#stepdad!joel

It’s shortly after 11 pm and you’re having a little snack in the kitchen, watching videos on YouTube. Your EarPods are in so you miss your stepdad returning home. Noticing some movement in your peripheral vision you turn your head and see Joel pouring himself a glass of water at the sink. He’s looking broad and tall in his favorite denim shirt and dark blue jeans and you shamelessly check him out while he’s gulping the water down.

When he turns around, you quickly look away. Your mom’s home so you expect him to go upstairs but when you glance back you see him standing by your side. He’s looking at your phone screen, hands on his hips, brows furrowed as if he’s trying to concentrate on something.

You’re blinking up at him, puzzled by his weird behavior — usually when he comes home all you get is a cold ‘hey’. The best you may hope for is a slap on your ass as he calls you a slut for wearing your tiny home shorts. When your mom’s not around, of course.

You take your EarPods out just as he asks,

“Whatcha watchin’?”

Your mouth pops open and you stare up at him speechless. Your stepdad is suddenly interested in something other than your holes! Did he hit his head at work? And then you see it — his eyes are bloodshot, his curly hair’s slightly disheveled and he’s swaying a little, standing with his feet wider apart than usual.

He’s drunk.

Your eyebrows shoot up. Joel drinks, yeah, but never a lot, usually only beer, and you can tell that he’s had some only when you taste it on his lips later. The sight of him visibly drunk now fascinates you but also weirds you out.

“Ehm.. it’s a make-up tutorial,” you reply, watching him closely. He hums and takes a chair next to you. Now you sense a distinct scent of whiskey on his breath. He places his thick forearm on the table and locks eyes with you. His gaze is warm when he says, his speech a little slurred,

“Your make-up's always pretty. You can do it professionally I reckon.”

Your jaw drops and you mumble ‘thanks’, not knowing how to react.

What’s happening?

The way he talks to you like you’re a normal person and not his ‘cock-hungry stepdaughter’ who he regularly fucks feels so strange, you avert your eyes from him, completely lost for words.

Joel quietly watches you for a few seconds before he leans closer and gets your attention, gently swiping his thumb over your shoulder.

“Listen.. if you ever need any money.. for make-up or whatever.. don’t be shy to ask, ‘k?”

Now you’re positively gawking at him. Did aliens abduct your stepdad and send this considerate version of him back?

Joel keeps surprising you.

“Hell…” he gruffs, pulling out his wallet from his jeans pocket. “Here,” he grabs your hand, puts some cash into your palm and closes it. “Buy something nice for yourself, babydoll.”

“Thanks,” you say quietly, looking at the money in your hand and barely believing that this is real.

Meanwhile Joel scoots closer to you and places his arm over the back of your chair. For a few moments neither of you speaks, he’s just watching the video with you, his hazy eyes gliding over your body from time to time. As always being close to your stepdad you feel tingling between your legs but your mother’s upstairs so, trying to distract yourself, you ask, “Went out tonight?”

“Yeah.. with a few guys,” he nods, smiling at you with his head tilted to the side.

Then Joel scratches his scruffy cheek and chuckles, “Those poor fuckers… bitchin’ about their wives all night.” He shakes his head. “Made me realize how lucky I am…” He puts his warm hand on your shoulder, gives it a light squeeze and finishes, “to have you.”

You know he’s drunk but his words make your heart flutter and your lips spread into a smile. His next statement wipes that smile off your face immediately.

“Almost told ‘em about us, can you imagine?”

Your stomach churns at the thought and you thank all Gods for stopping Joel from spilling your darkest secret.

Unaware of your momentary panic, your stepdad leans in and kisses a spot on your neck, just under your ear.

“Wanted to brag about you so damn much,” he whispers against your skin, sending chills all over your body. “How your tight pussy feels around my cock… how good you feel.”

You tremble at his touch and glance at the door, scared to be caught by your mother. Joel told you before that he’d always be careful but now, in this state, you surely can’t rely on him fully.

Without a care in the world, your stepdad slowly drags his lips up and nuzzles your cheek, mumbling,

“Every damn day I run home just to see you.”

Clutching the dollar bills in your clammy hands you slowly melt next to him, his confession filling your belly with butterflies.

Joel pecks the corner of your mouth but then he rests his forehead on your shoulder and gruffs, “Fuck, why’d I drink so much?”

He’s sitting motionless for a few moments, and hoping that he won’t fall asleep like that, you squirm in your seat and ask,

“Not feeling well?”

“A lil,” Joel replies, sitting up and getting onto his feet. He holds onto the table top for stability and then grunts, “Need to wash my face.”

You nod but when he walks out of the room, your shoulders droop. This strange version of Joel has made you feel so warm and fuzzy inside you wish he’d stay. A smile lights up your face when you remember his words, ‘lucky to have you.’

You’re staring at your phone screen, not listening to the video at all, your mind occupied by Joel and the unexpected dialogue you two have had, when your stepdad suddenly strides back into the kitchen and walks up to you.

“What…?” All you have time to say before he bends down and kisses you. You gasp right into his mouth, your hands clasping his shirt. He cups the back of your head to keep you close, his other hand begins kneading your breast over your clothes.

“Mmm…,” you mewl, scared that your mother will come in, but your stepdad’s lips make you forget about everything. They’re slowly moving against yours, his tongue swiping over your lower lip asking, begging to slide inside. You let him in happily and he licks into your mouth, leaving a taste of whiskey and Joel on your tongue. The kiss is sweet and dizzying but too short.

“I’ll come tonight, baby… when she’s asleep,” Joel whispers and pecks your lips before walking away again, swaying a little.

You go up to your room right away, turn the lights off and wait for your stepdad in your bed. Your mind plays the night on a loop - Joel’s confession, the kiss, his eyes on you full of warmth and something else you have no guts to name even in your head.

The fluttering in your belly makes your heart beat faster. You shouldn’t feel it, you mustn’t. It’s just sex. Depraved, filthy, mind blowing sex.

You fall asleep with Joel in your thoughts and dream of him hugging you close, running his big hands over your body, lightly squeezing your curves. Then his cock slowly slides into your pussy and he begins gently rocking his hips, sending it deeper with every languid thrust.

Ahhhh! With a quiet moan you open your eyes and realize that it’s really happening — your stepdad is spooning you from behind, fucking you in your sleep so gently you could have been unconscious throughout.

“Joel..,” you moan his name with the same warmth in your tone that you heard from him in the kitchen. It’s still present as he murmurs in your ear, “M’here, sweetheart.”

You turn your head, trying to see your stepdad’s face in the darkness of your room, and he uses your movement to catch your lips with his. Just like earlier today the kiss you’re sharing is nothing like you used to with him - it’s sweeter and gentler and you whimper, caged in his strong arms, taking his big cock.

Joel’s hand snakes under your top and he begins pulling and twitching your pebbled nipples, carefully so as not to hurt you. Your eyes roll to the back of your head and as you clench around Joel’s fat length, he lets out a moan. You’ve never heard such a noise from him before, it’s always grunts and groans when he claims you, feral growls of an animal tearing its prey apart. But not tonight.

“My good girl…only mine,” he whispers against your lips and you as well might be in heaven. Where’s your need to be degraded gone? You don’t know and don’t care. No time to self reflect. All you want right now is to stay in these arms forever, keep him inside like he’s a part of you. Like you were meant to be his.

Joel hugs you tight and then his hand slides down and under your pajama shorts. With his member still massaging your walls, he spreads your folds and swirls your wet clit with a tip of his calloused finger. You mewl as he starts drawing tight circles over it, nibbling on your earlobe. His voice so soft, it’s barely audible as he orders,

“Come on my cock… make this sweet pussy squeeze me..”

You nod, obedient to his wish, and let him bring you to the peak. It doesn’t take long. His bulbous tip is rubbing the soft spot inside your core in just the right way, his fingers are rhythmically moving over your puffy clit, and soon you’re coming, moaning so loudly, Joel has to cover your mouth with his palm.

“Shhh… I know, I know…daddy got you.”

He explodes right after and spills his hot cum inside your pulsating cunt. To shut his own whimpers he nuzzles the back of your head and breathes in the scent of your hair, fucking you through his and your orgasms.

When you both relax, Joel doesn’t pull out and slowly softens in your stuffed pussy, cuddling with you, his lips brushing your temple. You don’t dare to move, scared that he’ll leave you and go to her. He doesn’t though and you drift off satisfied and happy in his arms.

When you wake up the next morning, your bed is empty. The only evidence that last night wasn’t an amazing dream is Joel’s cum leaking out of your still wet pussy.

After taking a shower you hurry to the kitchen, wishing to see your stepdad there, hopefully without your mom.

To your delight you find Joel alone, leaning against the counter, sipping his coffee.

“Morning, daddy,” you chirp, running up to him, and peck his cheek.

He squints and growls,

“Shhhh! Headache’s killin’ me.”

You draw your eyebrows together and mutter a quiet ‘sorry’. He seems to be different today and you glance at him, pouring yourself a cup. He’s so hot in the morning, wearing his grey sweats and tight black t-shirt, your lower belly burns and you crave his body against yours.

Acting on your desire you walk up to him and place your hand on his shoulder, turning yourself on even more when you feel his strong muscles under your palm. Joel looks down at you with his brows furrowed, and you purr, batting your lashes at the man,

“What are you doing today? Maybe we can go to the movies together?”

He stares at you quizzically for a few moments and then chuckles,

“Did I replace your brain with my cum the last time I fucked your throat? Want us to walk around town holding hands? Let everyone know that I’m fuckin’ my stepdaughter?”

He laughs loudly at your suggestion and you pout your lips, hurt by his words. He places his mug down and mumbles under his breath, ‘Slut lost her damn mind.’

You take a step away from him and stare at the counter, your eyes welling up with tears. Of course, he’s back to being his usual self — an arrogant, mean prick. You sigh, thinking that you’re going to miss drunk Joel.

Suddenly you feel him behind you as he presses his body to yours. His arms wrap around your waist and he kisses your neck.

“We can watch a movie at home, my needy slut. Tonight, k? Just you and I?”

You don’t say anything for a few moments, hating to give in so easily, but that ‘my’ and the sensation of his big body against yours melt the ice in your heart and you whisper an ‘okey’.

“It’s a date, then,” Joel says with a smile in his voice, slaps your ass and leaves the room.

Thank you for reading! Your comments and reblogs will make my day!♥️

Stepdad Joel Masterlist || MASTERLIST

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“Yeah,” Joel hummed, not looking at your mother, not even pretending anymore, his gaze resting steady on you as he leaned back in his chair, his voice wrapped in quiet suggestion, laced with amusement, “sounds nice. Get ya outta the house for a bit.”

“Yeah, she needs that,” your mother added quickly, too quickly, her tone light but laced with that quiet edge she always carried when she was trying not to sound critical—which only made it worse. She didn’t mean anything by it, not really, but it still landed sharp and familiar, that gentle, backhanded concern. “You’ve been moping around here all week, sweetheart.”

You blinked once, twice, lashes fluttering slow as you sat straighter in your seat, forcing a breath in through your nose as your face flushed—not from her words, but from the way Joel was still watching you, eyes dark and steady like he knew you were reliving every second of earlier, like he wanted you to.

“Okay,” you murmured, sighing softly as you picked up your fork again, your appetite still gone, your mind still far, far away. “Sure.”

⋆｡𖦹 °. 𓇼 ⋆❀˖°

It was the perfect day for the beach—blue sky stretching wide and endless, the sunlight dripping gold over everything, the breeze warm but not cruel, salt-sweet and tousling your hair just enough to feel cinematic. Your mom had been right, as she often was about these sorts of things, and the part of you that wasn’t still emotionally limping from being eaten out like a dying prayer wanted to admit it—it was nice. You’d followed behind her and Joel as they made their way across the sand, your mother in a one-piece that had far too much cleavage for someone her age, the floral pattern pulling at all the wrong places, her voice chipper as she talked about beach towels and SPF while Joel walked beside her like he hadn’t had his mouth on your pussy twenty-four hours ago.

He carried everything with ease—cooler in one hand, umbrella under the other arm, your mom’s tote bag slung over his shoulder without complaint—and his white T-shirt clung to his back, sweat already blooming down the spine, catching where the fabric stuck and making your mouth dry. His hair moved with the wind, ruffled and wild, and you watched him in silence, that tight, hot ache returning low in your belly like muscle memory, like your body was already bracing for what it knew he could do to you.

“Alright,” your mom sighed contentedly, settling into one of the beach chairs with a groan, adjusting her sunglasses and cracking open a can of something too pink to be water. “This is heaven.”

You nodded absently, but your eyes never left Joel as he dropped the cooler beside her and then turned to face the water, squinting toward the waves with one hand shading his brow, the wind pressing his shirt tight against his chest, revealing the outline of his shoulders, his arms, the slope of his stomach, the veins in his forearms that made you dizzy.

And maybe it was the heat, or the breeze, or the fact that you were already damp between your thighs before you'd even sat down—but when he looked over his shoulder, found you watching, and gave you that crooked, knowing smirk, something in you clenched tight, sharp and secret.

Because this beach trip wasn’t going to be innocent.

He wasn’t going to let it be.

⋆｡𖦹 °. 𓇼 ⋆❀˖°

Your mother had, of course, run into someone she knew—and was now standing further down the beach, arms animated, laughing too loud in that slightly performative way she always did when she wanted to be remembered fondly.

You could hear the hum of her voice over the breeze, a social little echo floating back toward where you lay on your towel, eyes closed, limbs stretched out, the sun making your skin feel warm and weightless. Joel sat beside you, quiet and still, sipping slowly from a bottle of water, his sunglasses low on his nose as he watched you like he wasn’t watching you at all.

“You need more sunscreen, baby,” he murmured suddenly, the words soft but firm, his voice curling low against the sound of the waves, thumb pressing gently into your arm as if testing the skin, watching it pale and bloom beneath the pressure. “You’re burnin’.”

“I’m fine,” you mumbled, voice loose and airy, caught in a mix of sun-induced haze and the deeper, headier daze that always settled over you when he was near, when his words brushed your skin like fingers and his hands always lingered a second too long.

Joel didn’t move. He didn’t laugh or tease or tug the corner of his mouth like he sometimes did. He just leaned down, voice dropping half an octave as he said, almost sweetly, “Not takin’ no for an answer. You know it’s my job to take care of you.”

And maybe it was the way he said it—my job—like he was your stepfather in a legal sense but your keeper in every other one, like it was ordained, like he’d earned the right to touch you, protect you, own you. Maybe that’s why you didn’t say anything when you felt him shift beside you, the rustle of his fingers near your spine, the soft pull of a knot being loosened.

Your eyes fluttered open just in time to feel the strings of your bikini top slip free—a gentle unraveling—and you gasped, sitting up halfway in alarm, your hand reaching to grab his forearm, sun-warmed and solid under your grip. “Joel!” you hissed, panic fluttering through your chest like birds in a cage.

He turned his head toward you, completely unbothered, eyes shaded behind his lenses, his hand still resting at the small of your back as he gave the faintest shrug.

“What?” he said, voice calm, patient, the corner of his mouth twitching just a little as he leaned in closer. “Gotta get this skin too. Can’t have you burnin’ where daddy likes to put his mouth.”

And then he smiled—so soft, so normal, like it wasn’t a filthy declaration disguised as fatherly concern, like he hadn’t just said it where anyone could hear if they wandered too close.

But you didn’t push his hand away. You didn’t retie the top. You laid back down, heart pounding, because you knew he wasn’t going to stop. And worse—you didn’t want him to.

He looked back once—just once—to make sure your mother was still deep in conversation down the beach, her laugh echoing faintly over the crash of the waves, too far to see, too far to hear, too far to save you from what he was about to do.

Then, with one hand braced beside your hip, Joel reached down, hooked two fingers beneath the loosened edge of your bikini top, and tugged it down, slow and shameless, until your breasts spilled free into the warm afternoon sun, the tan line stark and humiliating as it revealed just how much skin he was claiming as his.

You gasped—a sharp, startled sound—and tried to squirm away, but he was already reaching for the sunscreen bottle, uncapping it with one practiced flick of his thumb, eyes dark and hungry behind the shield of his sunglasses. You opened your mouth to protest, to say anything, but then he squirted a long line of cold lotion across your chest, thick and slick, and the only thing that came out of you was a whimper.

“Relax, sugar,” Joel murmured, rubbing his palms together once before settling them firmly on your bare chest, his fingers spreading wide as he began to massage the lotion into your skin in slow, maddening circles—thumbs sweeping over your nipples with no shame, no pause, no mercy. “Can’t have these pretty little tits gettin’ all pink and tender, now can we?”

You squirmed under his touch, your legs shifting uselessly against the towel, breath hitching with every slow, possessive glide of his fingers. He wasn’t just covering you—he was claiming you, kneading your breasts with a reverence that bordered on obscene, his hands both soothing and filthy, gentle and cruel in how they refused to stop.

“Goddamn,” he muttered under his breath, giving one breast a firm squeeze before his fingers circled the nipple and pinched, just hard enough to make your hips jerk. “I swear to God, baby, these’re the sweetest damn handfuls I ever touched. You know that? You got yourself the perfect pair of peaches, don’t you?”

You whined, cheeks flushed, back arching off the towel as his hands worked over your chest like he was trying to ruin you out here, in public, in daylight, with your mother one scream away.

“What’s that?” Joel teased, his voice low and syrup-smooth as he leaned closer, rubbing a little harder now, fingers tweaking and tugging as he spoke. “You squirmin’ ‘cause you like it? Huh, babygirl? You gettin’ all hot when daddy’s lotionin’ up his favorite girls?”

You made a choked sound—part gasp, part sob—as his fingers rolled your nipple between his thumb and forefinger, his other hand sliding down to cup the underside of your tit with a groan.

“Shit, look at these,” he breathed. “Fit in my hands like they were made for me. God made these just for daddy, didn’t He? Little sun-kissed clouds, just beggin’ to be licked clean.”

You tried to pull the towel up—tried to hide—but he caught your wrist, gently, easily, and pressed it back down.

“Uh-uh,” he murmured, shaking his head as he leaned down to press a slow, filthy kiss just above your nipple, barely resisting the urge to suck it into his mouth. “You’re gonna lay right here and let me take care of you, sunshine. Just like a good girl should.”

“Joel,” you whispered, voice tight and breathless, your hand clutched the edge of the towel like it could somehow shield you from what was happening—what had already happened, your bikini top still askew, your chest still flushed from his touch. “Anyone could see.”

“Yeah,” he murmured without looking away from you, voice low and casual, like he was talking about the weather, not the fact that he’d just been massaging sunscreen into your tits like they were his personal stress balls. “But you’re not gonna stop me, are you?”

And you weren’t. God help you—you weren’t. You stayed perfectly still, chest heaving under the warm air, your nipples still stiff, skin hot and sticky, pulse thudding behind your knees like a warning bell you’d long since chosen to ignore.

Then, as if time had always been on his side, like he lived for precision and sin, Joel tugged your bikini top back up, slow and measured, his thumb grazing the swell of your breast one last time before tying it tight, securing you like a secret he wasn’t done keeping. He reached for the sunscreen bottle with one hand, rubbed some over his shoulders like nothing had happened at all—just as your mother’s voice rang out behind you, louder than it needed to be, sharp and familiar.

“Oh my God,” she huffed, flopping back into her beach chair, sunglasses perched crookedly atop her head. “Susan talks for hours, I swear. We were only supposed to catch up.” She glanced at Joel, already slick and golden under the sun. “Joel, darlin’, can you get my back with some of that?”

“’Course, honey,” he said easily, his drawl thick and utterly unbothered, already rising to his feet and shaking the bottle in his hand as if he hadn’t just buried his hands in your tits like they were property. You watched him step behind her, the way his hands hovered just above her skin, the same hands that had squeezed you raw, his mouth now a straight line, his eyes flicking to yours like he knew.

You stood, quickly, too quickly. “I’m going in the water,” you muttered, your voice tight, brittle with something that hurt more than it should have.

Your mother turned just slightly, not even glancing up. “Alright,” she said lightly, tipping her head forward so Joel could rub the sunscreen across her shoulders. “Don’t be goin’ too far now.”

You nodded, throat dry, trying not to let the jealousy show in your walk—even though your chest was tight and your eyes burned, even though your skin still tingled from where his fingers had worked you over like you were something soft and sacred.

You moved across the hot sand without looking back, feet sinking into the grains, your hair sticking to your shoulders, your bikini clinging in all the wrong places—and you refused to imagine Joel's hands now on her, rubbing that same lotion into her back with that easy, practiced calm he used on everything.

But behind you, Joel’s gaze never left you. He watched the sway of your hips, the curve of your ass peeking out from your too-small bikini bottoms, his eyes catching on the line where the sun kissed skin he hadn’t touched yet—and he sighed, low and quiet to himself, like he genuinely regretted not rubbing sunscreen there too.

“Damn fool,” he thought. “She’s gonna burn. Shoulda done her thighs, her hips—’specially that sweet little ass. Gonna be red as a tomato come sundown.”

There was a flicker of genuine concern there, buried under the lust—a deranged, backward, unholy sort of protectiveness that made his jaw clench and his chest feel tight, the way only someone truly fucked in the head would feel about a girl he’d just groped under a towel while her mother passed out wine coolers ten feet away.

Your mother sighed dramatically from her chair, pulling her sunglasses down enough to squint after you, her tone casual but edged with disapproval. “Don’t you think that swimsuit’s a little small for her?” she muttered, mostly to herself but loud enough for Joel to hear as she passed him the bottle again.

Joel’s fingers squeezed around it just a little tighter, the ghost of a smirk playing at the corners of his mouth. He didn’t look at her. Didn’t say anything at first.

Because all he could think about was how that “too-small” swimsuit had fit like a dream under his palms, how good it would look bunched at your waist, how your ass would arch into his hand the second he slid it down just enough to see the line where tan met pale.

He rubbed the sunscreen over her shoulder slowly, his eyes still lingering on the water, on you. And then—softly, just low enough to pass—he said, “Fits her just fine, if you ask me.”

Your mother sighed, the kind of long-suffering exhale she always made when she wanted to seem wise and exhausted all at once, the sunscreen cool beneath Joel’s palm as she shook her head. “Girls these days,” she muttered, adjusting her sunglasses, eyes still squinting out at the water. “Seriously… all of them trying to look grown before they’ve even figured out who they are. It’s all ass and attitude now. No mystery anymore.”

She took a sip from her drink, ice clinking lazily against the glass, oblivious to the way Joel’s jaw ticked ever so slightly, his hand stilling just above her shoulder blade.

He could’ve said a lot of things—wanted to, maybe. Wanted to tell her that mystery had nothing to do with the way her daughter had tasted on his tongue, or how she cried so sweetly when she came, how she whimpered his name like a secret she didn’t know how to keep.

But instead, Joel just hummed under his breath and smoothed the lotion into her skin, his fingers moving slow, absent, like his mind was somewhere else entirely.

Because it was. It was on the water, on the shimmer of your wet shoulders, the line of your back, the way your thighs parted just a little when you dove under.

It was on your ass, now almost certainly burning, and how he’d make it up to you later—with cool lotion and warm hands and maybe his mouth, whispering, “Told you I shoulda covered it, babygirl. Let daddy take care of it now.”

Your mom was still talking, but Joel wasn’t listening.

⋆｡𖦹 °. 𓇼 ⋆❀˖°

The rest of the day passed in a blur of saltwater and avoidance, the hours stretching long and golden as you spent most of them waist-deep in the ocean, drifting in and out of waves and thoughts, letting the sea do what Joel always did—pull you under, leave you breathless, then spit you out dazed and aching for more.

You swam until your legs burned and your fingers wrinkled, not daring to look back at shore, not wanting to see if he was watching—because you knew he was. You felt it, even with your eyes closed.

That heat across your back? That wasn't the sun.

When your mother finally called you back in, her arms waving dramatically like she was signaling a coast guard rescue, Joel was already back on shore, slipping his shirt over those broad, sun-warmed shoulders, muscles flexing as he folded towels and collapsed chairs like it was just another Sunday and not the aftermath of his hands on your bare chest, your bikini still damp with sunscreen and sin.

“Seriously, girl,” your mom huffed when you got closer, planting her hands on her hips like she was about to scold you for surviving the ocean. “I thought you’d drifted off to sea.”

You didn’t answer. Just reached for your towel, drying your legs in silence, your fingers moving too fast, too tight, then yanked your cover-up over your head in one quick motion—not looking at Joel, not even glancing, like that might undo the tiny shred of control you had left.

Your mother led the walk back toward the car, already rattling off half-finished thoughts about dinner, talking to herself as she always did. “Did I take the chicken out to thaw? I meant to take it out. Maybe we’ll do pasta—unless Joel wants steak. Do we have wine? God, I think we’re out of garlic…”

Joel drifted to your side with practiced ease, his steps in sync with yours, hands full of folded chairs, cooler dragging behind him in the sand, and yet his attention was all on you.

“How was the water?” he asked, his voice low, casual, almost innocent—but it made your stomach flip anyway.

“Fine,” you murmured, not turning to look, eyes fixed straight ahead, the sun catching on your lashes.

There was a pause. Long enough to feel it. Long enough to ache.

“You mad at me?” Joel asked softly, and it wasn’t teasing this time. It was gentle, the kind of quiet drawl that made you feel like the bad guy for trying to be mad at him.

You said nothing at first, your chest tightening with something unspoken. And then—barely audible, more breath than voice—you whispered, “You touched her.”

Joel exhaled through his nose, not quite a sigh, not quite a laugh, and glanced over at you, his voice dropping even lower, that familiar edge sliding in like a knife wrapped in velvet.

“Didn’t touch her like I touched you,” he said. “Don’t wanna touch her like I touch you.”

You clenched your jaw, throat thick, the sound of your mother still talking ahead of you—so close, so clueless.

Joel leaned just a little closer, walking slower now, his voice thick with promise, with hunger, with possession.

“You think I’m thinkin’ about her when I’ve still got your taste in my fuckin’ beard?” he murmured. “You think I’m gonna kiss her goodnight when my mouth still remembers how you sound when you cum?”

You stopped walking.

He didn’t.

He just smirked. And kept going. Like he knew you’d follow.

⋆｡𖦹 °. 𓇼 ⋆❀˖°

You weren’t sure if it was because you’d been too in your head—still aching from Joel’s touch, still jealous, still clenching around the memory of his mouth on you—or if it was just your cheap-ass flip-flops finally giving up mid-stride, but one second you were walking behind your mother, and the next you were on the ground, palms scraped, ankle screaming, and breath lodged somewhere deep in your chest as the pain bloomed like fire.

Tears stung your eyes before you even realized they’d fallen, and then Joel was there—already crouched beside you, his big hands moving so gently, so carefully, cupping your cheek, thumb brushing under your eye.

“Oh, baby,” he whispered, voice thick with worry, low and sugar-sweet, like he’d slipped fully into some deranged domestic caretaker mode. “You took a tumble, huh? My poor lil thing—can’t leave you alone a minute without somethin’ happenin’, can I?”

Your mother had kept walking ahead, halfway to the car by now, muttering about dinner and traffic —until Joel raised his voice just enough to cut through the air like a clean tear.

“Hey—stop a second!”

Your mom turned, gasping the moment she saw you on the ground, “Oh sweetheart!” she clucked, quickening her pace and hurrying over, placing a hand on her chest like she was genuinely startled. She crouched for barely a moment beside you, her eyes flicking to your ankle, her mouth opening like she might say something maternal—

But then her phone rang.

She looked at the screen. Her eyes lit up. “Oh—I gotta take this,” she said, already turning on her heel, her sandals crunching in the sand. “It’s the real estate agent—I’ve been waiting for this call all day.”

You blinked up at her, speechless, lips parted, watching her walk away, phone to her ear, already giggling as she answered.

Joel’s hand slid to the back of your neck, his palm warm, grounding, the pads of his fingers moving in slow, soothing circles.

You looked up at him, still stunned. “She—she just left?”

Joel’s jaw ticked, but he didn’t comment. He just stroked your hair, and said, soft, “You’re alright now, honey. I got you.” Then, after a moment, he leaned down, voice darker now, slower, like he’d flipped into full protector-mode. “Gonna have to take you to the ER, I think. Can’t let somethin’ this pretty limp around. Gotta make sure nothin’ nasty’s happened in there.”

He looked at your ankle again, gently pressing, watching the way you winced, his brows furrowed with concern that felt real, not like hers—his voice slipping into that quiet, dangerously sweet place.

“’M gonna carry you, alright? Gonna hold you real careful. Daddy’s not gonna let anyone else touch you till we get it looked at.”

Joel lifted you up with an ease that made you feel smaller than you were—soft, breakable, like something he was born to carry—and your arms draped helplessly around his neck, the side of your face pressing into the warm curve between his jaw and shoulder. One of his arms cradled beneath your thighs, the other braced firm along your back, hand spread wide across the space just above your ass like a claim he wasn’t bothering to hide. His scent wrapped around you—salt, sunscreen, sweat, him—and for a moment, the pain in your ankle dulled beneath the thudding heat in your chest.

He started walking toward the car, his pace slow, steady, almost intentional, every step like a reminder that you weren’t going anywhere without him now.

Your mother had just finished her call, still standing a few feet away, sunglasses propped in her hair, voice light and airy as she turned to see the two of you.

She laughed—actually laughed—like the whole thing was a joke. “Oh come on,” she said with a shake of her head, waving her hand like it was all theatrics. “Don’t you think this is a bit dramatic now?”

You didn’t answer.

You couldn’t.

Instead, you pressed your face deeper into Joel’s neck, burying your flushed cheeks against the warmth of his skin as his hand tightened slightly at your back. You felt the low rumble of his voice before he even spoke, his words aimed at her but meant for you.

“She’s hurt,” he said, calm but clipped, voice lined with something steel-rough. “I’m takin’ care of it.”

That made her blink—just for a second, just enough to register that Joel’s tone wasn’t playful—but then she waved it off with a breathy laugh, brushing a strand of wind-tossed hair from her cheek as she shrugged. “Alright, alright. Doctor Joel to the rescue, I suppose.”

Joel didn’t humor the joke. His jaw stayed tight, his arms still curled around you like a cradle, one hand braced under your thighs, the other steady at your spine. You felt the soft puff of his exhale against your temple as he adjusted his grip—not because you were heavy, but because he could, because you were so light in his arms, feather-soft, warm, clinging to his neck like some fragile thing he’d found washed up on shore. It made something deep and ancient flicker behind his eyes. Something protective. Something possessive.

“Gotta take her to the ER,” he said simply, voice low and even, but laced with enough quiet command that it didn’t leave room for argument.

Your mother sighed, like this was all happening to her, like your injury was a disruption to her neatly scheduled afternoon. “Shit,” she muttered, patting the back of her neck distractedly. “Well, I’ve got to meet with the real estate guy in twenty minutes. He just said that If I don’t show, I lose the slot.”

“You gotta do that now?” he asked, not rude, but pointed—his tone lined with disbelief, as if he couldn’t quite fathom that she was standing there debating appointments while her daughter was curled up against him in pain.

She scoffed, waving a hand toward her tote bag. “Come on, Joel,” she said, like he was being unreasonable. “You know how busy he is. He’s squeezing me in between showings. I’ve been trying to land this place for weeks.”

Joel didn’t answer right away. He just sighed through his nose, slow and steady, and adjusted you in his arms again, pressing you a little closer to his chest—not because you needed it, but because he did. The movement was gentle, but full of intention.

“Well, I gotta take the car,” he said at last, nodding toward the passenger side, then down at you, his gaze flicking to your face, softening for just a moment. Like a reminder. Like a pointed fact. Your daughter is hurt, that look said. And I’m the only one doing a damn thing about it.

Your mother made a face—tight, annoyed—but didn’t argue. She dug into her purse, pulled out her keys, and dropped them into Joel’s waiting palm with a dramatic huff. “Fine,” she said. “I’ll take an Uber.”

Joel didn’t thank her. Didn’t smile. He just turned toward the car, carrying you like something precious, already opening the door with one hand while keeping the other snug around your waist.

And you? You didn’t say a word. You didn’t have to.

Because the only thing louder than your heartbeat was the quiet way Joel muttered, “Daddy’s got you now.”

⋆｡𖦹 °. 𓇼 ⋆❀˖°

Joel helped you limp into the emergency room, only because you’d begged him not to carry you in bridal-style like you were five years old—or worse, like you were his five-year-old—and even then, he held your waist with one strong arm and your hand in the other, moving slow and steady beside you like he was afraid the wind might knock you over. Every few steps he’d glance down at you, brows furrowed with soft concern, thumb brushing over your knuckles as he murmured, “You alright, babygirl? Just lean on me. I got you.”

The waiting room was cold and too bright, the kind of sterile chill that seeped under your skin and made you shiver despite the warmth of the sun still clinging to your shoulders. Joel sat beside you, legs spread wide, one arm draped along the back of your chair, the other hand never leaving yours.

He held it like it was instinct, like the act of not touching you didn’t even register as an option. And you leaned into his side more than you meant to, your body aching, ankle throbbing, but comforted by the solid weight of him, the quiet way he kept his thumb moving over your pulse as if he could calm your whole nervous system with one simple motion.

When your name was finally called, Joel stood with you, guided you gently through the halls, and stayed just outside the room while they took your x-rays, pacing slowly like he couldn't quite relax without seeing you. The doctor, a kind-eyed woman who clearly saw through your brave face, told you it was nothing more than a bad sprain. A deep one, sure, but no fracture.

Back in the parking lot, warm dusk bleeding into the sky, you expected him to open the passenger door like always—maybe even buckle your seatbelt for you, like he’d done once after a grocery run—but instead, Joel rounded the car and opened the back door, his silhouette blocking the streetlight, gaze unreadable as he motioned with his chin.

You frowned, brow pinched in confusion as you hobbled toward the open door, your hand braced against the frame for balance. “Why the back?” you asked, your voice soft, suspicious, because Joel never did anything without a reason.

He looked at you with that same calm, steady warmth he always wore when he was about to say something that sounded harmless but meant everything else. His voice was low, rough from the sun and the sea and hours of silence he’d filled with tension you couldn’t name. “Just wanna sit with my girl for a bit,” he murmured, eyes dark and so soft it made your breath catch, “before we go home. That alright?”

Your heart twisted, the ache in your ankle somehow duller than the one that bloomed in your chest as you nodded and whispered, “Okay.”

Joel helped you up like you weighed nothing, one hand on your lower back, the other guiding your knee as you settled onto the wide backseat, the leather still warm from the heat of the day. The door shut with a soft thunk, and then he slid in beside you, stretching out long and loose, the car suddenly too quiet, the air thick with something heavier than heat.

Once you were down, reclined with your injured foot resting in his lap, he was all hands again—soothing, searching—palming your thigh with gentle sweeps of his broad hands, thumb brushing idle circles into your skin like he could erase the pain just by touching you. His voice was a murmur as he looked over your legs, the sun casting golden light over every inch of you.

“You feelin’ okay, baby?” he asked, eyes on your face even as his fingers trailed higher, just beneath the hem of your shorts. “Ankle’s not throbbin’ too bad, is it?”

You looked away, face warm, trying not to focus on the weight of his hand or the way his thumb dipped just slightly into the crease where your thigh met your hip. “It’s okay,” you breathed, almost shy. “The meds the doctor gave me helped.”

“Good,” he hummed, nodding slowly, the sound low and satisfied like he wanted you soft and drowsy, pliant in his lap, like he liked that you were dazed and dependent. His gaze roamed down the length of your legs again, his palm dragging slowly back up over your thigh, not quite teasing—not yet—but definitely lingering.

You hadn’t meant to say anything, hadn’t meant to let it spill out, but it was there before you could stop it, your voice cracking in the middle like a fault line splitting wide open.

“I can’t believe Mom didn’t come,” you whispered, eyes still on the window, watching the gold of the evening smear across the glass. “It’s like… it’s like she doesn’t even care.”

Beside you, Joel’s entire body stilled. His face dropped—not angry, not cold, but something else, something wounded on your behalf, like he felt it, too. Like it hurt him to see you hurt. He shifted closer without hesitation, his hand finding yours instantly, big and warm, calloused fingers curling around your trembling ones as he lifted them to his mouth and pressed slow, deliberate kisses over each knuckle, one after the other, like they were sacred, like you were.

“Awh, angel,” he murmured, voice soft and syrup-sweet, his breath brushing your skin with every kiss. “She just don’t get it, does she?”

You blinked fast, lashes damp, and a few tears slipped down your cheek—quiet, ashamed, like you didn’t want him to see. But he did. Of course he did. Joel always saw. Always knew.

“She thinks you’re all grown up,” he murmured, shifting closer, tucking your hand between both of his now, holding it against his chest like something breakable. “Thinks you don’t need nobody anymore. Doesn’t realise you still need takin’ care of.” He leaned in then, his voice softening to a coo, all low drawl and velvet comfort, and it cracked something open in you even more. “That’s why I’m here, hmm? That’s why daddy’s gotta take care of his girl.”

His thumb brushed over the back of your hand, slow and soothing, like he was tracing the sadness right out of your skin.

“Someone’s gotta make sure you’re safe. Someone’s gotta make sure you’re held, even when you don’t say it out loud. I see you, baby. Even when she don’t.”

And he meant it—you could feel that he meant it, every word weighted with something bigger than comfort, something deeper than lust. It was devotion, twisted and wrong and perfect in the way only he could make it feel.

So when he leaned forward, pressing a kiss to your forehead, lingering there a little too long, you didn’t pull away.

You sniffled, trying to wipe your cheek with the sleeve of your shirt, but Joel was already there—his hand catching yours, stopping you, his thumb swiping that little tear before it could fall. And then his nose was brushing against yours, soft and slow, testing you, teasing, like he wanted to see just how much you’d let him get away with while your heart was still raw. His breath mingled with yours, warm and thick in the quiet of the car, and you could feel him watching your lips, feel the tension stringing tighter and tighter between your bodies.

“Let daddy kiss it better,” he murmured, voice barely above a whisper, dipped in sweetness but heavy with something else—something darker, something that made your belly twist.

And then he kissed you.

His mouth was soft but sure, warm and deep and claiming, his big hand coming up to cup your jaw like he couldn’t bear the thought of not touching you everywhere at once. He kissed you like he was trying to take something from you—your sadness, your breath, your name. The moment your lips parted, he groaned softly into your mouth and tilted your head with the pads of his fingers like you were his, like this was something earned, something long overdue.

When he finally pulled back, he didn’t go far—just leaned back enough to look down at you, eyes hooded and full of something filthy and so loving it made you shiver.

“Aww, there’s my babygirl,” he cooed, voice dripping with praise and baby-talk so tender it made your eyes sting all over again. “M’sweet lil angel, all sad and bruised up. Poor thing. Want daddy to make you forget all about it? Hmm?” His hand was already moving, already dragging down the waistband of your shorts, his thumb dipping beneath the hem like he owned the right to touch you there. “Forget all about your mama and that achey lil ankle?”

You whimpered, breath catching, but he didn’t wait—he didn’t need your answer.

“Don’t worry, sugar,” he murmured, lips brushing your cheek as his fingers slipped lower, cupping you through your bikini with the softest pressure that made your hips twitch. “Daddy knows what his baby needs. Gotta take care of this precious pussy, don’t I? Gotta get her smilin’ again.”

You gasped as his fingers pressed down, slow and warm, teasing you through the fabric, and he groaned, like he could feel it.

“Goddamn,” he muttered, the word rolling off his tongue thick and low, laced with something filthy but still reverent, like your body was a prayer he’d been saying for years and only just now got permission to answer. His gaze dropped between your legs, lingering with that signature mix of awe and ownership, and then he smiled—slow, crooked, warm in a way that made your toes curl even as your ankle throbbed.

“Alright, my sweet lil sugarplum,” he breathed, slipping into that Southern, old-man cadence like it was second nature, like he’d earned the right to call you names no one else ever had. “Just lay back now and let ol’ daddy take care of it, hmm? You don’t gotta do a thing but be soft for me. Let me spoil you a little.”

You blinked up at him, your lashes still damp, heart beating too fast in your chest, and you didn’t protest—not when his hands found the waistband of your shorts, not when he looked up at you for just a second to make sure you were still with him, still his—before tugging them down in one smooth, unhurried motion. You gasped softly, hips lifting instinctively, your thighs parting just enough to let him work them off with ease.

He made a low, pleased sound in his chest as your bikini bottoms came with them, both pieces sliding down your legs with a whisper of friction, leaving your skin bare and glistening in the dim car light, and he tossed them—your little pink bikini and cutoffs landing in a forgotten pile on the floor of the back seat, like they were nothing more than a wrapper he was done with.

He spread your legs as far as the cramped space would allow, slow and mindful, careful not to jostle your injured ankle, one hand bracing behind your knee while the other gently adjusted the angle of your leg with a tenderness that made your throat go tight.

His touch was reverent, almost clinical—almost—but laced with something darker, something so deeply possessive it made your skin burn. And the moment your thighs opened for him, the moment your cunt was bared and glistening and aching in the thick silence of the car, Joel exhaled slow and low, like the sight of you undone between the seats had physically knocked the air from his lungs.

“Aww, honey,” he cooed, leaning in close, his voice syrup-slow and soaked in that Southern drawl that always melted your brain to static. His hand moved down to stroke your trembling inner thigh, rubbing lazy, soothing circles with his thumb. “You’ve had a day, haven’t you, babygirl?”

You whimpered in response, jaw clenched, eyes fluttering half-shut as the pain in your ankle throbbed beneath the weight of his words, mixing with the other ache—the one that pulsed low and hot in your belly, the one only he could touch.

“Got all hurt,” Joel murmured, thumb dragging dangerously close to the place you needed him most, his voice soft as cotton, laced with real concern even as his fingers teased at your slick. “Been sittin’ in this all day, huh? Soakin’ your little bikini, just achin’ for someone to notice. Bet that pussy’s been beggin’ for me since we left the beach, huh? Poor thing—so sweet and needy, all swollen and sad and nobody takin’ care of her.”

You let out a high, helpless sound, thighs twitching, your hands scrambling for something to hold on to—his wrist, the seatbelt, your own sanity—but Joel just hushed you with a kiss to your knee, so tender it made you shake.

“Ssh, now,” he whispered, pressing the pad of his thumb flat over your clit, rubbing slow and steady, careful not to overwhelm, careful not to make you cry more than you already had. “Daddy’s here now. Gonna take real good care of you, sugar. Gonna make that ache disappear till all you can feel is me.”

“Haven’t stopped thinkin’ about this pretty little thing,” Joel murmured, voice thick with want as he used two fingers to spread you open, slow and reverent, dragging them through your folds with a groan so low it sounded like it had been buried in his chest all day, just waiting to escape. His touch was so gentle, so deliberate, like he was worried you might break again—but that didn’t stop him from slipping those same fingers down, coating them in your slick like he needed proof of how wet you were for him. “Been drivin’ me crazy, sugar. Tasted so fuckin’ sweet, babygirl. Like somethin’ made special, just for me.”

You whimpered, back arching slightly, the pain in your ankle still pulsing but overwhelmed now by the rush of heat flooding through you at the way he looked at you—like he worshipped the sight of you undone. Your lips parted, your voice barely above a whisper as you breathed, “Please…”

Joel paused—just for a heartbeat, just long enough to look at you, and when he did, his eyes softened even more, crinkling at the corners with something warm and dangerous, something that felt like love and tasted like sin.

“Aww, baby,” he chuckled, the sound low and fond, like you’d just said something adorable, like he wasn’t about to put his mouth on you and eat you until you forgot your own name. “You sound so damn cute when you beg. So sweet when you ask nice.”

He leaned down then, lips ghosting over your inner thigh as his hands spread your legs again—still careful of your ankle, always careful, but wide enough for him to settle between them, big palms sliding under your thighs to hook them just right. And then he was there again, tongue warm and wet and so slow as he licked a long, lazy stripe up your pussy, groaning like it hurt to be away from you even for a second.

“Gonna take my time this time, baby,” he mumbled against your cunt, already lapping at you like a man possessed. “Wanna make sure you forget all about that hurt little ankle, all about that mama who walked away, all about anything but this tongue right here.”

And you did—because the moment his mouth sealed over your clit, all you could do was sob and grip the edge of the seat, your body trembling under the weight of his mouth and his words, every broken moan swallowed whole between the filthy praise he kept murmuring into your skin.

“That’s it, pretty girl. Let daddy make it all better.”

Joel groaned into you like he was starving—like the smell of you, the taste of you, the feel of your thighs trembling against his cheeks had sunk into his bloodstream like a drug he couldn’t quit.

His tongue moved with greedy reverence, slow at first, then deeper, wetter, filthier, until you were clutching at his hair with both hands, your hips twitching despite the ache in your ankle, your breath caught somewhere between a sob and a moan. He didn’t just eat you—he worshipped you, groaning like he was drunk off your slick, like your pussy was his favorite fucking flavor, like he was proud to be messy for you.

You were already shaking when he finally pulled back, chin soaked, lips slick and pink and shining in the dim car light. His eyes met yours as he sat back, wiping his mouth lazily with the back of his hand, that smirk of his softened by something that looked dangerously close to affection.

“Aww, look atcha,” he murmured, voice like warm syrup, full of baby-talk and filthy promise. “M’poor baby, all wet and cryin’ for me. She’s so sensitive today, ain’t she? So fuckin’ sweet I could stay down there all night.”

You whimpered, legs spread and shaking, chest heaving, your fingers still tangled in his hair as he leaned in close again, kissing the inside of your thigh like a thank-you, like a promise, like a claim.

“Alright now,” he said softly, cooing the words as he ran his hand up your stomach, over your ribs, not stopping until he was cradling your cheek. “We gotta start openin’ you up, don’t we? Can’t just rush it, babydoll—gotta be gentle with this sweet lil’ cunt. She needs daddy’s help, huh?”

You nodded, barely able to breathe.

He kissed your temple once, slow and soft, then looked down again, his hand sliding between your legs, fingers tracing your soaked folds with maddening patience. “You think you’re ready, baby?” he murmured, breath warm against your cheek. “Ready for Daddy to stretch this little pussy out real nice and slow?”

“Yes,” you gasped, already trembling. “Please, Joel—yes.”

“Good girl,” he praised, and then you felt it—just one finger, thick and warm, easing inside with devastating care. You gasped, hips jolting despite the ache in your ankle, the stretch already so much. It was only one, but he made it feel like everything—his knuckle brushing your entrance, his thumb circling your clit in soothing, lazy strokes.

“There she goes,” Joel murmured, eyes locked where he was buried in you. “Grippin’ me so tight, baby. Like this lil’ pussy doesn’t wanna let go.”

He worked the digit deeper, slow and deliberate, curling just enough to make you twitch, to make the ache bloom into something hotter. His thumb never stopped moving, coaxing soft whimpers from your lips, your thighs twitching under his grip.

“Gonna have to open you up real gentle,” he said, pressing kisses along your hip like he couldn’t help himself. “Gonna take my time, stretch you nice and wide for Daddy’s cock. You know that, don’t you?”

You nodded, breath hitching, and his expression softened—some of the tension in his jaw easing as his hand kept moving, steady and patient.

“Good,” he murmured. “My best girl.”

Joel watched your face, always your face, like every twitch of your brow and flicker of discomfort meant more to him than anything else in the world. He moved slow, careful—so careful—like you were something sacred he didn’t dare break.

And then he sighed, jaw flexing as he pushed in deeper, voice wrecked. “Fuck,” he breathed. “This sweet lil’ pussy—your mama could never squeeze me like this. Not even when she tried.”

The words hit like a slap and a kiss. Your eyes flew open, the heat of them searing through your gut, and Joel smiled—crooked, wicked, like he knew exactly what he’d done. Exactly how filthy you liked it.

“Think you can take another?” he asked, eyes dark, voice dipped in something soft and dangerous.

You hesitated, hips twitching toward him on instinct. You felt full already, stretched wide and aching—but the thought of him pushing deeper, of him needing more from you? You nodded.

“Y-Yes.”

Joel exhaled slow, like you’d given him oxygen, like your voice was the only thing keeping him grounded. “That’s my big girl,” he whispered. “So proud of you. Doin’ so good for Daddy.”

He kissed your thigh, hand spreading over your belly as he adjusted his grip. “Relax for me,” he coaxed. “Can’t rush a perfect little cunt like this.”

The second finger pushed in with careful pressure—hot, thick, overwhelming—and you cried out, legs trembling. The fullness stole your breath, your hands scrabbling against the seat for something to hold.

“There you go,” Joel murmured, voice velvet and honeyed sin. “That’s it. That’s my good, brave girl. Just like that. You let Daddy take care of you now, okay?”

He didn’t thrust, not yet. Just rocked his fingers the smallest bit, a shallow press that made your hips jerk and your jaw fall open. You whimpered, high and soft, your body trying to pull away even though every part of you wanted more.

And Joel? He just watched. Watched you fall apart with awe in his eyes and reverence in his hands.

He froze for half a beat, thumb stroking softly over your thigh, his eyes lifting to yours with that deep, furrowed concern that ached sharper than your ankle ever could.

“Hurts, baby?” he asked, voice low, tender, thick with so much care it made your eyes sting again.

“Yeah,” you breathed, cheeks burning, body clenching around him as your muscles fought the stretch, caught somewhere between craving and the overwhelming fullness of it.

“I know, babygirl,” he murmured, soothing, his fingers still warm and steady inside you. “You’re doin’ so good. Bein’ so brave.”

He kissed you again, higher this time, nuzzling the soft skin of your thigh before his voice dipped into that sweet, filthy lull that always made your body listen.

“Gotta get you used to it, angel,” he whispered, stroking his palm up your side, grounding you with his touch. “You feel full now? Just wait till Daddy’s cock is stretchin’ you wide on his lap, holdin’ you down while you whimper for more.”

You gasped, hips bucking on instinct, your breath stuttering as your body pulsed around him—and he felt it, knew exactly what that did to you.

“That’s why we gotta practice, huh?” he went on, pressing a kiss to your hipbone as his fingers began to move again, slow and careful. “Don’t wanna hurt you when I’m finally deep in you. Want you soft, open, drippin’—just beggin’ for it.”

You whimpered, thighs twitching against his shoulders, and Joel just whispered, “Shhh,” against your skin, like even your cries made him ache. He didn’t rush. Didn’t thrust. Just coaxed your body to yield to him, fingers curling and stroking with reverent precision, as if you were something blooming beneath his hands and he was the only one patient enough to tend you.

And then his mouth was on you—lips brushing your clit like it was something sacred, something too tender to take without reverence. His tongue moved slow, unhurried, licking you open with gentle, wet strokes, suckling like he was tasting you for the first time. His eyes fluttered closed, breath warm between your thighs like this was where he belonged—here, face buried in your cunt, fingers buried inside you, lips drinking you in like prayer.

“J-Joel,” you gasped, voice breaking apart in your throat, hips jerking forward before you pulled away instinctively from the sharp heat of sensation. “It—it feels good.”

And God, the sound he made.

A soft, low groan, proud and aching, like your pleasure fed something inside him that had gone without for too long.

“Yeah, baby,” he said between kisses, his voice hoarse and thick with warmth. “Knew it would. Knew you just needed some help, needed daddy to teach your sweet little body how to take it. You’re doin’ so good for me, angel.”

He curled his fingers just right, hitting the spot that made your mouth drop open in a silent cry, and then his tongue moved faster, lips closing tight around your clit, sucking just hard enough to make you shake. His fingers followed suit, easing deeper, moving in slow, rhythmic pulses that made you feel like you were unraveling from the inside out.

“Mm, that’s it, sugar,” he mumbled, his voice muffled between your legs. “Let daddy have it. Let that tight little pussy give me what she’s been holdin’ all damn day.”

And in no time—no time at all—you came.

Hard. Shuddering. Messy.

You smiled—really smiled—lazy and blissed-out, the ache in your ankle now a distant hum compared to the throb still pulsing low in your belly, a warmth that spread through your limbs like honey in the sun. Your chest rose and fell in soft little waves, your lashes fluttering as you blinked up at him, dazed and glowing, lips kiss-bruised and parted. It was the kind of smile that came from deep inside you, the kind that didn’t just stretch across your face, but bloomed in your chest and soaked into your skin—soft, sated, safe.

Joel smiled right back, and fuck, it did something to you—the way his whole face changed, the way his rough edges softened as he looked at you like you’d hung the goddamn moon. He moved up your body slow and sweet, kissing his way along your stomach, your ribs, the underside of your breast, until he reached the hollow of your throat, where he lingered—kissed you there, over your pulse, humming low against your skin like your heartbeat was the only thing worth listening to.

“Love seein’ my girl smile,” he murmured, voice thick with affection as his hands roamed again, broad and warm and so fucking handsy, squeezing at your hips, your waist, the curve of your ass like he couldn’t help it. “My sweet girl, lookin’ all happy and full and messy.”

Then he was kissing you again—messily, hungrily, his mouth slanting over yours with a groan, his lips sticky and wet, tongue slipping between your lips like he needed to taste the pleasure he’d just pulled out of you.

You gasped into his mouth, body arching up to meet his like instinct, like your skin missed his the second it wasn’t touching—and between kisses, breathless and stunned, you asked, “That’s what I taste like?”

Joel chuckled low, biting your bottom lip just barely before letting it go, his voice sweet and smug and absolutely ruined as he murmured, “Yeah, baby. That’s you. That’s how sweet you are—fuckin’ candy, darlin’. Sticky and soft and perfect on my tongue.”

You whined as he kissed you again, this time deeper, tongue sliding against yours in slow, filthy strokes, the kind that made your toes curl and your spine melt, your hands fisting weakly in his shirt like it was the only thing keeping you grounded.

He kissed you like he wanted to crawl inside you—like he needed to taste every part of you to survive. His tongue swept into your mouth, deep and hungry, making you taste yourself on him, like that was the prize he'd earned. He swallowed your moans like they belonged to him, like he’d branded them into his chest, and when he finally pulled back—just barely, just long enough to breathe—he rested his forehead against yours, breath warm and tangled with yours as he whispered,

“Gonna keep you like this, baby. All fucked-out and smilin’. Nothin’ else matters. Just you, me, and this sweet little mouth.”

You barely had time to blink, to gather the breath he’d stolen, before his lips were back on your neck, mouthing along the curve of your jaw, trailing down the place just beneath your ear where he knew you shivered. His voice was rough and quiet, like he couldn’t stop touching you, couldn’t stop tasting.

And then his phone buzzed.

You felt it against the seat, the vibration dull but sharp in the quiet haze, cutting through the warmth like a blade. He didn’t flinch. Just kept kissing down your neck, teeth grazing lightly as his hand slid lazily over your ribs.

“Don’t you wanna get that?” you murmured, barely above a whisper, the words thick in your throat even though you already knew. It was probably your mother—calling to ask if he wanted steak or curry for dinner, or just wondering where the hell you two were.

“No,” Joel muttered, lips still on your skin, voice low and sweet and full of something that felt too big for the moment. “Just wanna love on my girl a little longer.”

You melted. Fully, completely. Nothing but warmth and ache and that quiet, golden feeling like your bones had turned to honey.

⋆｡𖦹 °. 𓇼 ⋆❀˖°

TAG LIST - and yes a next part is coming out ..!

@caramelic3dlatte @thottiewinemom @xkyxkyxxlylcylulucuflfluclu @vixorell @pastel-luna @pedroswife69 @lonelysoul504 @sweetlylcv

It had been a shitty shift, an incredibly shitty shift. Customers seemed to be as idiotic as possible; your co-workers didn’t seem to know their left foot from their right. Everything went wrong.   

All you desired was to come home, find Joel watching the Sunday game, and be in his orbit. You didn’t require much from him; just his presence was enough to soothe your soul…

Forgettingly, you return to find multiple cars blocking your driveway, remembering it’s the Super Bowl. Sunday Super Bowl…how lovely. 

Joel told you it was happening a few weeks ago, that he’d have a few friends over, maybe your Mom would have people over too. Wouldn’t be too many people, but just wanted you prepared for it, mentioning that his home was as much yours… 

You didn’t remember much of the conversation, just remembered how he made your heart race with the way he talked to you so sweetly, grasping at your wrist to get your attention… no wonder you forgot. 

It’s loud when you enter the front door - chatter fills the house with the game turned up as loudly as possible. The smell of beer, junk food, and some candle that makes the home smell like strawberries and cream is overwhelming as you adjust your gaze. 

Nobody seems to notice you as you enter the living area, an older crowd, maybe 15-ish, maybe closer to 20, people just sprawled out, drinking, socializing, some in the backyard smoking. 

Doesn’t bother you much, preferring only one person's attention as you spot him outside talking to two other men, dressed in a flannel that’s buttoned to show his peak of greying chest hair. In jeans that fall over his boots, always dressed like some lumberjack… You enjoy teasing him because of it. 

You think for a moment, thinking to re-enter through the backyard instead… act as if you’re just getting home, then to be able to greet him casually. It gives you a glimmer of anxiety, loving the look he gives you when he sees you. 

It’s unlike anything you’ve seen, very predatory… the way his eyes drop, how he tenses, tracking your every movement. Makes you feel hunted. Makes you wanna melt in his hold. 

You’re about to move until you’re struck with disgust, watching her, your mother, sneak next to him, her hand sneaking up his abdomen, onto his chest as she rubs there, greedily. 

He opens his arm to her mindlessly, still stuck in conversation with the two men, as she sneaks under, curling to him where she stands like a fucking 3-year-old, nuzzling into him as she rubs his chest. 

Your hands shake a bit as you control the rising rage in your body, biting down on the inside of your lip as she leans up to him, expectantly, her lips poking out where he looks down, granting her what she wants. His lips find hers and meet on a kiss, a quick peck. 

Satisfied, she rests her head on his shoulder as you realize how you look, standing there, in the middle of the party, fists clenched, snarling, raging. 

Your heightened heartbeat leads you to stomp up the stairs, away from the socialization, into the solitude of your bedroom as you slam the door loudly. Not loud enough to drown out the sound below, but loud enough to get out some of your aggression. 

“He doesn’t even fucking like PDA,” You exclaim in the comfort of your own room, stripping from your work clothing as you fling them carelessly. 

A couple of nights ago, they had returned home from a date, something your mother insisted they go on - grumbling about how they hadn’t had a night out in forever… which was true. Ever since he found himself in a relationship with you, he’d ignored a lot of his marital duties. Something you tried not to allow go to your head. 

You acted as if you were in bed, sound asleep, but truthfully, ear hustling - trying to make out the argument being had. 

“Just think it’s a lil’ sloppy to be all over each other like that - at our age.” You couldn’t see his face, but tell from his voice how annoyed he was - his words echoing down the hall. 

It had turned into an argument that soon went out of earshot as the bedroom door closed behind them. 

He’s told her, you’ve heard it. He doesn’t like the fucking attention, but he chooses someone like her. What's his fucking issue?

It isn’t a good energy to surround yourself with as you move back down the stairs, having dressed yourself in some oversized shirt and shorts that are probably too short, a distant part of you hoping it might gain his attention. 

It does not. He’s moved inside when you come down the stairs, sat in his chair, legs sprawled out in a way that makes your knees knock. 

It's pure man, the way his beer loosely swings in between his fingers, the veins in his arms flexing as he tenses, his voice booming as he argues over some football thing with another… You can picture yourself sitting there, at his feet in between his legs, maybe while he plays with your hair. 

But, like clockwork, she’s there interrupting your fantasy, planting herself right down onto his lap with a plop, drunkenly. Your mother was never one to hide her alcohol intake. 

You don’t pause to see his reaction, only head through the swinging door, into the kitchen, a private spot away from others. 

You don’t let yourself cry, don’t allow that at all. You’re better than that, you’re not her. You’re not pathetic. 

Instead, you remove your choice bottle of alcohol from the pantry and have at it. Maybe 3 shots, maybe 4. Who knows… all you know is your desire to numb your thoughts, refusing to think about Joel in the other room with another woman who should be you. 

It isn’t long until that warm buzzed feeling ripples over you, cradling you into a deep haze as you spin a bit mindlessly, knocking over a few glasses as they come down in a slicing crash. 

“Shit,” you murmur, bending over to pick up the pieces, accidentally stepping barefoot on a shard as it slices your foot - earning a soft gasp from you as you rip it out, watching the blood drops coat the floor. 

It isn’t long until another figure enters through the swinging door, your head peaking up where it’s bent over to see Joel's brother, Tommy, standing there, looking at the mess, then back to you. 

“Jesus, kid, you alright?” He questions, clearly knowing the answer, as he moves to the corner of the room, grabbing a broom there. 

“Never been betterrrr…” You slur into a slight giggle, trying to stop the bleeding with a press of your fingers, wincing at the touch - deciding to hop up on the counter for better support. 

He looks at you a bit curiously, then to the bottle next to you, then to the ground, sweeping up the debris, “Nursin’ that bottle, huh?”

You laugh a bit at his sarcasm, disregarding your injury as he only huffs out a laugh in response. You open your mouth to respond, only to be cut off by the door swinging open again. 

“Ain’t takin’ that bet,” Joel hollers behind him before entering, his soft smile immediately dropping into a frown as he spots you, then Tommy, eyes darting between you both for a moment. 

He’s quick to you then, coming over in three long strides, blocking the space in between Tommy and yourself as you avoid his gaze, refusing to meet his eyes - utterly pissed with him.

“Tommy, the hell happened?” He’s barking where he stands above you, his natural scent quite intoxicating as you’re tempted to lean into his chest where you’re sitting.

“Hell, ‘f I know, “Tommy shrugs, moving to the trash can to dump the pile of glass, “She’s bout three sheets to the wind though.”

Tommy snorts after making his accusation, pleased with pointing out how much of a drunken mess you are. You always wondered which one was older, but this interaction makes it quite clear. 

You can feel Joel's breath on your face as he inches closer, knowing he’s waiting for your response, waiting to see you fully, but you don’t look to him… only watch Tommy put the broom away. 

“Alright… thanks, Tommy, got it from here.” He murmurs a bit, his tone softening in your presence it seems as Tommy takes the hint and exits the room.

“Baby girl, what hap-” You cut him off with a kick to his thigh, attempting to push him away but failing miserably, watching where your foot slides off his thigh.

“Fuck. Off.” You slur, finally blinking up to him where he’s stood. 

He doesn’t really show any hint of anger. His face is stern but still soft as he looks to you, letting out a deep sigh as his shoulders rise and fall with his deep inhale, reaching for you again, your foot going up on another kick as he grabs it in his hand, observing the source of blood. 

“Quit that.” He mumbles scoldingly, voice richened by the alcohol he was sipping, sounding deeper than usual. 

You respond with a whine, watching as he removes himself from your presence and soon returns with some items to patch you up, blowing raspberries to him as he takes your foot once more. 

He cleans it with some antibacterial wipes while you ignore the sting, looking at where his eyes are concentrated on your foot - focused. 

“You don’t even fucking like PDA,” you huff out, irritably, as he presses a gauze pad to your foot. 

“Drunk as a skunk,” He chuckles out a bit, dismissing whatever you’re saying, his focus stuck on wrapping your foot now. 

Fills you with resentment as you desire then to hurt him, make him feel what you feel in this moment, “Not my dad… not my daddy.”

You huff it out all at once, drunkenly motivated by your bitterness to make it sting, convinced that you hate him, that he’s the worst thing to come into your life as you eye him for his reaction. 

He does pause. Dropping your foot there, his hands go to his hips as his head drops to look at the floor, giving you a good look at where he’s graying on his head. He looks to the door, then to you. Furiously, his mouth twisted as if he’s holding back words, his eyes locking with yours aggressively. 

“Get upstairs. Now.” It’s guttural, the words come out coated in abrasion, as you can tell he’s holding back - knowing he probably wants to lunge to you and put you over his lap like he’s done once before.

You know better than to argue, only sticking your tongue out at him in a juvenile manner before exiting the kitchen, maneuvering around different bodies, and heading up the stairs.

You think of locking your bedroom door after you enter, but decide against it, knowing his temper can only hold for so long as you lie back onto your bed, waiting…

He’s there, maybe five minutes later… probably to not draw suspicion, your door ripping open and slamming closed as the lock turns - your stomach dropping ten stories as you whimper, sitting up, aggressively throwing a stuffed animal from your bed to him - watching him catch it before looking down to it and then you. 

“The hell's gotten into you?” He’s whisper-yelling, his southern accent thicker whenever he’s pissed - something you try to ignore in an attempt to keep your fury. 

“What the fuck do you think-”

“Watch that pretty mouth, ‘fore I get the soap.” He barks back, cutting you off in a way that makes your thighs press together in submission, your eyes leaving his presence, finding your walls to be more interesting.

It isn’t long until he’s in front of you, his dry calloused hand coming under your chin, fingers pressing to your jaw as he forces you to look up at him, realizing just how angry he is. 

His jaw stern and set, clearly clenching, his eyes deep and dark, chest rising and falling with tempered breaths, “Try again without the potty mouth.”

His demanding tone causes your face to soften where it was once pinched, resolve moving in your chest as you desire to be done with this energy, needing to just be his little girl again as tears well in your eyes, “You’re supposed to be mine.”

It comes out as a confession you didn’t expect to make, your bones shuddering in response at the vulnerability, realizing the anger was disguised as the simple fear of not being his and him not being yours. 

You can practically see when he understands how you’re feeling, desperate for his time, touch, and attention. Watching as his brows lower and soften, his eyes drooping to match yours, his hand releasing its tight hold on your face. 

“Darlin’...” He collapses at that, moving next to you on your bed as you can’t help but want to hide your face, instead turning to press your lips to his on a needy whine, ignoring the tears that fall from your face to his, savoring the feeling of his beard as it prickles your skin. 

He responds by pulling you into his lap, forcing your knee over him as you settle face to face, your body melting and fitting into him like a puzzle as he kisses you once more, in a way that satiates your cravings as he kisses you as if he’s starved for you - arms holding you close where they enclose around you on a tight hug. 

It’s the typical dance your lips do, moving together on a soft pillow-like press, deepening as you both display your desire. 

“Can't be doin’ that, need to be good.” He mumbles into your mouth, neither of you desiring to break away as you trade hot breaths, your body slowly rocking onto his as you hum understandably. 

“I'll be good.” You murmur back, knowing what he means, knowing he doesn’t want to hear that language or hear you take that tone… a true, rare occurrence from you, motivated by the excessive alcohol in your system. 

A familiar hardness erupts under you as your cheeks flush with heat, realizing his reaction to you, something that has you deepening the kiss as your tongue sloppily moves into his mouth, forgetting all decorum. 

He, of course, entertains it on a soft chuckle, his arms tightening their grip as your ass nudges down on his mass, wanting to feel more of it. 

A soft groan exits his lips in response to your movements, his hips instinctively jutting up. 

He breaks away with a soft lean back as you cry at the loss of connection, looking at him with a pout as he hums lowly, “How d’you want it?” 

It fills you with butterflies as you think a bit, your brain bobbling in your head as you try to put together words - not expecting the question. 

“Can we?” you ask, confusedly, not expecting him to give you this, grant it to you. 

“Well… you got me worked up, princess.” His hand reaches to your face to remove a stray piece of hair there, tucking it behind your ear as you bite your lip back, hips beginning to rock in anticipation. 

You’d never chosen the position, usually Joel just turned you however he wanted you… not that you minded. This was a rarity. 

You think for a bit, holding back a moan as the pressure of him reaches your covered nub - a lightbulb forming above your head. 

“Awrf!” You bark, your head turning to the side, hoping he gets it as he does, laughing that rich Joel laugh that comes right from his belly as he sucks in air. 

“Jesus…” He huffs out, hands going to the side of him as he looks at you as if you’re the only person to ever exist, “You’ll be the death of me, girl.” 

Happens in a whir, the way you disrobe completely, wanting him to be able to see all of you. He only focuses on his jeans, unbuckling as he speaks, “Gotta be quick, told 'em I’m takin’ a call.”

“Uh-huh, quickie,” you giggle, getting on your hands and knees on the bed, deciding to move down to your forearms to give him a better view of your backside, your legs spreading slightly as you wiggle your hips. 

You gasp as a pillow is placed under your hips, giving your backhalf more height for him as you nudge yourself against it, realizing the pressure there grants you some needed relief. 

“Thank you, daddy,” you murmur softly, mentally moving around your drunken and now aroused haze.

“Ready, pup?” He grumbles from behind you, poking you forward with his swollen tip as your hips move with anticipation - feeling it slide down in between your folds.

“Awrf!” you giggle at the new nickname, immediately being cut off with the stuffing of his cock, feeling as it finds its depth within you. 

You moan together in sync at the newfound pleasure, trying your best to keep your angle as you twitch, sinking your teeth into your hand as one of his hands grasps at your hips, forcing you back to meet his press. 

You never thought to ask him how big he is, you just know it by the way he stretches you there, your hole giving way to the warm, veined, thick press there, hugging around him as you stifle your moans a bit. 

It’s in typical Joel manner that he enters slowly, preferring to allow you both to feel how you become one, allowing you to memorize every protruding vein that nudges at your constricting walls. 

He stops once your ass connects to his abdomen, holding you there, feeling you as you feel him. You can’t help but pulsate down onto him, wishing he could stay there forever, your feet flexing behind you as you gasp through the intrusion. 

“Jesus,” He’s breathless behind you, his free hand coming up to your behind, rubbing soothingly. 

You know he’s observing you in this way, memorizing you. You huff a bit, upset knowing you can’t see his face, second-guessing your position choice. 

A stinging slap lands on your ass as you're sent forward, Joel’s hand tightening around your hip to keep you to him as you whine, your head moving over your shoulder to see him there, staring at the new red mark he’s made, his bottom lip sucked between his teeth. 

His hips move back gently, then forward, ushering a soft ‘ooo’ from your lips as you roll your head, his thrust pace, slow and soft - your petal like walls fluttering around him. 

You can’t help it in this moment, jutting yourself back to meet his thrusts, then rolling your hips, his cock swirling inside you as you mewl and whine into the bed. 

“Fuck-,” He whispers, harshly, allowing you to play with him in such a way, his groans coming out at a quicker pace as you do, excitement burning in your lungs at the prospect of pleasing him. 

“Daddy…” You breathe out, “ ‘m your good girl?”

He stops his movements, both hands going at your hips to settle you before letting out a breathy laugh, “Have me actin’ a fool with people under my roof - got the nerve to ask me that?”

You shudder then, your legs shaking as you realize this is something he does not do. This is something he only does with you because he can’t help himself; he can’t control himself. He needs you that badly. 

“Yeah, you’re my good girl.” His hips snap brutally into you, sending out a pained whimper as he rears back and begins a stallion-like pace 

“Oh- Oh my god,” You cry out, as he slams into you with powerful force, his hands buried into the skin on your hips, pulling you back as the room fills with the decadent sounds of skin slapping and mutual pleasure. 

“Keep it, just like that, pup,” He mutters from behind you as your legs twitch and threaten to collapse at his ruthless pace - his cock coated in your wetness as the sloppy sounds only add to your arousal. 

It’s sudden, the way your hair is pulled, tugging you up as your hands flail out in response, feeling your back hit Joel's chest, his cock still pressed deep in you as it jolts. 

Your hands find their place on Joel's thighs behind you, where his muscle is tensing and relaxing with each thrust. 

His rough hands grope at your chest, cupping the meat there in a greedy, hungry manner. His face buries in your neck, nipping at the skin before kissing it, repeating the motion as his beard scratches you there. 

You’re held together as he moans deeply into your neck, his hips desperately attempting to find relief as his cock pushes and dives in as deep as possible - his barbarous thrusts matching his intense desire to find his pleasure. 

Your head spins from the alcohol and from the fuck, murmuring about something you can’t remember under your breath, feeling like a rag doll as he holds you to him. 

“You’re in my stomach daddy.” You giggle drunkenly, feeling as if he’s pounding into your depths, your helpless thighs jiggling against his abrasive humps. 

“Gonna make me- damnit-,” He groans into your skin, his face moving out of the crook of your neck, kissing there at your jaw before you turn your face to him in response, allowing his chapped lips to find yours on a kiss - trading moans between each other's lips. 

“In me, daddy, in me,” You beg, against his lips, his cock pulsating against your gummy walls as he sloppily thrusts, his hips meeting your ass, “wan’ feel it daddy.” 

You think about re-joining the party below, still dripping with your stepdad's seed. 

It’s too much for him, his grip tightening around your breasts as he sends himself forward, collapsing on top of you with the loudest moan you’ve ever heard from him, his lips pressed to your ear. 

He digs his hips into you then, bullying his cock as deep as possible, feeling his balls pulsate on your rear as he shoots out his seed, feeling it coat you, the hot spurts continuous as he continues to thrust his high out, his weight collapsing on you. 

“Aw christ-” He breathes out, thrusting through his orgasm, pressing you down with his full weight as your leg twitches from the pressure.

It’s a strange thing watching Joel come down. He isn’t in his right mind just yet, as he still softly thrusts into your hold, mumbling praises for you, discussing how good you are to him as he gasps and breathes through it. 

You realize suddenly you’re often on the other side, dazed and confused, realizing you’ve done to him what he’s always done to you. 

You try to bite back your smile as he catches his breath over you, kissing at your back, releasing his fierce hold on your breasts before rolling over with a soft ‘sorry’, realizing he was indeed stealing your breath with his weight. 

“Golly, girl.” He breathes out in the most southern accent, sending giggles out of your mouth as you repeat him. 

“Gol-lee,” you smile, his chest rising and falling in his flannel as he wipes at the beads of sweat on his forehead before turning to you. 

“Don’t think you know what you do to me, pup,” He hums out in a breath, his eyes searching over you a bit confusedly, as if he’s trying to make out if you’re real or not, shaking his head. 

His thumb moves to your lips, where you open and take him, sucking gently. It’s a bit salty, but you don’t mind, wrapping your tongue around him needily, loving every time he does it.

You both catch your breath like that, your eyes closing as you feel his on you, watching as your tongue swirls around his finger.  

“Two things…” He breaks the silence, your eyes opening. 

“Don’t wanna hear you talk like that again.” His eyes deepen as they connect with yours, an attempt to show his seriousness as you nod, realizing he means the words you shared in the kitchen. 

“Mhm…” you agree, batting your lashes to him apologetically, knowing you can’t promise it, but you’ll try. You think he knows that, too. 

“Number two. Change out of them damn shorts before you come back down.” 

He offered to drive you everywhere. 

Got your iced coffee every morning during his errands. 

Picked up your feminine products on those emergency days.

He even made sure your converse sneakers were polished clean after each fuck-session he had with the prostitute he paid to wear them specifically.

You weren’t supposed to know the last one. Or at least, he doesn’t know that you do. 

And you definitely shouldn’t be watching the tiny camera you set up in his office, hidden between the books and pointed directly at the desk.

It made you feel wrong: waiting and watching, up until the moment he’d pull her close by the hip, his burly arms wrapped around  her waist. He’d tilt his head and bring her into a kiss, one so good that she’d chase him back when he would pull away. You could see that smirk on his face. Lust filled. Teeth biting into his lip before enclosing them back to suck her tongue in. 

He was a good fucking kisser.

Joel always did this for a little, getting heated in his make out session. His hands, veiny and thick, would roam her back, pulling her tight ass into his crotch. She lets out a gasp, granting his tongue permission to snake its way into her mouth. Eyes rolling back, she starts gyrating her hips. His knee spreads hers effortlessly as she submits.

Your clit feels swollen under your panties too. 

His low growls can faintly be heard by the crappy mic. “You gonna wear em for me?”  He pulls away from her lips, only to suck hickies on her neck, down and down until his fingers help pop open her spaghetti strapped shirt. 

“Ugh….Joel…” she moans, falling back as his kisses litter her chest. “Whatever you want.”

He gently nudges her until she sits atop the desk, with his body between her legs that spread even wider to accomodate him. 

“Say ‘Daddy,’” he commands lowly, nipping at her sparkled tit with a voracious suck. 

“Daddy,” she hums, a devilish grin spread across her cheeks.

He caresses her body tightly against his own. Swallowing the air between them, he helps slide her panties off. If the little fabric there could even count as panties.

He descends lower, calloused palms gliding along her thighs until he’s kneeling on the plush carpet. He pulls a box from under his desk—your famous converse sneakers that had gone missing for the last two days…again.

He helps her feet out of the stiletto heels and replaces them with your flat sneakers, tying them securely. 

“That’s much better.” He stands up, fits himself between her again, but with the protruding tent in his jeans now snugly nestled at her heat. “Where were we?”

She bites her lip, hoisting her heels up to the desk, spreading herself to him. 

“Oohhh, look at the pretty pussy babygirl.” He back away to admire it, all sticky and pulsing just for him. what he’s really observing is her naked body, save for the converse seated atop his desk. If he can ignore her face, this would be enough to get him off.

“Ain’t wanna wait another second.” Joel begins unbuckling his belt, allowing his enormous erection spring free. 

Even you gasp each time you see it. The monitor doesn’t even do it justice. You have to rely on her facial expressions, her moans, her rolled eyeballs to get a sense of what that monster might feel like inside you…

Your fingers are starting to cramp just rolling your wet nub. Tossing the sheets, you lie back, pulling your shirt above your breasts with a bite on the rim. With one hand holding your phone, the thumb flicking your nipple, your other busies itself between your open cunt…

“Fuck Daddy, so big.” The woman reaches out for his hard cock, entranced.

Joel’s eyes are focused almost behind her, drool about to slip from his mouth. “You like that baby?” He slaps her hand away at the last second. “Need it now,” he rasps desperately. He slips a condom from his pocket, rolls it over his cock and slaps her folds a few times.

She giggles from all the teasing, and you so badly want to wipe that stupid smirk off her pretty face. 

Joel seems to have lost all patience almost abruptly. He grasps her neck, not squeezing, but firmly centering her to why she’s here:

They both careen down to the way he forces his tip through her entrance, a gravelly moan shared between the two.

Their bodies obscure it, making you curse under your breath. All you have is your  imagination of how it must feel to have him split you open, your three digits trying to slide through to pathetically imitate it. “Daddy,” you whisper.

When he’s fully sheathed inside her, he yanks her close, their chests pressed flesh to flesh. He perches his chin on her shoulder and begins thrusting. All working from the power of his hips, she uses her one hand to steady behind her, the other wrapped around his broad back. 

“Shit-shit baby!” She whines. her clients usually were limp-dicked one-pump shit heads. but when Joel’s name comes up, she almost is tempted to take the bill off just for him. 

“That’s it, baby. Take it—deep, deep in that little cunt, huh bunny?” He hushes against her temple. 

Sweat glues her hot body against his shirt. Her tits bounced against his chest, walls throbbed and sucked him back in with each rut.

And yet he couldn’t be bothered to look her in the eye, too focused on whatever was behind her.

She didn’t notice, voice pitching higher as her orgasm drew near.

“I’m gonna-f—fucking cum—“ she tosses her head back in a last fit, her body practically glowing in ecstasy as a tidal wave of pleasure courses through her. 

“Huh—hah—ha-h—hah!” He grunts, finally pulling out of her snatched heat. Instead of jerking off, however, to both you and the escort’s surprise, he grips his shaft tightly, denying his orgasm.

“You want it on my face, Daddy?”

She prepares to get to the floor, but his arm quickly grasps her upright. 

“No. No’skay. I don’t—ah shit—don’t wanna blow. Not today.”

“A-are you sure?” She asks awkwardly. His rejection stung in a way she’s not used to.

He steadies his heart before taking a deep breath, releasing his erection. “Yeah…yeah babygirl. S’good. You did so good. Wanna edge myself to ya.” He rubs her arms affectionately, bringing her in for another deep kiss. “So, so’good,” he repeats, breathing in her scent.

She pouts as he starts dressing her. “I’d like to make you cum,” she whines, a last ditch effort to get a taste of him.

He only grips her chin, pecks her cheek on either side, and then slings her bag back over.

“Oh ah… don’t forget to leave the shoes.”

She rolls her eyes with a smile but obliges, carefully removing them and setting them in his hands. “Lucky girl.”

“S”just the taste in shoes. ‘At’s all,” he brushes off with a hint of annoyance. He slaps a wad of bills in her hand. 

“You can keep it, if you’d be interested in—“

“I’m not,” he interrupts curtly. Any former lovey dovey tenderness he’d been showing her had completely vanished. She felt cold standing behind his straightened, uncaring, almost alien posture.

He nods towards the door again. “Close the door on ya way out.”

She huffs but takes the money and leaves. 

Joel is left in his office alone again. His back faces you.

“Ya didn’t cum yet,” he says to no one in particular. His fist clenches on the desk, head facing forward towards his computer screen. You try to make out if someone else had come in the room, but he was alone. The man puzzled you. 

I’m talkin’ to you, babygirl,” he says softly in that same tone he holds just for you. “You’re makin’ me ache real bad, here.”

Joel finally turns around.

Your blood runs cold when his eyes meet directly to your camera. Licking his lips, he pulls it out from between the books, inspecting it closely.

You almost toss your phone across the room and jump out the window from fright of being caught. But fear and thrill are driving your adrenaline so much now, your eyes stay glued to him.

He smacks his lips together before pointing the lens towards his desk again… around the side, where his monitor screen is now visible to you— 

A clear, live shot of you sitting in your bed, with your fingers splayed between your folds reflects back on you.

You gasp, pulling yourself upright and searching around the room. No sooner did you drop your phone did you notice his little wink into your camera before he places it face down. Footsteps echo closer up the stairs, in the hall, towards your bedroom—

The door swings open quicker than you expected, causing you to jump back in your bed. Joel Miller stands at your entryway, his broad shape taking up all escapable space. He was panting slightly. Out of breath, though not from his journey up the stairs. The dark look in his eyes as he scanned your flushed body, the two of you breathing heavily with thick silence in the air. 

You gulp. “I want my fucking shoes back,” you bite back finally slicing the tension. 

He tilts his head playfully with a smirk. “These?” He holds up your converse by their canvas ankles. 

“Come an’ get em, then.”

You didn’t want to get out of bed. He knew it: you were naked under the sheets, pussy still beating and glistening with arousal from rubbing yourself off to him fucking another woman. 

“S’wrong baby? Don’t want em anymore?” He teases. “Let Daddy put ‘em on for his princess.”

 Joel quietly latches the door close. The temperature of the room seemingly skyrockets with each step he takes towards your bed. You don’t dare look away, but his sinfully wide pupils drink in your desire beating off of you in waves.

Joel gets to one knee, his eyes trailing down your body as he goes. You don’t resist him when he slips his hands underneath your sheets, his fingertips brushing your legs. He pulls them gently until you’re sitting over the edge, the blanket barely covering your lap, your feet exposed and resting atop his knee.

True to his word, Joel slips the worn-shoe onto your toes before pushing it in place over your heel. He repeats the step with your other foot, the cover falling off completely. He clears his throat at the sight of your bare thighs, your naked cunt just protected by your closed legs. The scent of your freshly moistened cunt makes him dizzy in the best way possible. He’d been dreaming of this, fucking his fist for months as he watched you on his screen. Elated when he found your own perverted scheme. 

“Lean back,” he whispers, his lips ghosting your knee cap. 

You oblige: resting your weight on your elbows, you allow him to sit up to slip your other shoe on. He laces them carefully so they fit snugly but not painful, like he was your Prince Charming. 

The darkness in his pupils were anything but fairytale innocence. 

“What do we say?” He hums. He sits up further until he’s starting to lean over you, his torso making way between your legs, crawling atop with your knees bent and spread wide.

“Th-thank you,” you squeak. Your own ankles begin to wrap around his hips as his callused hands grope your body. 

“You look so pretty like this.” His eyes trail down just as his hands push your shirt up, revealing your supple breasts. Naked underneath him, he lets out a growl. 

His bulge presses painfully in his partially zipped jeans. He hadn’t even finished wiping that woman’s cum off his dick before running up here, let alone buttoning up. It didn’t matter—he knew his cock would be someplace warm and wet again very shortly.

The sudden feeling of your exposed body makes you shiver. “Hold me, daddy,” you whimper with pleading lips. 

Your stepdad nods. His arms hook under your knees, hands going to your grip your ass tightly as he hoists you up. He stands tall, mostly dressed, holding you, naked save for your converse, in the air. Joel’s firm body presses against yours while you cling to him. So broad and masculine, feeling his strong muscles in a way you had never before. He held you so close. Even closer was the press of his cock against your seam.

Joel easily slips it out of his boxers. The bulbous tip slaps your folds, making you moan. 

With slight adjustment, you face Joel just as his head breaches your entrance. Both your lips part, a needy groan escaping your mouth into his. Sinking further down onto his length until you were buried to the hilt. 

“M’so full,” you whine, wanting to bury your face into his chest. 

“Daddy’s gonna make it better,” He nods again before setting a rocking pace. His pushes his hips forward, slapping into yours, using the new leverage of his bent knees to fuck up into you over and over again. You  feel the reassuring grip of his hands never loosen even once as he holds you up high, your knees still bent in half, anchored against his lower back. The balls of your shoes dig into his spine only feel even better, knowing he has you like this , finally, after dreaming and fucking so many women who looked like you for months.

Your pussy was divine. So wet and tight, deliciously sucking his thick member back in with each thrust. He never wanted to leave it, he decided then. He was going to be everything you’d ever need in life. So long as you stayed exactly like this for him. Shoes and all. 

“M’close,” you whine into his shoulder.

Joel could feel it too: your cunt clenching and pulsing on him. He couldn’t contain his excitement: pushing you forward until your back collided on the bedtop again with a bounce. Joel hastily clambers over your body, his steel grip on your thighs forcing your body bend in half. He plunges his cock inside you again, fucking you mating press, your ankles at his ears. His arms planted firmly on either side of your ears. The older man lets out animalistic grunts above you. The wet slapping of your love making—if you can call it that—echoed in just your room along with the creaking of the bed springs with each rut of his hips down into you.

He was so deep, you could practically feel him tickling your spine. His balls suffocated against your ass, each full press topped with a slight roll to remind you just how far inside you he could snugly get comfortable. The keening high pitched sounds you make tell him you’re close. He would know: he’d been watching and listening to them for a while now as you touched your precious princess parts. Joel’s thick digits made sure to circle your engorged sensitive clit clockwise until you were screaming in ecstasy, back arched and quivering all over as you came on his fat cock. He made sure you got your full orgasm before pulling out, pumping himself over your gorgeous body.

“Show me how badly you want Daddy’s cum,” he pants. 

You grip your ankles high in the air with your converse facing the ceiling and spread your legs. Your glistening wrecked, throbbing pussy open wide for his view.

Joel stares, transfixed, fisting his dick faster than a spinning turbine before letting out a painted groan. He lets out a fat load, shooting all over your belly and tits until it dribbled over your clit and folds. His knees felt weak, brain foggy while coming down from his extraordinary high. Blinking, he sighed, eyes filled with adoration as the sight of you still there, covered in your step dad’s cum, grinning in pleasure.

He wondered if he should steal more of your clothes to get you like this in his bed next time.

- - - -

Taglist:

The house smelled like home, like it always had. Fresh cut grass from the lawn, the faint scent of laundry detergent, and the crisp autumn air breezing in through the windows. But the warmth that had once filled it felt absent now, replaced by the coolness of change. A change you hadn’t been able to brace for. Your mother had finally given someone a chance after years of being alone, and that someone was Joel Miller.

You sat at the kitchen table, your fingers trailing the edge of your mug, staring at the steam rising from your coffee. The engagement ring on her finger glinted as she poured a second cup of coffee, smiling to herself. You couldn’t take your eyes off it, the gold band, the small, delicate and red stone. Joel had chosen it.

"Can you believe it?" she said, laughing lightly. "I didn’t think I’d find someone after your father. But Joel... he’s good to me."

You swallowed hard. "Yeah, Mom. I can tell."

You knew he was good to her. You saw it every time they were together. The way he would brush his hand over her back when he passed her, the way he’d laugh at her jokes, even the bad ones. The way she looked at him, like he was everything she had wanted but had never thought to ask for.

But that wasn’t what twisted the knife in your chest.

Joel had always been more than just a neighbor. You’d been only eighteen when you started noticing him, the way a girl starts to notice a man, how his shoulders would flex when he lifted something heavy, the rasp in his voice when he spoke to you, careful. He was rough around the edges, with that southern drawl and hands scarred from years of work. A part of you had always wondered what those hands would feel like on you, against your skin, but you never let the thoughts go far. He was older, after all, and back then, it had been nothing more than an innocent crush. But now he was here, in your life in a way you hadn’t imagined, not as some distant neighbor or a fleeting thought, but your mother’s fiancé. The reality of it made your stomach churn, and you hated yourself for the way your heart still skipped a beat whenever he came close to you

"I’m glad you like him," your mom continued, her voice pulling you out of your thoughts. She took a seat across from you, her eyes soft with pure happiness. "I wasn’t sure how you’d feel about this, but... it means a lot to me that you’re okay with it." You forced a smile, the tightness in your chest growing. "Of course. I just want you to be happy." She reached out and touched your hand. "I am."

You wished you could say the same.

The days stretched into weeks, then months, each one bringing you closer to the wedding. The house buzzed with preparations, your mother caught up in a whirlwind of joy and excitement. You tried to blend into the background, to stay out of the way, but it was impossible. Every time you turned around, Joel was there, looming over you.

One afternoon, you found yourself out in the yard, helping your mom plant some new flowers along the fence. The sun was high in the sky, the heat beating down on your skin. You wiped the sweat from your forehead, focusing on digging the next hole. "Need some help?" Joel’s voice came from behind you, making you jump.

You turned, finding him standing there with a shovel in hand, that familiar smirk tugging at his lips. God. He was wearing a faded flannel, sleeves rolled up to his elbows, revealing the sinewy muscles of his forearms. His hair was streaked with gray at the temples, his face lined with years of hard work and sun exposure, but he was still undeniably handsome. Too handsome.

"No, we’re good here," you replied, keeping your voice steady as you turned back to the soil. Your mom looked up from her spot, grinning. "Actually, Joel, I think we could use a little extra muscle." He chuckled and came over, kneeling beside you, close enough that you could smell the scent of earth and sweat on him. His presence was overpowering, and you had to bite the inside of your cheek to keep your mind from drifting.

"So," he said casually, his voice low as he worked beside you, "you’ve been quiet lately. Everything alright?" You felt his gaze on you, but you didn’t look up. "Yeah, 'm just busy."

"Busy, huh?" He tossed a clump of dirt aside, his tone teasing but not unkind. "You don’t strike me as the busy type." You shrugged. "Things change." Joel paused, his fingers still in the dirt. "That they do." The way he said it, made something settle deep in your bones and soul, like he knew what was deep beneath your facade.

You risked a glance at him, and when your eyes met, the air around you seemed to take flame. His gaze was too intense, too knowing, and it made your heart pound in your chest so loud you knew he could hear it.

"Joel, could you help me with these pots in the back?" your mother called, oblivious to the tension that had been growing between you two.

Joel blinked, breaking the moment. He stood up, brushing the dirt off his hands. "Yeah, sure thing." As he walked away, you let out a breath. You couldn’t keep going on like this.

Even so.

Temptation lurks.

The engagement party was held at your house, the backyard filled with neighbors, friends, and family. You had helped set everything up, stringing lights across the trees, setting up tables with white linen. Your mother had been glowing all day, her happiness contagious to everyone but you.

You were standing near the bar, sipping on a drink when you saw him. Joel was talking to your uncle by the grill, his hand resting casually on the back of your mother’s chair. You watched as he laughed at something your uncle said, the sound of it rumbling low in his chest. He looked so at ease, so comfortable in this life he had built with your mom.

But there was a crack in the facade, something that only you noticed just recently. The way his eyes flickered to you, even when he was mid-conversation. The way his smile faltered just for a moment when your gaze met his.

He feels it. He knows it.

"You look lost in thought." You nearly jumped out of your skin at the sound of his voice. Joel was beside you now. You forced a smile. "Just thinking." He leaned in a little closer, his voice quiet enough that only you could hear. "Care to share?" You shook your head, setting your glass down on the bar. "It’s nothing."

Joel’s hand brushed yours as he reached for his own drink, the touch so brief and fleeting, but it sent a jolt of electricity up your arm, right to your heart. He must have felt it too because he hesitated for a moment, his fingers lingering a second too long before he pulled away.

"You seem different, sweetheart." he said, his eyes narrowing slightly as if he was trying to figure you out. Sweetheart. it sounded so natural, meant just for you. "Not like yourself." He continues. You swallowed hard, avoiding his gaze. "Maybe I’ve changed. Or maybe you don't know me that well."

"Maybe," he said, his voice quieter now, and more serious. "But I think I know you better than that."

Before you could respond, your mother appeared, smiling brightly as she slipped her arm around Joel’s waist. "There you are!" she said, looking between the two of you. "I was wondering where you disappeared to."

Joel’s eyes never left yours. "Just catching up."

You excused yourself quickly, retreating inside the house, your chest tight with frustration and confusion. You needed air, space, anything to clear your head. But no matter how far you ran, you couldn’t escape the way Joel made you feel. The way you wanted to feel, despite everything.

Everything beneath the surface.

The weeks leading up to the wedding were a blur. You kept your distance from Joel as much as you could, but it was impossible to avoid him completely. Every time you saw him, the tension between you grew stronger, pulling you in even when you wanted to push it all away.

One evening, after a particularly long day of wedding planning, you found yourself alone on the back porch. The sky was dark, the stars hidden behind thick clouds. You sipped on your tea slowly, trying to let the cool night air calm your nerves.

"You okay?"

You turned to find Joel standing in the doorway, his expression unreadable. You hadn’t even heard him come out. You straightened up, trying to keep your voice steady. "I’m fine. Just needed some air."

Joel stepped onto the porch, the floorboards creaking under his weight. He didn’t say anything at first, just stood there, his hands in his pockets as he looked out into the yard. The silence stretched between you, so thick and so heavy.

"You’ve been avoidin’ me," he said, his voice low and you swear you could sense the disappointmentin it. Your stomach twisted, but you didn’t deny it.

"It’s not like that."

"Then what’s it like?"

You sighed, setting your cup down and standing up, needing to put some space between you. "Joel, this... it’s complicated. I can’t—"

"Complicated," he repeated, his tone tinged with frustration. He stepped closer, his dark eyes locking onto yours. "It wasn’t complicated before, was it?"

You froze, your breath catching in your throat. His words hit you like a punch to the gut because they were true. It hadn’t always been complicated.

Before your mother, before the engagement, there had been something between you and Joel that had lingered unspoken, for years. Maybe it had been innocent at first, just a crush you’d had on the older man next door. Granted, you had never known he felt the same way. But it had evolved into something else, something dangerous.

"Joel," you whispered, shaking your head, trying to regain control of the conversation, but he was already too close. His presence overwhelmed you, drowning out the rational part of your brain that screamed for you to walk away.

"You feel it too, don’t you?" His voice was almost a whisper now, and the way his eyes bore into yours made it impossible to look away. "I’ve seen the way you look at me, girl."

You swallowed hard, your pulse pounding in your ears. "This isn’t fair," you managed, your voice breaking. "You’re marrying my mom, Joel."

He winced, as if the words had physically hurt him, but he didn’t back away. "I know," he said, his voice tight. "I know I shouldn’t feel this way. Goddamn it, I tried not to. But I can’t help it, baby, Iㅡ" You took a step back, trying to create some distance, but Joel followed, his gaze never leaving yours. His hand reached out, brushing your arm, and it sent a shiver down your spine. "Don’t—"

"I’m sorry," he murmured, his hand dropping, but his eyes were still fixed on you. "I didn’t mean for this to happen. Should've been ya."

Does he really want to play this game?

"Then why did it happen?" you asked, your voice breaking. You couldn’t let him see you cry. "Why are you doing this, Joel? Why are you marrying her?" He exhaled sharply, running a hand through his hair.

"It’s not what you think."

"Then tell me," you pleaded, "Tell me why you’re with her when—"

"When I want you," Joel finished for you, the pure rawness in his voice making your heart ache. The admission just hung between you. It was heavy and undeniable. You wanted to pretend you hadn’t heard it, that it didn’t mean anything, but it did.

It meant everything.

Your breath hitched as you stared up at him, the world tilting on its axis. You felt the pull between you, that magnetic force that had always been there, but now it was more dangerous than ever. It wasn’t just some unspoken tension anymore. It was real, out in the open, threatening to tear everything apart. "Joel, this isn’t right," you said, your voice trembling, even though your heart screamed at you to move closer to him. "It can’t happen. Not like this."

"I know," he said, stepping closer, his voice a rasp. His hand reached for yours, his thumb brushing over your knuckles. "But that doesn’t change how I feel." You pulled your hand away, the loss of contact almost painful.

"You have to stop," you whispered, your throat tight. "You have to marry her. You can’t do this to her." The agony in his eyes was unbearable. "You think I don’t know that?"

You swallowed the lump in your throat, your pulse racing. "Then why are you doing this?" You scream-whispered. You were so angry at him.

Joel’s jaw clenched, and for a moment, he looked away, like he couldn’t bear to face the truth. When he finally spoke, his voice was low, almost broken.

"I thought I could love her the way she deserves. I thought... if I just tried hard enough, I could make it work." Your heart ached for him, for your mother, for yourself. "But you don’t, do you?"

His silence was answer enough.

You took a deep breath, forcing yourself to stay strong. "You need to go through with the wedding, Joel. My mom... she loves you. She’s happy."

"I know," he murmured, the weight of his guilt evident in his voice. "But what about you? What do you want?"

The question waited in the air, suffocating you. What did you want? You wanted him, but not like this. Not in a way that would destroy everything around you. Not in a way that would hurt your mother, who had already been through enough pain. "I want my mom to be happy," you said finally, even though the words felt like they were tearing you apart. "That’s all." even if it was a lie.

Joel stared at you, his expression unreadable, before he finally nodded. "Yeah," he said softly. "Me too." He stepped back then, creating the distance you desperately needed. "I’ll do the right thing," he said, his voice low and resolute. "For her." he wouldn't believe himself either.

You nodded, unable to trust your voice to say anything else. The weight of the moment settled over you both, heavy and oppressive. Without another word, Joel turned and walked back into the house, leaving you standing alone on the porch, your heart shattered into a thousand pieces.

It was all ready to collapse.

The wedding day approached faster than you had anticipated, each moment feeling like a countdown to an inevitable disaster. You tried to bury your feelings, to focus on helping your mom with the final touches, but the weight of what had been left unspoken between you and Joel hung over everything. You hadn’t spoken to him since that night on the porch, and the tension gnawed at you.

The morning of the wedding was bright and warm, the sun filtering through the lace curtains in your bedroom. You stood in front of the mirror, smoothing the soft fabric of your bridesmaid’s dress, trying to shake the growing sense of dread that settled in your chest.

You wanted to be happy for your mom, she looked so perfect, glowing in her wedding dress, and she deserved this moment. She deserved love, peace, after the years of struggle she’d endured. But underneath your forced smiles and quiet congratulations, you couldn’t stop thinking about Joel. About his eyes when he looked at you, about the unspoken words, about things you wanted but could never voice.

Downstairs, the house sung with excitement, guests gathering for the ceremony. You could hear the faint sounds of laughter and music, the clinking of glasses as the day unfolded. But it all felt so distant, like you were watching it from the outside, detached from the joy that filled the air.

Just as you were about to head downstairs, there was a soft knock at your door.

You froze, your heart leaping into your throat. You already knew who it was before you even opened the door. Joel stood there, looking as conflicted as you felt. He was dressed in a suit, but the usually rugged man looked uncomfortable in the formal attire. His hair was neatly combed, but there was still that familiar edge to him. He was rough, worn, and undeniably Joel.

He didn’t say anything at first, just stared at you, his dark eyes clouded with something you couldn’t quite name. "You look beautiful."

"You shouldn’t be here," you whispered, your voice shaky. "I know," he said, his voice low. "But I had to see you. Before—"

"Before what?" you interrupted, your hands trembling. "Before you marry my mom?"

Joel’s jaw tightened, and he took a step closer. "I’m sorry," he said, his voice barely audible. "For all of this. For... for everything I’ve put you through." Tears pricked at your eyes, but you blinked them away, refusing to let them fall. "You have to go through with it, Joel. You promised her."

"I know," he murmured, his gaze dropping to the floor. "But I can’t stop thinking about you." You forced yourself to stay strong.

"You don’t get to do this now," you said, your voice trembling. "Not today." Joel’s hand reached for yours, but you pulled away, stepping back. "Don’t," you warned. "Please don’t make this harder than it already is."

He stared at you for a long moment, his eyes filled with regret, before he finally nodded. "I’m sorry," he said again, his voice breaking. "I’ll... I’ll go." This hunk of a man was now looking at you like a lost puppy.

You watched as he turned and walked away, his footsteps echoing down the hall, each one like a nail in the coffin of what could have been.

Unbeneath.

The wedding was beautiful. The flowers were perfect, the music soft and sweet, and your mother’s face glowed with happiness as she walked down the aisle. She was beautiful.

Joel stood at the altar, looking handsome and calm, the picture of a man ready to commit to a life with her.

But you saw the cracks beneath the surface. You saw the tension in Joel’s shoulders, the way his jaw clenched as your mother approached him with a radiant smile. You knew he was trying to hold it together, trying to play the part of the perfect groom. But deep down, you could see it—he wasn’t entirely there.

Standing as a bridesmaid near the altar, you forced yourself to smile, to focus on your mother’s joy. But it was like watching a car crash in slow motion. The weight of what Joel had said to you that morning still clung to you, heavy and suffocating. As the officiant began to speak, your heart pounded in your chest. The words felt hollow, echoing in your mind. The vows of eternal love, of commitment, of being faithful—it all felt like a lie. You bit the inside of your cheek, trying to stay focused, trying to hold on for your mother’s sake.

But then Joel glanced at you.

It was brief—just a flicker of his eyes in your direction, but it was enough to make your breath catch. His gaze was filled with conflict, guilt, and something else you couldn’t name. And in that moment, you knew—he was thinking about you. Even here, even now, when he was supposed to be pledging his life to your mother.

Time seemed to slow as the officiant asked Joel to recite his vows. He hesitated for just a second too long, the pause so subtle that no one else seemed to notice. But you did. You could see the struggle in his eyes, the battle between doing what was right and doing what he wanted.

"I, Joel, take you—" His voice caught, barely noticeable, but you saw it. He cleared his throat, trying again. "I take you, to be my wife."

Each word felt like a stone dropping into a bottomless well.

Your mother smiled at him, tears of joy in her eyes. She was completely unaware of the storm brewing beneath the surface. She believed in this moment, believed in the future they were about to share. And you hated that you couldn’t give her that same belief, that you couldn’t share in her happiness.

When the ceremony ended and the guests erupted in applause, you clapped along with them, your hands numb and mechanical. The celebration carried on around you—people laughing, clinking glasses, congratulating the happy couple—but you felt like you were standing on the edge of a cliff, the ground crumbling beneath you.

At the reception, you stayed at the far end of the garden, away from the crowd. The string lights twinkled above, casting a soft glow on the scene, but the beauty of it all felt distant, unreachable. You sipped your champagne, staring blankly at the dance floor where Joel and your mother swayed together. They looked perfect, like a picture from a magazine. But you knew better.

Your thoughts were interrupted when Joel came up beside you, his presence like a storm cloud looming on the horizon. His tie was loosened, the top button of his shirt undone, and there was a weariness in his eyes that hadn’t been there before.

"You disappeared on me," he said quietly, his voice barely audible over the music and chatter. You didn’t look at him, keeping your eyes on the dance floor. "Just needed a moment." He let out a heavy sigh, running a hand through his hair. "I didn’t mean for things to get this way. Please believe me, I didn’t knowㅡ didn't know she'd fall." You finally turned to face him, the rawness of his words cutting into you. "Well, they are and she did so.."

Joel looked at you with an intensity that made your heart ache, the same look he’d had earlier that morning. "I can’t stop thinking about you, baby." he repeated softly, his voice rough with emotion. "Even now. Especially now."

You swallowed hard, the lump in your throat making it difficult to speak. "You need to stop," you whispered, your voice trembling. "You made your choice. You married her. I don't even know what your plan was."

"I know," he said, his voice tight with frustration. "I know what I did, but that doesn’t change what I feel. It doesn’t change this." He gestured between the two of you, his eyes pleading. "I never wanted to hurt you, or your mom. But... I can’t pretend anymore. Not with you." Your chest tightened, the pain almost unbearable. "You have to pretend, Joel. You have to. For her." He stared at you, his expression torn between guilt and desire. "And what about you? What about us?"

"There is no us, Joel. Never was." You said the words like poison in your mouth. "There can’t be." Joel’s hand reached out, his fingers brushing your arm, and the familiar spark shot through you, the one you’d tried so hard to ignore. His touch lingered for a moment before he pulled away, his eyes dark and unreadable.

"You’re right," he said, his voice barely above a whisper. "There can’t be." But the words felt like a lie the moment they left his lips because despite everything, despite the weight of his new vows, you saw him lean in closer. His breath mingled with yours, and his eyes-filled with guilt, longing, and desperation bore into you. His lips inched toward yours, the world around you fading into a blur of muted colors and distant laughter. People were far enough to not see you, but that didn't make it any easier. Your heart pounded, your breath shaky as you felt the warmth of his body close to yours. You knew this was wrong, that you should push him away, but your body betrayed you. The yearning, the suppressed need that had lingered between you for years, finally pushed through the cracks.

With one last glance into your glassy eyes, as if seeking permission-or maybe forgivenessㅡ Joel closed the distance.

His lips intertwined with yours, soft and rough at the same time, filled with everything that had been left unsaid. You froze for a moment, the shock of it crashing through you like a tidal wave. But then something snapped inside you, and you kissed him back. All of the restraint, the pain, the buried feelings surged to the surface, spilling into that one kiss.

His hands cupped your face gently, his touch tender despite the intensity of the moment. The world around you ceased to exist. It was just you and Joel, a stolen moment in a sea of impossibilities. His lips moved against yours with a desperation that mirrored your own, as if both of you knew this would be the only time you'd have. As if the kiss had to say everything words couldn't

But then, just as quickly as it had begun, reality crashed back in. You broke away, gasping for air, your chest heaving. The warmth of his touch still lingered on your skin. Neither of you moved, neither of you spoke, and for a moment, it felt like the world had stopped spinning. Finally, Joel stepped back, his face hardening as he shoved his hands into his pockets. "I’m sorry," he muttered, though you knew the apology wouldn’t fix anything.

You watched as he walked away, back to the party, back to your mother—the woman he had chosen. The woman he was supposed to love. Your heart broke all over again as you realized that no matter what you felt for him, no matter what he felt for you, it would never be enough to change the reality of the situation.

And so, you stood there, the cold night air brushing against your skin, watching as Joel rejoined the celebration. The sounds of laughter and music filled the garden, but all you could hear was the silence between you and the man you could never have.

Was one night really that important?

You stood there, alone in the shadows, the air growing colder around you. The question gnawed at you, refusing to let go. What harm could it do? One night. One moment where none of thisㅡ none of the guilt, the secrecy, or the heartbreak mattered. No one would know. No one had to.

Would it really hurt?

The thought was reckless, dangerous even, but it lingered, growing more persistent with each passing second. Your mind kept replaying the way Joel had kissed you, the heat and desperation in his touch, the wayyou had kissed him back without hesitation, as if your bodies knew what your hearts refused to admit. You hadn't wanted to stop. And he hadn't either.

Your breath quickened as you thought of him, standing there, so close you could still feel the faint echo of his warmth, his scent, the way he had made you feel as though the world had disappeared, as if nothing else mattered but the f you, in that moment.

No. You couldn't. You couldn't do this to your mother. You couldn't betray her like that, not even for one night, no matter how desperately you wanted him. But the longing was still there, a dark ache deep in your chest, making it harder and harder to ignore. You let out a quiet, shuddering breath and looked back toward the reception toward Joel, who was now standing by the bar, talking with a few guests. The smile he gave them was easy, practiced, but you could still see the shadows under his eyes. You could still see the guilt that gnawed at him from the inside.

What if nobody knew? What if this one mistake, this one selfish moment, stayed just between the two of you? What if you could find a way to make it work-just for one night, just to feel what it was like to truly have him without the weight of the world pressing down on your shoulders?

You swallowed hard. you could still taste his kiss on your lips. You could still feel the burn of his fingertips against your skin.

But then, you remembered your mother's face. Her warmth. Her trust. She was so happy, so completely in love. The thought of betraying her, even just for a moment, tore you apart. Could you really live with that kind of guilt?

No.

Butㅡ

You closed your eyes and exhaled, trying to quiet the storm inside you, trying to remind yourself of what was right. This wasn't a fleeting desireㅡ it was a devastating disaster waiting to happen

And yet, your body ached with the need to be close to Joel again. The yearning, the intensity of that single kiss and one pathetic touch, it was too much to ignore. You had given in once, but you couldn't go down that path again.

You took a step away from the garden, retreating into the shadows. Maybe it was better this way. Maybe one night wasn't worth it. But then you heard his voice, low and familiar, cutting through the noise. He was closer than you expected.

"Hey."

You froze, your heart stuttering in your chest. You didn't need to turn around to know it was Joel. His voice was all too familiar now. He stepped into the shadows with you, the dim light casting sharp lines across his face, making him appear even more worn, more conflicted. "Iㅡ" He hesitated, his voice thick with emotion. "I shouldn't have kissed you earlier. I know I shouldn't have."

You didn't say anything. You couldn't. You didn’t regret it. You wish it never ended.

Joel's gaze softened, and he stepped closer, but you kept your distance. He seemed to notice the space between you, the invisible barrier that neither of you wanted to cross but couldn't help but feel. "I don't know what to do anymore," he said. "I just know I don't want to lose you." His words shattered what little resolve you had left.

And in that moment, everything that had been building between you, the unspoken, the impossibleㅡ became undeniable. It was wrong. It was selfish. But here he was, standing before you, asking you for something you both knew you could never truly have. And for a moment, it didn't matter that it was wrong

You let out a shaky breath, your voice barely a whisper. "One night," you murmured. "Just... one night."

Joel froze. His eyes searched yours, and for a second, it seemed as if he might say no. But then his hand slid to the back of your neck, pulling you toward him, his lips catching yours in a kiss that was deeper this time, hungry, urgent. There were no more words between you, just the frantic need to close the distance between your hearts, to feel something real, even if it was only for one night.

As his hands wrapped around you, pulling you closer, there was a fleeting moment of clarity,a brief flash of the consequences. But it was swallowed up by the heat of the kiss, the intoxicating feeling of finally giving in to the desire that had been burning between you for years,

It was wrong. It was a mistake

But as Joel's lips moved against yours again, you forgot about everything else. Joel’s hand slid to your wrist before you could pull away, a firm, steady grip that tugged you gently toward him, toward the quiet behind the chaos. The party’s laughter and chatter were left in the distance, fading as you followed him, the night air thick with tension.

"We should go to a room," he whispered, his voice hoarse and urgent, almost pleading. "The party still has a few more hours before it ends. Don't worry, baby. It'll all be okay. She won’t even notice we're gone." You looked at him, heart racing, mind reeling, torn between the gravity of his words and the electric heat still burning in your chest from the kiss. He was leading you, his hand wrapped around your wrist, guiding you through the garden, toward the back of the house where the guest rooms lay hidden behind thick foliage and shadows.

You followed, not because you were sure, but because the pull between you was undeniable. You didn’t trust yourself to speak, and maybe you didn’t want to. His pace quickened as he sensed your hesitation, his breath hitching, more desperate now, as though he needed you to understand. "We can’t keep doing this," he said, his tone a mix of anger and longing. "We can’t keep pretending like we don’t feel it. This—" he glanced back at you, "this is what we've been needing for so long."

You could barely catch your breath as you stepped into the hallway of the house, away from the party. The muffled noise of music and chatter was barely a memory now. The quiet was heavier, more intimate. And when you finally stopped, your back pressed against the closed door of a guest room, you both stood there in the dim room, hearts pounding like they were about to burst.

His hands were still on you, strong but gentle, but this time, they didn’t move to pull you in. Instead, he lingered, his fingers barely grazing the skin of your arms as though he was afraid of breaking something fragile—something that might never be repaired.

"Joel..." Your voice was soft, porcelain, and it trembled in the stillness of the room. "Please.." you can hear him mumble a soft 'fuck' before his lips crash onto the exposed skin on your neck, his hands roaming your body like he's been waiting to do this for a thousand years. he quickly manages to discard the jacket of his tuxedo and unzip the back of your dress, your hair that was neatly pulled up now down on your shoulders. "You're so beautiful, baby. Always have beenㅡ god, I was so stupid not doin' this earlier." Your mind reeled, cunt pulsimg. You closed your eyes, trying to steady your breath, trying to steady your pulse. the fire between you crackled and burned hotter, and for tonight, you gave into it.

"Joel, please, justㅡ touch me, please.." he nods his head. "fuck, yeah, okay. You sound so pretty when you're desperate." you shudder at his words, a soft moan slipping from your lips. " 'm gonna fuck you tonight 'n make up for all of the nights i didn't." that was a promise.

you were now almost fully naked, the only thing covering your body was a soft, laced, white set you had on. "Pretty girl." he begins to discard those items from you too, but removes only the bra, leaving the white panties on. you look up at him, his presence swallowing you whole. without words you reach our hands out, promptly placing them on the hem of his pants and starting to unbuckle the belt he had on. you fingers fumble from the tension, but you finally do it. you trail you fingers onto his abdomen, drawing small hearts before you hear him growl. he picks you up swiftly and throws you on the bed settled in the middle of the room. his pants come undone so he pulls them off fully. "Spread your legs, baby." you do, your pussy spilling over the lace that barely covered anything. his rough fingertips trace your clothed folds, making you look away. "Look at me. Look at me, tell me what you want."

"Want you, Joel.." he hums. he pulls the panties to the side, eyes fixed on the way your cunt glistened under the dim light. its not long before he gets on his knees between your legs. "sweet girl. been dyin' to know what's inside that pretty head of yours when you look at me like that." His fingers brushed a loose strand of hair from your face. "you know how much i had to hold back? wanted to ravage you, toㅡ" he trails "to destroy you. make you beg for me to stop..." joel leans down, his rough beard tickling your neck, drawing a soft moan from between your lips.

"Sure you want this, darlin?" Nipping at your bottom lip, he waits for your signal. "So sure." This is it, the moment you had only dreamed of. that's when his lips crashed against yours again, his mustache pricking your skin. you kissed back, hungry, so hungry like you've never felt before.

"want that pretty pussy wrapped around my cock." you whimper pathetically at his dirty words. dirty. dirty like his touch that left your skin tainted, dirty like how you know you'll feel after all of this is over.

but you like dirty. you love dirty.

joel pressed himself against you, his briefs now fully off. fuck, he was huge. his leaking tip was pressing against your folds. "so wet, baby. all this for me? c'mon, let me hear you say it."

" 's all for y-ou, Joel ㅡ" you choked back a moan, pushing yourself back onto his bulge. he laughs, tilting his head to the side slightly. be drags the pulsing tip up and down, up and down again and again, as if he didn't make you wait long enough for it. after he thinks its sufficient, he starts to push inside, causing you to bite onto your forearm and shut your eyes as tears welled up in them. "atta girlㅡ you can take it. you're a big girl, ain't ya?" he teased. "My little girl, takin' my cock so well."

by the time he was fully inside, you were a mess, tears stained your cheeks, drool at the corners of your mouth covered in smudged lipstick ㅡ you were in a dream for sure. joel moves, at first, slowly as to let you adjust. he's patient. praises trail onto you as he kisses little pecks on the small of your back. "That's it, darlin'. take it all." your body trembles from every breath and touch of his.

his pace picks up, skin hitting yours roughly, fingers tangled in your hair and his other palm flush against your belly. "feel me there, sweet girl?"

"I- yes, yes, please, p-please ㅡ " You were hanging on the mattress for dear life, your brain foggy. nothing made sense but this. Joel buried deep inside of you. he fucked you hard, and deep, your stomach churning at every hit. his calloused hands gripped tightly at you hips, his moves now more ragged.

"shitㅡ whish I married you, baby.." he says through grunts, palms still gripping your hips. "Wish it were you there in that dress. 'm sorryㅡ" you cry a little louder as you feel his dick twitch inside of you. "let me put a baby in you, sweet girl, we can run away andㅡ fuck, run away and be happy. have our own little family." your eyes roll to the back of your head. "Joel, Iㅡ"

"You'd want that? imma make you a mommaㅡ my pretty wife, god."

" 'm s-so close, Joel, please "

"I know, baby, I know. Y-You go ahead." With a few more snaps of his hips, you're both coming, bodies writhing, as his head falls upon your chest. For a long, heavy moment, the world outside the room seemed to vanish. All that was left was the two of you, in that silent little room.

It’s Christmas week, only a few days after your first time with Joel, and you’re staying at their house. You show up later than you said you would, and Joel has already asked where you are. The truth is, you're nervous. You’re not sure you want to have sex in their house, and you’re also not sure you can resist.  It’s too mortifying to think about getting caught. There are plenty of other places you can do it–your apartment, a motel, a car. You’re trying to be smart and slow down. 

When you show up, your mom’s car isn’t there. Joel is in the kitchen wearing his standard gray joggers, a tight white tee, and socks with coconuts on them. No shoes. He lights up when you walk in. "Hey," you mutter and he replies in kind as you close the door behind you. You survey the living room where there’s a pillow and blankets on the sofa, and you pity him for a moment.  

“Oh,” he goes over to the christmas tree and plugs in the multicolor lights. “Merry Christmas week.” You stand there with your bags, not really sure what you’re doing, or feeling. He approaches you cautiously. 

You look at each other for a few seconds until you're both comfortable that the other still feels the same way. 

“I'll take those,” Joel finally offers. As he takes the bag off your shoulder, he gives you a peck on the cheek. “Good to see you,” he mumbles. His shirt rides up as he slings the bag over his shoulder and you follow him upstairs. He glances back and teases, “Caught ya lookin’.”

Once you make it to your bedroom you ask, “where's mom?” 

“Grabbin’ dinner. Guess we’ll eat when she's back.”  He puts the bags down on your bed and steps toward you. You don’t step away. He gently pulls you into a hug. You inhale his scent as his arms wrap around you. 

The embrace lingers, and you can't ignore the warmth of his mostly-soft package pressing against you. 

You begin to whisper, “I don't think we should. . .”  trailing off when you realize you're not sure where to draw the line. Every second in his arms, you're less and less sure. 

“Okay,” Joel murmurs. He kisses you on the cheek–slower, more tender than his initial greeting. “Whatever you want,” he adds. He presses his lips into your cheek again, and they linger for a moment before he drags them away. 

“Fuck,” you whisper to yourself, then pull away, cheeks burning as his arms reluctantly loosen and his hands slide down, skimming your sides as you step back. 

“I'm gonna unpack,” you mutter, glancing at your luggage, cheeks warm. 

“Yeah,” Joel scratches one side of his beard. “Okay.” 

One day at a time. Have some self-control. You pull yourself away. 

He nods, looks down, and turns around to leave. His back is sooo broad.  You want to reach out and run your hand over his muscles, but you know you wouldn't stop there.

You lock the door behind him and hope it isn't too offensive. As soon as he’s out, you exhale. You lay down on your bed.  You open your nightstand drawer and your heart flutters at a box with a bow on it, and your name in his handwriting. Under it, there's a new pack of batteries. 

You wonder if he's about to jerk off, but you don't wait to find out. You close your eyes and imagine him coming back through the door, unable to resist.

—------------- 

Your Mom comes home with Thai food and the three of you sit down to dinner together. Your mom makes small talk while Joel makes a mess of the pad thai trying to serve himself. Noodles are dragging behind, tethering the pile on his plate to the main container.  Your mom bristles at this in her peripheral vision. 

“So,” your Mom puts on her best interested face and asks you,“Swipe right on anyone lately?” 

Joel scoffs silently. 

“Not many,” you answer. Every time she talks to you, your heart races like you’re about to walk into a trap. This is your own doing, and you know it. 

“How many guys are on there, anyway?”

“A lot.” 

“Can I see?”

It doesn’t even occur to you to say no. 

You open tinder and slide your phone over. “Just swipe left.” 

Joel’s chewing slows down as he stares at the dating app open on your phone. Your stomach drops.

You hadn’t used it at all this week. You would’ve deleted it if you thought about it, but you’re so used to ignoring the notifications. You look at Joel apologetically as your Mom keeps swiping left.

Joel’s nostrils flare, and his breaths become faster. He swallows and doesn’t take another bite. He taps his chopsticks on his plate. 

“Oh,” your Mom addresses you. “You know who’s single?” She looks up from your phone. Joel takes a deep breath and looks at her with his brow furrowed. 

“Harold, down the street.”

“What the hell would she want with Harold?” Joel snaps. 

Your mom chuckles. “What’s wrong with Harold?” 

Her phone rings. Joel puts his chopsticks down and clasps his hands behind his chair to stretch his back. As soon as your Mom stands up from the table, he leans forward and takes your phone. 

“What’s this about?” he asks flatly.  It’s still open to tinder. His jaw clenches. He looks into your messages. At least he can see you haven’t sent any. 

“I forgot I even had it,” you explain. 

He goes to the home screen. “Good, you won’t mind.” He holds down the app and presses uninstall.

“What else ya got?” he starts scrolling your apps.

He goes on instagram and opens a picture of you in a mildly low cut dress. He deletes it and opens another picture. His breathing is still agitated. 

“Hey,” you reach for your phone. “What the hell?” You take it from his hand. “Are you gonna act even crazier now?” 

His brow furrows and he stares at the table, then meets your eyes and swallows. “I dunno.” His face softens as he looks at you.

Then he gets pensive and asks, “What do you think of Harold?” 

You roll your eyes. “I don’t think about Harold at all.” You pocket your phone and get up from the table. 

“Wait, where ya goin’?”

“Meeting a friend for coffee.”

He’s rubbing his beard like he’s trying not to say anything, but he blurts out, “What friend?”

“Emma. . . Jesus.” 

On your way out of the neighborhood, you pass Harold’s house. It feels like every time you drive by in the daylight, he's struggling to bring some kind of delivery inside - Amazon boxes, or even donuts and iced coffee. Tonight he's sitting at his kitchen table alone, wrapping a present.

—--

When you’re at the cafe with Emma, Joel texts you, Sorry.

It’s ok, you reply. 

It's a struggle not to tell Emma what's going on, but you don't. You tell her you’re seeing someone but don't want to jinx it by saying too much.

When you get home, he’s in the kitchen casually leaning with his butt and hands against the counter.  “How ‘bout some egg nog?” 

“No thanks,” you tell him, but you linger. 

“We good?” he asks, quieter. You nod as you take off your jacket, then put it in the coat closet. 

When you turn around, he’s right in your space. His eyes are red and his hair is messier than earlier, giving you a rush of desire.

“Sorry,” he repeats and reaches for your head.

You don’t pull away.

He cradles the back of your head as he hugs you loosely. You let your hands lightly skim his hips, then wrap around him. It would be a harmless hug in a different family. Until he pulls his head back, then rubs his nose against yours. You close your eyes and take a deep breath, nostrils filling with his aftershave. Then a toilet flushes in the background, and you break apart. 

“I’m going to read,” you mumble. His fingertips skim your ass as you walk away. 

—------------- 

You’re lying in bed later, still reading, when Joel sends you a snapchat. The notification makes you tingle, but when you open it, it’s not him. It’s the TV downstairs with the title card of Krampus. You get out of bed and pad over to your mom's room. You crack the door open, and she's passed out. 

You go downstairs.

Joel is lying on his side on the sofa. You and he are wearing the same pajamas you got for Christmas last year. The Christmas tree casts the room in a dim, cozy light. 

He welcomes you under his arm. Just a little cuddling, you lie to yourself.

Without much hesitation, you settle in as a small spoon so you're both facing the tv. He runs his hand up and down your side before dangling his arm over your waist.  The bulge in his pants is barely grazing you, until you push your ass back and he inhales sharply, then cups your breast, using his forearm across your torso to bring you closer. His nose nudges your neck and you can feel him inhaling your scent. His warm package nudges your ass. It's the first time you've felt him soft, like really felt him. It's still quite a bulge.

He's not soft for long. Soon he’s lightly grinding against you, hard and getting harder as the movie quietly plays. His hand leaves your breast, skimming down your soft pajama top to its bottom hem. His fingers creep under the shirt and when they hit your bare skin, the shock of arousal has you thinking very stupid thoughts. Like, maybe you should ride him on this couch, come what may. You stop his hand from going any further up your shirt. 

His arm relaxes in defeat. 

You gently take his hand out from under your shirt and bring it near your breast, where it was. Instead, he covers your hand with his and interlaces his fingers. His thumb brushes yours at a slow rhythm, and the butterflies in your chest nearly make you forget what you're trying to resist until his cock twitches against you.

He takes his hand back only for a moment to adjust himself, then his hand returns to yours. His arm wraps tighter over you. Against your back, his chest expands with each breath. The rhythmic stroke of his thumb lulls you half-asleep. 

“Can I tell ya somethin?” He whispers. 

“What?” You ask. 

He takes a deep breath. He scoots back, making room for you to roll onto your back and look up at him. His face is serious. He takes off his glasses and reaches back to put them on the side table. His eyes are always browner than you remember. 

“I wanna do this every night,” he says. 

Your heart flutters. You turn on your side to face him. 

“I mean it,” his eyes are somber. He lays his hand on your side. He takes in a shaky breath. “I'm miserable without you.” 

“I'm right here.” 

He shakes his head. “I need all of you.” 

You look at each other for a few seconds in the light of the Christmas tree. There's not much to say. 

“Me too,” you whisper. His nose twitches and he shakes his head like you don't get it.

“What I’m tryin’ to say is. . .I’d ruin my life for you, if it wouldn't ruin yours, too.”

You read each other's eyes for a long moment.

“What life,” you whisper.

His eyes brighten. “That's how I feel.”  His gaze falls to your lips. “We’ll get a new one.” 

You want to kiss him, but don't want to end up naked. First you warn,  “I don't wanna take off any-”  

He cuts you off with his lips. They’re soft and needy. Then his hand runs down your side, over your ass, and his fingers dig into your flannel-clad thigh. You hike your knee up and wrap your leg around him. The hard shape in his pants presses right against your most sensitive place. “Mm,”  you moan softly into his mouth.

You’re throbbing for him. So turned on. His tongue slides against yours and he feeds on your mouth as he grinds against you. His dick is fat and hard and warm.

As you move against each other, pangs of pleasure dart to your nipples, your ass, your chest. He's so hard. Your body flutters on the edge of bliss but stays there. He grabs the plush of your ass, pulling you harder against him. You break the kiss with a gasp, and he latches onto your neck. 

With a push of his hips, he moans into your neck then whispers, “can't wait to be inside you again.” you throb and gush at the thought. He grinds against you a little harder, needier, but just as slow. “Fuck, you feel good.” He rolls over on his back, bringing you on top of him. Then he sits up and lifts your knees so your legs wrap around him and you hang onto his neck.

“God I wanna fuck you like this,” he whispers, holding you against him. His cock swells harder. You're throbbing madly. You card your fingers into his hair and he groans at your fingertips on his scalp. His strong arm holds you against him with his hips lifting under you. 

“Me too,” you whisper, your legs pulling yourself closer, harder. You groan softly. “Want you inside me—fuck, just like this.”

“Can ya feel it,” he asks, “ohhh–cause I still feel it–god–every time I close my eyes.” He moans as his stiff manhood twitches against you. Your clit pulses and you gasp. He covers your mouth with a kiss as you come. Everything else fades away. His lips break away with a shudder as he explodes against you through the soft flannel, pulsing hard. Your chest flutters at the feeling.

When you're both done, he lets you back onto the sofa, and resumes his position on his side. He pulls you back against him with a sigh. You're pleasantly surprised that you don't feel a bigger mess against your back.

“Shit,” he mutters after a minute.

“What?”

“‘s’not your problem.” 

“Say it.” You roll on your back to look at him.

His cheeks flush. “M’not empty.” 

Your heart skips a beat.

“Not your problem,” he repeats, but you’re already pulling down your waistband. Yeah, it’s. . .not a problem at all.

You turn on your side again, facing the tv. You reach back into his pants, and your breath hitches at the mess of cum enrobing his slowly softening dick.

“Do it,” you whisper, and tilt your hips for him.

He quickly notches his cum smeared dick at your entrance, no longer fully hard, but hard enough. He presses on your mound as he plunges into you, dividing your insides with a sigh. “Fuck,” he breathes. Your chest feels light as your body makes space for him. 

You close your eyes as he further stiffens, growing inside you, pressing against your walls. His hand slides up your top. He gropes your breast as he retreats, then bottoms out again. Within a few strokes, he’s as stiff as ever, and you’re as full as ever. 

He pauses, fully seated inside you, throbbing. He covers you both with a blanket. You're relieved there's another one beneath you. He breathes against your ear as his hand meanders under your top again. “Inside?” 

“Yeah,” You nod.  

“Where it should be,” he pants. He moans as he slowly fucks you.

“Want it all,” you beg, getting closer and closer with the tight drag of him within you.

He adjusts his position, sliding his arm under your neck so he can grope you with both hands, hugging you tight against him.

"'s'all I think about," he whispers. "Ungghhh---when I wake up---ohh--when I go to sleep."

He moans softly and his hands feel you greedily, "whenever you're ready."

“Fuck,” you whisper. He buries himself in you slow and deep. His breath is hot on your neck. You push back on him, swallowing every inch he’ll feed your drooling cunt. He buries his mouth and nose against your head. The Christmas lights are blurry in the corner of your eye.

“Feel so perfect,” he pants. He rubs your clit and you still his hand. He withdraws part way and pauses with his tip nudging just the right spot. He just barely rocks his hips, staying right there, rubbing over it, not letting up.

You gasp and tighten with tension, then sigh as you gush on him.

“Yeah,” he pants, presses your mound for leverage, and bottoms out as you choke his cock.

He sighs and begins to pulse with even more power than you remember. A huge burst of warmth, followed by a smaller twitch, another massive burst, a slow thrust. It keeps coming, and so do you. His breaths are heavy against you, his stomach flexing into your back as he empties his load. You're overflowing with cum. Your climax wanes, and he's still pulsing even once he's dry.

It finally stops, and he rests inside.

-

You catch your breath, and the smell of sex hangs so heavy in the air that dread bubbles in your chest. You pull yourself forward, letting his cock fall out.

“Shit,” you mutter at the mess between your legs. You pull your pants up. He squeezes your hip affectionately as you sit up.

He sits up on his elbow and tucks away his worn out cock. He takes a deep breath and searches your eyes.

You don't know what to say. You reach back to feel the blanket – soaked. “This is. . .we can’t do this again.”

He whispers your name, sits up and rests one hand on your back, one on your thigh. His chest is heaving like he's waking up from a nightmare. “What happened,” he whispers. “Talk to me.”

“Here. We can't do this here.”

He sighs and swallows. “Okay,” he whispers. “Sorry.”

“You know how to use the washer, right?”

“Yeah. I've got it. Of course.”

You take off your pajama bottoms.

“You okay ?” He asks.

You nod. You yearn to lay with him, but you’re also compelled to leave that room.

You read his face and the worry on it makes your heart hurt.

“It's okay,” you whisper, then kiss him good night. It's a long, soft kiss, and he doesn't want to let you go. “It’s okay, I promise,” you assure him.

You creep up the stairs pantsless. The air is cool on the cum between your thighs until more warmth trickles out.

You clean up in your bathroom and hear the washer turn on downstairs. You can't get his pitiful look out of your head. You send him a chat when you get back in bed: Good night ❤️.

Sweet dreams ❤️🤟, he replies.

—---

----

----

Thank you for reading!

PSA - The main story to stepdad is over, and I don't commit to another arc of them, but the AU is still open for one shots, asks, HCs, whatever I get inspired on. Basically I want it to be more casual without expectations.

There will be another post this month, because I already wrote the smut.