep him worked up. You’re not fucking leaving this at a blowjob, no matter how good it was.

You undo your skirt, sliding it down over your thighs until it drops to the floor. Standing there now in nothing but your underwear.

Peña watches you, clearly starting to realize this shit isn’t over. He slides his hand over his cock, lightly stroking himself, hissing through his teeth because he’s still sensitive as fuck from just cumming.

Which turns you on even more.

While he’s softly stroking himself, trying to get fully hard again, your fingers trail along the waistband of your panties.

His eyes are locked on you. You watch his hand. You’re getting wet. You don’t show it, but fuck!, you want to climb on top of him so bad.

You slip your panties down, letting them drop to the floor. Step out of them and slowly make your way closer to him. He looks up at you, hand still wrapped around his cock. You gently push his hand away, giving him that ‘mommy’s got this’ look.

You stroke the tip lightly, enough to make him hiss, his hips twitching, stomach flexing hard. His shirt’s still open at those goddamn three buttons. Fuck that shirt. That fucking shirt started all of this.

You move in closer, standing between his spread knees. He reaches out, wanting to touch you right where he shouldn’t. You gently push his hand away again, shooting him a sharp look. You don’t even know where this side of you is coming from.

“Who just made you cum?” you ask, voice sharp.

He watches you, eyes wide, totally into this little game. “You did.”

“So who decides what happens next?”

He swallows. His hand fully drops now. “You,” he whispers.

You give a tiny nod. Then step back just enough, standing wide-legged directly over him. He’s fully hard again, like he didn’t even just cum a few minutes ago.

You line him up with your entrance, guiding him right where you want him. And then you sink down… all the way. You can feel every fucking inch of him filling you up.

He’s big. Thick. You feel him everywhere, hitting every nerve ending inside you.

He hisses under his breath. “Fuck…” he exhales.

You wrap your legs tight around him, brace your hands on his shoulders, and start rolling your hips. Slow. Smooth. You clench your muscles around him, making sure he feels every fucking squeeze.

He tilts his head back, hands moving up to your chest, gripping your tits through the bra. He looks a little frustrated, like he wants them fully in his hands but can’t because of the damn bra.

But it’s fair. He’s still got that fucking shirt on too. And you want it that way. You run your palms over his chest, feeling the soft fabric under your fingers. You tug on his collar while riding him, bouncing slowly.

As you start picking up the pace, Peña’s breathing gets heavier, sharper. “Fuck… baby… oh fuck… s-stop– shh– no, don’t stop, fuck…” He’s babbling, falling apart under you. You know he’s still crazy sensitive, and every movement’s fucking killing him in the best way. You grind faster, wanting to ruin him. But then you slow down again… not ready to finish him off just yet.

His hands are all over you now, running down your back, grabbing your ass, pulling you tighter against him. You roll over his chest, that fucking shirt driving you wild. It’s so soft you can’t stop touching it. It turns you on even more and you start bouncing harder.

You can feel his heartbeat pounding under your hands. His breathing quickens. “Fuck… jesus christ… baby–” he moans, eyes squeezing shut. “Jesus… I can feel every inch of you, every fuckin’ inch.”

“That’s exactly what I want, agent Peña,” you whisper into his ear. You pick up the pace again, a little faster this time.

“Fuck… don’t stop, just– slow, slow–”

But you know he doesn’t really want you to slow down.

You can feel yourself getting closer too. He’s so fucking big and full inside you. You pause for a second, clenching around him, squeezing him tight. And it fucking wrecks him.

You lift his chin and kiss him. Deep. He kisses you back - his tongue everywhere, yours everywhere - messy, hungry, desperate.

You start riding him again, breaking the kiss, hips moving faster, faster…

You run your fingers through his hair - it’s soft but thick - swipe his sweaty bangs off his forehead. Then you grab a fistful at the back of his head, tilting him back so he’s forced to look at you. “I wanna see your face when you cum,” you whisper.

He groans, desperate. “You tryna ruin me huh? Fuckin’ ruin me…”

You smile. And slam your hips down against him.

Hard. Again. And again.

You can feel he’s close, he’s barely holding on. You grip his hair tighter and keep fucking him hard.

“Fuck baby, I’m gonna…” He gasps, and with one final thrust, he cums. His eyes flutter shut, moaning as his cock pulses wildly inside you.

You clench around him, squeezing him harder, milking every last drop. The moment you feel that final deep spurt inside you, it sends you right over the edge too. Your orgasm crashes through you. You squeeze him tight around his cock. You let go of his hair, but his eyes are still locked on you.

You grab onto the collar of that fucking soft shirt, pressing yourself against him, your hips rocking gently one last time as the waves of your orgasm slowly fade.

You stay on top of him for a moment, feeling his body finally relax again. And after a few seconds, you feel him start to soften inside you.

Peña looks wrecked - like he could pass out right now - and honestly? You don’t blame him. Except he still has half a workday left.

You slowly lift yourself off him. The second he slips out of you, you both hiss quietly.

You can feel the wet mess between your thighs… his and yours both. Still, you bend down, grab your panties from the floor, slip them back on, and pull your skirt back up. You grab your blouse in your hands and walk up to him.

“Well, Javier,” you say, calling him by his first name for the very first time. “I delivered the file. My job here is done.”

“Wait,” he tries to stop you, still sitting there, jeans down, dick out. He looks helpless now. Exhausted. “When am I gonna see you again?” he asks. “You know what I mean.”

Of course you do. He wants to fuck again.

And you? Yeah, you want it too. But you’re not giving it up that easy.

You don’t answer right away. You button your blouse first, then lean in close. Your hand trails over that goddamn soft shirt one last time.

“Say hi to Murphy for me,” you whisper into his ear. Before he can say anything else, you’re already out the door.

💋ྀིྀི 💋ྀིྀི 💋ྀིྀི 💋ྀིྀི 💋ྀིྀི 💋ྀིྀི 💋ྀིྀི 💋ྀིྀི 💋ྀིྀི 💋ྀིྀི 💋ྀིྀི 💋ྀིྀི 💋ྀིྀི 💋ྀིྀི 💋ྀིྀི

So yeah… subby Javier Peña 🫠 Something I haven’t really written before, the idea literally hit me today.

Obviously I usually picture him being very much the one in charge, but this? This dynamic? Honestly… I kinda loved writing it. Might revisit this side of him again sometime.

Anyway… this is just a one-shot. No real plot, no continuation planned. I just wanted a short filthy scene where I fully abuse him because of that stupid fucking soft shirt 👹

Yes, it’s because of that photo! Zoom in, you’ll see it - that shirt really does look insanely soft. And here we are 🎀💦

🩷 THANK YOU FOR READING 🩷

The sun shone on the perfect suburban streets of Austin, Texas. So hot you could fry an egg if you wanted to. You rolled your windows down, driving down a neighborhood you’re not familiar with, and pulled up at the house that sits in the cul de sac, a dirty- no filthy ford pickup truck parked on its driveway.

This must be the place.

A sigh fell from your lips as you hopped off your car with your supplies in hand; a bucket, sponge, microfiber rag, and various soaps for different parts of the car. The heat was even worse after you’ve left the comfort of your air conditioned car, but the thought of being out of your clothes and soaked in suds and the cool water excites you.

Once you’ve discovered this lucrative market of bored, horny, lonely middle aged suburban guys— eager to see a show, and maybe get their car cleaned as well, you start to do this gig every summer. The money is good plus these guys tip generously.

Your service by its core is nothing but a mobile car wash, but the carwash is being done by you, clad in a skimpy bikini. c’mon, who wouldn’t want that right?

When you scored your first customer, you became a spectacle for the neighborhood. Your client shamelessly pulls out a lawn chair, having a grand ol’ time “enjoying the sun” as you wash their car. Neighbors walking out their houses mowing their already perfectly trimmed lawn, walking their dogs, cats, and some approached your client for a neighborly talk they probably haven’t had in months.

You’ve gotten the whole neighborhood out of their house basically, then your client list doubles with those people coming over to you and asking to do theirs next. Some cars don't even need washing, but you do them anyway with a smile knowing you’re gonna eat good that night.

Ever since then you decided to do this gig every summer, cheekily naming your little business “Suds ‘n Trunks”.

—

You ring the doorbell of the Miller’s residence and step back. You could hear a soft grumble from behind the door before it opened and reveal a scruffy, middle aged, handsome man. your eyes scans him quickly, his hair tousled, his shoulders broad, big arms, big hands, Jesus Christ you want to just-

“Can I help you?”

His gruff, deep, Texan drawl snaps you out of your trance and brings you back to reality.

“Uhm yes, Mr. Miller? you called for a car wash?” You asked him with a sweet voice you come to learn that older men love, it always works like a charm, making them tip you a fat wad of cash— these men just craved attention from a pretty girl, and you’re happy to give that to them.

“Oh..yeah you could uh, it's that one right there,” he motioned to the dirty pickup truck. You give him a smile and nodded, “okay, i’ll go on and get started then.” Joel nodded and shut the door immediately.

—

A red Ford bronco sat on his driveway, absolutely covered in filth. You usually don't deal with this much grime, dust, and mud. Granted, most cars you’ve washed barely need a wash, the clients just wanted to see you wet and covered in suds, which you couldn’t really blame them.

You took a breath and started to step out of your tanktop and shorts, revealing the red matching bikini you’re wearing underneath and started to go to work.

—

Joel was exhausted after doing several construction projects back to back yesterday, from dawn to the ungodly hours of the night resulting in his beloved truck — Shirley— looking like it had been dragged in the mud…literally.

Joel likes to take care of his things, Shirley is no exception. His free time on the weekends is often spent on his truck in the garage, polishing her to perfection. But after all the hard work he did, just the thought of washing her made his back groan in protest.

So he got the number of your services from his coworkers after they commented on the state of Shirley, a smirk planted on their faces and they kept snickering which Joel found odd, but he was too fed up and exhausted to think twice on booking your services.

Joel grunts as he settles on his couch, his cold bottle of beer in one hand, the tv remote on the other. He kicked his feet up on the coffee table, and turned on the TV.

It's finally his time for him to take his hard-earned relaxation time. which should be easy, but he could hear the annoying sputtering sound of his neighbor’s lawnmower.

That thing needs more oil. He thought to himself as he took a sip of his beer.

Then another sound of a lawnmower sounded from the other side of the house, even more annoying than the first.

What the fuck? Why are they all mowin’ the lawn at the same time? at this hour? he thought.

Then comes the obnoxious yapping of Mr. Thompson's french bulldog and chihuahua.

What the hell is goin’ on? it's a whole ruckus out there.

He groaned, frustrated that the whole neighborhood seems to be against his well deserved relaxing time. He grumbled as he strides towards his window, drawing up the blinds to see what the fuck is going on out there.

His eyes nearly bulged out, blush quickly crept up his neck to his cheeks, and his cock twitching in his pants instantly at the sight.

You, bend over in the hood of his car, wet, covered in suds, in a fucking bikini. He tried to look away, he really did, but the way your hips sways, your ass jiggled, as you scrubbed hard with the caked on mud on his truck— it was hypnotizing.

—

“What the hell are ya doin’?”

The sight of Joel's furrowed brow as he stared at you in your revealing outfit was a mix of disapproval and desire. Your sweet smile remained as you answered his question, "Mr. Miller! I'm just washing your car."

His gaze roamed over you, making you shiver with anticipation. "In that?" He grunted, clearly torn between his disgust and arousal. "Well, yes… It's part of my service."

The man stood silent for a moment, his confusion palpable. "Part of your service?"

"Uhm, yeah... It's a bikini car wash service… You didn't know?" you tilted your head, confused.

Joel sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. "How the hell was I supposed to know?"

"The name is Suds 'n' Trunks," you reminded him softly.

"I know what it's called!" he huffed, clearly frustrated.

Unsure of how to proceed, you hesitated. "So, uhm, you want me to just dress up and go or—"

"No, finish your job," he grumbled, still irritated. Your eyes trailed down to the growing tent in his jeans, confirming the source of his conflicting emotions.

You hid your smirk and purred, "Yes, sir," before returning to your task. The knowledge that you had such a potent effect on him only fueled your desire to please him.

—

Your back is even more curved now, ass sticking up more than they should as you washed the side of his truck, knowing Joel is looking– watching you like a hawk while he sits on the porch, a beer in his hand and a cigarette on the other. you turned your head over your shoulder just to give him a small smile, which he returned with his jaw clenching.

You bask under his gaze, your body tingling, giving him the best show you’ve ever given. you squatted as you started to clean the lower part of the truck, your ass jiggle with every hard scrub you give.

The tension between the two of you is palpable, leaving Joel frustrated, he knows damn well you’re taunting him. He’s torn between wanting to yell at you for acting so unprofessional and embarrassing him in front of the watchful eyes of his nosy neighbors— or fucking you against the truck for payback.

He sits there watching you, contemplating on what to do. You gave him another cheeky look over your shoulder and that was it, his last resolve snapped, fuck it.

—

“Careful with her,” he said lowly as he approached you.

You turned your head, batting your eyelashes, “Hm?”

“You’re goin’ too hard on her, just painted that part,” he murmured as he got closer, just right behind you.

“But the mud is really caked on this part,” you told him and went back to scrubbing.

“A-ah, hey,” he tutted and leaned down behind you, his large palms sitting atop of yours “Gentle…easy does it,” he murmured, his hot breath fanned against your ear.

You had to bite your lip to suppress a moan as you felt his hardness pressed against your thigh. Your hand following his movements, “There we go…there we go, good girl,” he murmured and you swore every part of your body shivered.

“This is gonna take longer to finish, sir,” you murmured, your voice a mere whisper as you turned your head to him.

“I know…but you’re gonna get a bigger reward out of it, how’s that sound hm?” he muttered to your ear before abruptly pulling away from you and sitting back on the porch.

your breath hitched, heartbeat skipping, and the heat between your legs grew hotter. You turned your head towards him to see him sitting back at his porch, his head nodded at you to continue your work, a small smirk curved his lips.

—

You’re halfway done with the truck when his neighbor starts to approach you, a middle aged guy you came to learn named Michael. He’s been clearly hitting on you, and trying to get a closer look on what you’re doing. which usually doesn’t bother you but you could practically feel Joel's watchful eyes boring into your back.

“So you do this for a living?” he asked as he stood a few feet away from you, “It's just a summer gig i do,” you replied with a small smile, keeping the response light.

"Sweet, it's nice seeing a young, beautiful, hard-working woman," he chuckled. Your jaw tensed for a moment before you forced a tight-lipped smile.

"Can you do my car next? It's pretty dirty too," he suggested, wiggling his eyebrows. You felt a flush of annoyance, but your eyes met Joel's, who glared disapprovingly from his porch.

"Well, uh..." you hesitated, glancing back at Joel. He shook his head, a clear indication that he didn't want you to entertain Michael's advances. "Sorry, Michael. I'm booked for today... I gotta go somewhere after this."

Michael sighed, "Aw, just my luck," he lamented. "I'll ask Joel for your number, huh? I'll book you as soon as you're free." You chuckled, "Yeah, you go do that."

Michael made his way over to Joel, asking for your number. Joel nodded, but with a grunt, he gave Michael the wrong number. A smirk played on your lips as you returned to your work.

—

After what feels like forever you finally finished with the last drag of your microfiber rag. You let out a sigh and turned around to Joel sauntering his way. “All done Mr. Miller,” you purred.

He looked at his truck, all clean and shiny. A satisfied smirk graced his face, “you did a good job” he praised. “Good enough to get that reward?” you murmured with your head tilted innocently. Joel let out a small chuckle “Mmhm... come on inside and i’ll get it sorted for you, pretty girl.”

Your eyes gleamed with lust and you bit your lip in anticipation as he led you inside his house. The wind hits your wet body, the coolness leaves your nipples even harder, your body tingling with need.

By the time the two of you were inside, Joel’s body was taut, like a spring ready to burst. He couldn’t hold it in anymore, his large palms grab a hold of your wet body and pinned you against his door, you let out a surprised whimper at his sudden actions.

“Been a good girl for me huh? Takin’ care of my truck,” he murmured as he leaned down and his lips grazed your jaw to the skin under your ear. “Been naughty too haven’t you? Tauntin’ me with this sweet ass of yours,” he grabbed your ass and gave it a hard squeeze making you let out a small moan, he pulled you closer, his hard cock pressing against your wet bikini bottoms.

You couldn’t help but grind your hips against him, needy and desperate for friction, eliciting a small moan from you and a groan from him. “What do you have to say about that huh? Pretty girl?,” he muttered and nibbled on your earlobe, “I’m sorry sir” you panted softly.

“Yeah? Doesn’t seem to be that sorry,” he chuckled lowly, his voice gravely and his accent was thicker than before “Think I would have to punish you… you thought it was funny huh? Makin’ me hard as a rock with those fucking neighbors watchin’?” he growled to your ear and slapped your ass, you whimpered and jolted forwards.

“I’m sorry sir..please don't punish me,” you whined and bit your lip. “You’re sorry huh? Go on, pretty thing, show me how sorry you are,” he murmured. You didn't need to be told twice, you fell to your knees, eyes wide as you looked up to his face, hands deftly undoing his belt and jeans and pulling it down along with his boxers.

Your mouth salivated just from the sight of his cock springing free, thick, veiny, and throbbing, just how you thought it would be. He gave you a nod to tell you ‘go on’, you leaned down and darted your tongue out, tasting the heady taste of his precum. He groaned and tossed his head back, hand tangling in your hair and pulled you in, you hummed and finally wrapped your mouth around his girth with a small whimper. Your jaw straining to accommodate him, tongue moving with practiced ease as you sink down deeper, taking in more of him.

“Fuck yeah..good fuckin’ girl…thats it,” he muttered and started to guide your head the way he wanted, you thrive with his praises, taking in him as deep as you could. Gagging and sputtering here and there but you didn't stop at all in search of his approval and satisfaction, you didn’t want to stop. The room was filled with the sound of his grunts and heavy breaths, along with the obscene sounds from you and your muffled whimpers.

Joel nearly came when he saw you starting to snake your hand between your legs, “Naughty fuckin’ slut, touchin’ yourself huh?” he groaned and started to thrust into your mouth, holding your head in place. “You want me to take care of that? Hm?” he growled and you whined as an answer. Suddenly he abruptly pulled you away from his cock, “get on the fuckin’ couch,” he muttered, you scrambled off the floor and quickly gotten on the nearby couch, “on your hands and knees, sweetheart,” he commanded and you did as he said, bending over, facing the backrest of the couch.

He stood behind you and pushed you legs wider, your head craned over your shoulder to look at him with your needy expression, bottom lip between your teeth. He gripped your chin and he leaned down, finally crashing his lips to yours. He was rough, didn’t even hesitate on pushing his tongue into your mouth, tongue dominating yours, making you whine and push your hips back, desperate, begging for him.

His kiss left you panting as he pulled away, he trailed kisses down your back, biting on the knot that holds your bikini top together and pulling on it and letting it unravel, his hand started to grope your tits, playing, pinching, pulling on your sensitive nipples. “Mr. Miller,” you panted “please..”

“Use your word, Baby, what do you need?” he murmured to the crook of your neck. You whimpered and kept moving your hips, “anything- please- your finger, mouth- anything, i need you,” you rambled desperately. Joel chuckled darkly, his large fingers playing with the knots of your bikini bottoms, “needy little thing,” he murmured before pulling on the knots and unraveling the red wet fabric, making it fall to the couch.

Joel practically growled at the sight before him, you, bent over with your ass high in the air, naked, your pussy dripping and ready for him. “Look at you..” he murmured and leaned down, groping your ass and pushing it apart to reveal more of you. “Mmh..” he grumbles before leaning down and placing a broad lick on your cunt. “Oh- god- Mr- mmhngh! Mr. Miller” you whined and pushed your hips more to his face. Joel groaned and started to really eat you out, his large palms splayed on your ass, face completely buried in your drooling pussy. “It's Joel, sweetheart,” he chuckled as he pulled away from your cunt for a second, “I wanna hear ya moan my name.”

“Joel..” you breathed, getting used to the feel of his name on your lips. Joel started to flick his tongue rapidly on your clit, making your eyes roll back and moan out his name, “fuck- ahh! Joel!” He grunted in response, “yeah that’s it, moan my name…mmhhh good fuckin’ girl.”

You were falling apart already at the hands of his tongue, moving on your pussy with practiced ease. Joel relished the sounds of your moans, and the sweet and tangy taste of your cunt. He groaned and started to push his thick fingers to your entrance, “Joel! Ahnghh! F-fuck! mmhngh!!” you cried out, he grunted and pulled away from your pussy for a second, “That’s it baby, you’re gonna cum hm? Gonna be a good girl an cum on my face?” he muttered and curled his digits to hit that heavenly spot within you, you whined in response, barely able to come up with words but nodded with your eyes closed in pleasure. “Good girl, c’mon, come on my face” he panted and started double his efforts, his tongue flicking on your sensitive clit, slurping all your juices, whilst his fingers kept hitting that sweet spot over and over again.

Your orgasm hits you like a freight train, you back arched and your eyes rolled back, you swore you saw stars. His name kept falling from your lips in between moans and whimpers which he responded with praises.

“good girl, that’s it”

“you’re so pretty when you cum for me”

“tastes so good baby, there you go..”

He peppered kisses across your shoulders and back as he waited for you to come down from your high. “joel..” you panted and kept pushing your hips back to grind against his throbbing cock, eliciting a groan from his lips, “yeah? you want my cock, pretty girl?” he muttered and rutted his hips against you, his cock sliding against your cunt. “yes- please joel- please-“ you let out a loud moan when he suddenly pushed his cock into your core.

“fuuuck” he groaned as he pushed himself in “fuck- shit, baby you’re so fuckin’ tight,” he panted and gripped your hips tight. “joel! oh- f-fuck hhngh!” you whimpered and gripped the back of the couch. Joel pulled back until his cock is almost fully slipped back, you whined at the loss of his stretch, then he slammed back in. “Fuck! Oh- f-fuuckk! Joeel!!” you cried out, “Yeah baby that’s it- shit- yeah take it baby, take it” he growled to your ear and wrapped your hair on his hand and yanked it back. Your head tilted back at the force and he crashed his lips to yours again, swalowing all your moans and whimpers as he fucked you with a relentless pace.

“J-joel” you warned between pants, “Yeah i know baby- fuck- yeah i can feel it,” he groaned and panted “c’mon baby give it to me, cum on my cock, c’mon” he murmured and went faster. The sound of his skin smacking against yours gets louder and louder, the couch groaned and creaked in protest. You could barely utter any coherent words at this point, just slurring his name and how good it feels between moans and pants.

Your back arched and trembles as you cry out his name like a prayer. Joel slowed down for a second, letting you ride out the orgasm, “there you go…hmm there you go” he muttered soothingly, his hips rocking deliberately, slowly. “You can take more, sweetheart?” he murmured to your ear, you couldn’t help but nod. ”Good girl,” he praised to your ear and kissed your jaw before his arm wrapped around your waist, the other around your chest and pulled you up until his chest pressed against your back. He resumed his hard relentless thrusts, his hand on your chest groping and playing with your hard nipples. you felt like floating at this point, just taking everything he gave you like a good girl.

“Who’s pussy is this?” He growled to your ear, you could barely talk just letting out sounds of pleasure, he spanked your ass hard and you gasped out a moan, “Yours! Hahngh! All yours!” you whined, Joel gripped your neck and pulled you closer to him “Who?” he demanded, you panted and choked out, “Yours daddy!” bingo.

He growled and bent you over again, his hand still tight on your neck, choking you just right. “Yeah that’s right, such a good girl for daddy,” he muttered and pounded into you. You kept choking out moans, calling him daddy over and over. He shifted his position, propping one leg on the couch to get a different angle, deeper, and it allowed him to reach that spot within you. “Oh my g- aahhngh!! daddy!! right there, oh fuck- fuck me right there!!” you cried out. He grunted and let out a dark chuckle, “there sweetheart?” he taunted as he thrusted extra hard aiming at that spot again. “yes!! yes- yes please- please i- daddy please” you rambled, begging for him, his cock has reduced you to nothing but desperate and needy. “well since you asked so nicely,” he said coyly before hitting that spot over and over again.

You felt you’re gonna shatter yet again in any second, a ticking time bomb set on your lower belly. “D-daddy i’m- hah- i’m-” you could barely finish your choked out sentence. “Yeah? Gonna cum again for daddy?” he panted to your ear, all you could do was nodded and give a whimper of confirmation. He chuckled darkly and his hand snaked down to rub your clit with fervor while his hips kept pounding to your ass, “Go on then, come for me, come for daddy,” he muttered to your ear.

Your vision blurred and you saw white. It feels like you’re barely conscious, your third orgasm hits you even harder than the last. You didn’t noticed whats happening until joel groaned, “Fuck yeah you’re squirtin’ on me baby- good girl- hhnngh good fuckin’ girl.” Your thighs trembled, wet with your release, red from his thrusts.

He finally let go of your neck and you gasped out for much needed air, his thrusts started to stutter. “Where do you want it?” he panted to your ear, “Inside, inside daddy, please,” you begged and started to move your hips to meet his. Joel couldn’t hold back any longer, 1, 2, 3 hard thrusts later and he came completely undone inside you. “Fuuuckk!! Fuck yeah- oh shit baby” he moaned, “fuck! makin’ me cum so much, pretty girl…oh yeah good fuckin’ girl,” he panted to your ear.

After his hips stilled, he pulled out of you, making you whine and clench around nothing, pushing his hot sticky seed out of you.

He chuckled and whispered to your ear, “look at you…all messy n’ dirty,” he cooed. “You cleaned my truck now it's time for me to clean you,” he murmured before peppering kisses down your spine yet again.

—

five mismatched camping chairs were lining the front of the open garage. all of the chairs besides the one furthest to the left were occupied, which was reserved for tom, who hadn't been present for six years but still deserved a spot when the guys gathered. there was an opened beer in the cupholder because tom still needed a drink too.

the spring breeze was nudging the freshly weeded flowerbeds. frankie had his hat hanging over the ear of the chair, sipping a cold corona with a squeezed lime wedge shoved in the neck of the bottle. he itched the underside of his jawline as he watched his three children dart in and out of the lawn sprinkler.

frankie's khaki cargo shorts and t-shirt still had remnants of water droplets on them from setting up the sprinkler. he was manspreading in his chair, comfortable in the weather the day had provided.

you were inside the house attempting to clean while your husband had everyone outside. even if the chores needed to be done it was relaxing without any human under four and a half feet tall questioning your every move. so you played the speaker a little too loudly, but to clear your slightly guilty conscience you left the screen of the door open if anyone happened to need your help.

as the eldest of the three morales children settled the younger two into some sort of ridiculous game, frankie cleared his throat. “alright, we can't just sit and drink beer,” he rocked his shoulder blades back a little, setting his beer securely in the chair’s cup holder. “we have business to attend to.”

“your text literally said ‘drinks on me, watching kids,” benny reminded him with a half smirk.

“i couldn't get you all here without incentive,” frankie rummaged through his pocket quickly pulling out a folded order sheet for girl scout cookies. the rainbow page and its partially filled-out information were now taking frankie’s attention. “so who's forking over cash for mi mija?”

will chuckled, glancing at the sheet. “oh no.”

“she's been working hard,” frankie said defensively. “if her troop sells the most cookies they get a weekend sleepover at the horse ranch. you're gonna take away ponies from a seven-year-old?”

“fine three boxes: two thin mints and one shortbread,” will agreed, as if he would've actually said no in the first place. he loved that little girl like she was his own.

“i'll take two of the peanut butter,” santiago was already pulling out his wallet as frankie jotted down the information on the order sheet.

“one, make ‘em samoas,” benny mumbled, having a very hard sense of self-control he was forced to wash over himself.

“one box?” frankie was personally offended. he wanted his daughter’s troop to have the best chance they could at receiving the grand prize from the most cookie sales.

“i'm cutting and i can't be sneakin’ cookies in the middle of the night. gotta stay in shape,” benny took a drink of his beer.

“she wants to sit by the bonfire after playing cowgirl all day, man. do you not have a soul?” frankie tapped his pen against paper. “buy more and freeze 'em’ for when you're bulking.” frankie insisted like any good dad salesman would.

“hell no, too much temptation,” benny stood firmly on his morals trying not to give into that coconut caramel goodness.

“you guys gotta step up, this much,” frankie made a small pinching motion with his fingers. “you're killing me. mija wants to be a future business leader of america and you’re denying ponies in her youth.” if he could have been standing on a soapbox he would have been.

santiago shrugged casually. “if you're pressed about it maybe you need to be buying them, fish.”

frankie became oddly quiet, glancing to his children playing and then to the house. he steadied his beer in his cup holder before leaning back in his chair to see if you were near the screen door behind them. you still seemed to be occupied.

even with your cleaning music playing in the background frankie still began to whisper. “none of you, and i mean, none of you can say shit.”

will, benny, and santiago all leaned in just a bit. frankie’s gaze was guarding the door as if it was going to open any second.

“i already bought some,” frankie confessed.

santiago furrowed his brows. “some?”

“some” didn't seem like any reason to be ducking down like a kid who was hiding a bad test score.

“like a fuckin’ pallet.” frankie had a completely straight face.

will’s mouth dropped slightly. “you mean like a case?”

frankie shook his head, cringing a bit knowing he was about to fully out himself to his friends. “no, like a pallet.” he reiterated. “it’s little over two thousand boxes.”

“fish, what the fuck?” benny cursed in that all knowing tone that his friend had officially lost his mind.

oblivious to all of the conversation, frankie’s children were laughing and giggling, shoving their faces into the stream of water as the sprinkler oscillated.

frankie was immediately trying to justify his actions. “i know a guy in mexico city and he said he’d buy ‘em when i drop ‘em on my next flight.”

santiago was grinning from ear to ear, trying to contain himself. “you're trafficking cookies?” it was almost too ridiculous to comprehend his friend being so head over heels for his daughter that he was pushing girl scout cookies across the border.

“hey,” frankie warned. “she’s been making posters and called everyone on mami’s phone, and i’m just giving her a boost.”

“what is that like…ten thousand dollars worth of a boost?” will did some quick configuring, he was off by a couple thousand, but he was trying to be less harsh with his guess.

one hundred sixty-eight cases to a pallet and twelve boxes per case with the inclusion of the six dollars a box charge, frankie had spent a hefty penny. he couldn't buy less than a pallet, so he went for the big purchase.

“and speaking of mami?” benny raised a brow questioningly. he knew that you definitely wouldn’t be on board with this scenario, especially with his friend becoming so secretive in order to spill the information.

“she doesn't know yet because she hasn't seen the credit card statement yet” frankie was now avoiding eye contact with his friends. he also was in no rush to correct will’s incorrect guess about the amount of money he had spent.

frankie had the shipment of cookies routed to the airport already. they were tucked away in the hanger ready to be flown out.

“he’s a dead man walkin’,” benny laughed, holding his stomach. he couldn't contain himself any longer.

“i was gonna tell her—”

redfly would be telling frankie to get comfortable with his sofa right about now. there was no way that he could get away from this argument unscathed. this wasn't an accident of spending an extra hundred dollars at costco; this was basically a small loan.

“—but what didn't want to admit you were crazy?” santiago laughed.

frankie was turning his head again to make sure all the laughter didn't spook his wife.

“look at her,” frankie gestured loosely to the yard. his oldest and only girl was prancing around in her rainbow peace sign bathing suit conducting the younger two boys. “was i supposed to let her down?”

“i think she would've been fine, fish,” will mumbled, eyeing the youngest of the morales children waddling over with a soaked diaper.

frankie immediately scooped up the little boy, not minding that he was soaking wet. he grabbed a towel from under his chair and wrapped the boy tightly. “you don't have kids you wouldn't get it.” he shrugged, patting the little boy’s back.

“you didn't see her face,” frankie tried to justify his reasoning again. “her troop out of the entire county has to sell enough, and i mean that's miserable.”

the men were silent for a moment, living in the moment of the spring day, partially judging and partially sympathetic to his situation.

“FRANCISCO MORALES,” a loud voice erupted from through the screen door. frankie winced.

you had started going through the mail on the counter, trying to clear the clutter from the kitchen, and almost thought the paper bill was a mistake. that was until you began checking the charge on the mobile app which was linked to frankie’s card—that could only mean one thing—he was the one stupid enough to actually do it.

“alright, nice knowing you, hermano,” santiago immediately stood up, ruffling the hair of the youngest morales in the process.

“uh-uh, you got this, fish,” benny nodded, signaling his brother, will, to pick up the pace by getting himself off the camping chair.

will placed his beer into frankie’s secondary cup holder. “you're gonna need that more than me, man.”

his friends were quick to make themselves scarce.

frankie exhaled, looking mighty guiltily at you through the screen door. “hey mami, you look as radiant as ever,” he began though only earning squinted eyes from you.