#toxicdbf

Tags - This story: @jbcalway @daddy-din @angelmenace @silkiers @axshadows @legs0pen4dilfs @fan-fiction-floozy @grnherbs @icuminurbutt @lokanda @not-a-unique-snowflakewflake89 @likeanimagepassingby2 @witchy-jadda @mxtokko @missannwinchester @cannolighost @anxiousankylosaurus @montenegroisr @97cityy @lillyrob @billyloomiswhore4 @cloudroomblog @boysddontcry @blackvelveteen1339 @twsssmlmaa @call-me-doll-face All Joel: @ethanhoewke @silkiers @eiviea. @evyiione Lmk if i missed you. Idk why some are buggy.

-

The hotel shampoo and body wash smell like Joel after his shower, which makes you want to take the bottles with you.  After your bath, you lounge on your bed in a towel, air-drying, finishing the movie, and replaying the night in your mind.  Mainly how hot Joel looked between your legs.  You also dwell on the fact that he wouldn’t really kiss you.  Apparently, he won't sleep in the same bed with you either.  It hurts.  Like, it's physically painful.  

You go across the suite to Joel's room for a shirt to sleep in.  His door is cracked open and there's a green flannel folded on top of his luggage.  It’s not weather-appropriate and you wonder if he brought it for you.   He's tucked in, already asleep on his stomach with his shirt off, a massive arm sticking out over the white comforter and another under his pillow.   You drop your towel to put the shirt on – leisurely, hoping he wakes up to the tempting sight – but he's already sleeping soundly.   You've never seen his face so relaxed, but his brow is still somewhat furrowed.  

You sit down on his bed to fasten a couple of buttons.  He doesn't  wake up.  The irony doesn't escape you that you're watching him sleep when he's supposed to be the creep.  Why doesn't he try to fuck you, you wonder.  His words to Chad echo in your mind: If she told her father, you wouldn't be breathing.  But that's obviously different, you think. That was about someone breaking your heart and physically intimidating you.   

-

The hotel bed is tightly made, with the comforter tucked under the mattress on the side Joel isn't using.  You wonder if you could slip inside without waking him up.  You move the pillows out of the way, then slowly, inch by inch, wedge yourself under the sheets. When you're almost settled, he stirs.  He blinks a few times, squints at you, then sighs, "Trouble . . ."  He moves one of his pillows and hugs it, effectively putting something between you.  It stings.  You try to sleep but you end up sniffling.  

He hears you and wakes up again.  "C'mere, damnit," he half-whispers, half-asleep.  His gruff bedroom whisper makes you wet.  He lifts up his arm but doesn't turn on his side or move the pillow.  You rotate the pillow slightly and rest your head on it with his arm over your chest.  You drift off sooner than you expect.  

-

At some point in your sleep, you roll over facing away from him.  You wake up in the fetal position with Joel’s arm draped over you.  Joel has turned onto his side, too.  Your upper back is just barely against his chest.  You scoot your lower body backwards to spoon with him, and your naked ass meets the tip of his cock.  Arousal shoots through you like a bolt of lightning.  It's the first time you've actually had contact with it.  You didn't even realize he was naked. 

At the first contact, his hips instinctively press his cock up against you, sending all the blood in your body to your core.  You stifle a moan, not stopping to wonder why you don't want to wake him up.  You carefully maneuver your ass to nestle his cock between your thighs.  He thrusts in his sleep, gliding firm and wet against your folds, reaching your clit, sending a jolt of pleasure through you. 

You unbutton your shirt then nudge his hand into it. His hand twitches and so does his cock. It pulls back a little and the tip is right at your entrance. Your hips tilt, nestling it there, the top curve of the head resting just inside without truly breaching you.  You could sink onto him right now.  It would be so easy.  But you want him to do it himself.  

You're absolutely throbbing, aching for him.  He pulls back again with a sigh, then his hard tip bypasses your tight, dripping hole and glides to your clit again and you softly moan.  You adjust your chest, wanting the movement of your breast to prompt his hand to cup around it.  But instead of cupping your breast, his hand drifts up your chest.  Then, it wraps loosely around your throat.

His voice is quiet but stern as his cock retreats then slides firmly against your clit with an aggressive thrust.  His hand applies light pressure around your throat.  “What’d I tell ya last night?”  

You remember it well, how you foolishly claimed you weren't gonna fuck him and he replied, oh, I'm not gonna let ya, sugar.  Blood drains from your face and your heart races. You scoff but don't say anything.  Having made his point, his hand goes slack again.  Humiliation drowns out your arousal and you begin to scoot away, but he follows you, effortlessly restraining you with one enormous arm.  

“Calm down," he says into your hair, then half-whispers under your ear, "I’m still gonna take care of ya,” as he palms your breast.  His hard cock nestles against your crack. 

"Lucky me," you say sarcastically and begin to squirm away, but both his arms wrap around you.  In a mocking tone, you parrot, "Take care of me," and add, "you're an actual whore, aren't you?"  A veiny hand slowly works your breast then trails down your torso and digs between your legs.  That’s all it takes for your arousal to return.  

He gathers your ample wetness and uses his middle and ring fingers in a way he must have been perfecting since before you were born.   You gasp and your back arches with tension building rapidly in your core.  His bicep flexes under your neck as his other hand slowly gropes your breasts.  His stiff cock slowly ruts against your ass while he touches you like you've never been touched before.  

He grunts and you gasp on the edge of your climax.  He softly bites your neck, and it sends you.  He sucks your neck as you come.   When your body finishes convulsing into his, his arms loosen and you turn around to face him. 

-

Bedhead is unreasonably sexy on him.   You can't resist. You try to kiss him.  

He fucking dodges you again, going for your neck instead.   "Haven't you seen Pretty woman?" Yeah, the one where a sex worker won’t kiss johns on the mouth because it’s too emotional . . .Joel starts giving you a light hickey.  

"You're evil," you say, pulling away to look at him.  

He smiles wickedly, then it fades.  He opens his mouth to say something but stops short when you reach down and grab his cock.  Your mouth falls open at its hardness and the fact that his hand is already around it. 

He winces at your icy fingers. 

You get up on your knees and straddle his legs, pushing the plush luxury comforter behind you.  You fold at the hips and take a moment to admire his cock in your fist and breathe in his musk.  Your thumb lightly traces a vein, and he exhales with a soft grunt.  You look up and are greeted with a twinkle in his eye and a barely perceptible smirk.  You want to wipe that smirk off his face.  

You quickly succeed by holding eye contact while you wrap your lips around his swollen tip and tongue the slit.  It’s already salty with pre-cum.  He takes a deep breath and his lips part just barely.   He puts another pillow behind his head for a better view. His face falls into a trance.  When you begin to suck, he swallows and his jaw clenches.    His eyes darken. You bob your head on his cock, taking as much of his shaft as you can without gagging, stroking the rest with your hand. 

“Fuck,” he pants.  His quads tense under you and his breathing changes. His hips rock gently into your mouth.  Your eyes water as you keep blowing him.  Then, his hand joins yours.  

“Where ya want it?” he asks somewhat urgently.  What a gentleman. 

You don’t answer, you simply take his hand off his cock and place it on his stomach.  You slow your sucking and relax your tongue.  His hips thrust gently into your mouth and his  hand floats to your head, but you send it back to his stomach again  

“God almighty,” he groans.  “Fuck me.”  It’s a turn-on seeing him so desperate.  

You edge him until you’re ready to see him come. Then, you suck with your whole mouth, your cheeks caving in as you firmly tongue the underside.  Within seconds, his hips lift and stay lifted as he erupts in your mouth with a groan.  His warm load hits the roof of your mouth first, and it’s so many ropes you lose count.  You swallow, then return to the head of the bed. 

-

You put your head on his chest and he strokes your shoulder.  

“You’re the evil one,” he says, and you bask in self-satisfaction for a minute.  “Nah, you’re right.  You don’t wanna believe it, but you’re right.” 

“About what?” 

He sits up and your eyes glue to his inner bicep flexing as he reaches for his phone.  His brow furrows as he reads something then dismisses it.  Then he puts on the song Trouble by Elvis.  He meant you’re right that he’s evil.  

You hold out your arm and say, “I’m cringing so hard I have goosebumps.”  

“Just for that, I’m gonna play DJ allll mornin’,” he says.  He sings along as he walks to the shower, “well I’m evil, so don’t you mess around with me. . .” 

. . .

Before Joel takes you back to your apartment, you have brunch at a restaurant overlooking the riverwalk.  In the absence of other options, you wear your leather pants with the lacy top.  You both get bloody marys. He wears his Ray-Bans and a white t-shirt, jeans as tight as always, and sits back lazily with one elbow over the back of his chair and his knees spread wide.  

Your phone dings with a text from another family friend, Frank, asking if you’re coming home for the Independence Day barbecue, and it gets you thinking.

“Dad’s back this week,” you say to Joel.  You instantly regret it for killing the mood, but it’s the elephant in the room.  “Y’all still gonna barbecue?” 

He takes a sip of his drink, then puts it back down.  He looks at the river and furrows his brow, then his eyes return to you.  “Why wouldn’t we?  You gonna talk to him?”

“I dunno,” you say, not wanting to show your hand, but you’re leaning against snitching any time soon.  

Joel tenses and his nose twitches. “What are you gonna tell’m?”  He rubs one side of his beard.  A waiter approaches from behind, but Joel doesn’t see him.  “Gonna tell’m you climbed into my bed?  Tried to fuck yourself on my cock?"  There’s a bite to his words.  The waiter stops in his tracks and awkwardly tries to pretend he wasn’t coming to your table.  You look at the waiter and shrug and he gulps before nodding at you in acknowledgement.  Joel looks over his shoulder then shakes his head at you and smirks as the waiter walks away. 

Climbed into his bed. . . tried to fuck yourself on his cock. . . It sounds so bad when he puts it that way.  Maybe it was.  Your cheeks burn.

You sigh.  "I wasn't -” 

Joel raises his eyebrows at you. 

“Just the tip," you protest. 

Joel nods thoughtfully. 

“I dunno what I was thinking,” you admit.  You cross your arms and slouch down in your seat. 

"It's never just the tip,"  Joel says. 

"Why didn't you want it?" You ask pathetically 

He sighs.  "Nothin' to do with want.”  He takes a deep breath and leans back.  He looks at the river, exhales, then adds, "Trust me. . .Fuck."  He takes a sip of his bloody mary and looks back at you. 

"What then?”

The way he looks like he’s racking his brain, you wonder if he’s holding back just to drive you crazy.  It certainly has your attention. In fact, you didn’t know how badly you needed to fuck him until last night . . .just minutes after he said he wasn’t going to let you. 

Finally, he says, "It's bad for you, sugar."

“What is? Your evil cock?”

He smirks then shifts uncomfortably in his seat and looks at the river again.  “I dunno what to tell ya. I've seen a lot.  Don't wanna put ya through it.  Shoot, look at your stepmom, she's damn near lost her mind.”

“You're just that good,” you roll your eyes.  You have every reason to believe he is. 

Joel sighs.  “Nothin' to do with good. Shit, I’m not good, I'm just grown."  He takes a sip of his bloody mary.  "Don't you know any hot professors? Take 'em for a spin, you'll see."

You brush it off as his crude way of being modest.  He could probably make bank as an actual gigolo from what you’ve seen. 

"Then what is it?" you wonder.  He gives it some thought.  

"Reckon it’s ‘cause ya can't have me.  No one can. I'm un-have-able."  

“Why don’t you ever settle down?” 

“Shoot, I dunno.  When I was your age, I was already a father.  Maybe I went backwards.”

You nod, appreciative of his effort to give a real answer. 

He continues, “But ya know, monogamy just ain’t right for some people.  Hell, even in a marriage.  You’d be surprised how many are open.” 

“How many what? Marriages?” You suspect his sample is skewed. 

“Yeah. Relationships, marriages.”  He crosses his legs.  “Alright, my turn to ask you somethin’.”

Your heart rate spikes, hoping he won’t revisit the just-the-tip incident.  

“Why'd you stand there and watch that night, hmm?" He cocks an eyebrow.  It’s the first time either of you bring up the moment that started all of this.  Sometimes, when you’re with him, you forget about it entirely. 

You laugh at his audacity, then counter with, "Why'd you stand there and finish?"

"Easy. So I could nut.”  He flashes his eyebrows with a casual smirk, then downs the rest of his drink. 

"You did not just say nut.  God, you're such a boomer."

"Alright, let's get outta here ‘fore we traumatize another waiter."  He throws more than enough cash on the table then stands up and pulls up his jeans.  He puts his hands on his hips and cocks a leg out, looking out over the river while you chug the rest of your drink.

-

When you get in the truck, Joel puts his phone on bluetooth and “Call Me,” the theme to American Gigolo, blasts on.  He’s so lame.  You shake your head at him and he has that subtle Dad joke smirk.  His bicep stretches that t-shirt so nicely. 

Halfway to your apartment, some kind of restricted call pops up and his phone automatically answers it.  You swear it’s your father’s voice on the line that says, “You’re offline.  What’s your 20?”  Joel’s face changes entirely, and something tightens in your chest.  

He scrambles to turn off bluetooth and puts the phone to his ear.  You can still somewhat hear the other end of the line.  

Joel glances at you and says, “Uhhh-”

“We’ve gotta move,” your dad says. 

“It’s broad daylight,” Joel counters. 

“The Bureau tracked down his number two and he’s on the move.” 

Joel seems frustrated.  “Why don’t you get Jesse?”

Your dad says, “He’s comin’ but they’re rollin’ deep.  We need our best shot or it’s gonna be a shitshow.”  Your heart is a mile a minute.

“Dad?” you ask meekly, too nervous to fully commit to asking.

“What was that?” your Dad asks. “Who was that?” You don't say anything else. You feel weak.

Joel glances at you regretfully.  “Damnit, gimme ten and I’ll call you.”

“We gotta move, Miller. I need you back online.”

Joel sighs  “Working on it.  I’ve got cargo, k?” 

There’s a pause on the other end of the line.  "What kind of cargo?”

Joel looks at you again and answers, "precious.”  He hangs up.

Joel hits the steering wheel angrily.  He speeds back toward your apartment, clenching his jaw as his driving intensifies.   You’re shaking.  That was almost certainly your father, and it didn’t sound anything like a military training exercise, or a construction project of Joel’s, for that matter.  

Joel silently fumes.  

“Was that my dad?” you ask with watery eyes.   He takes a deep breath and puffs his cheeks out as he exhales.  Before he can answer, you foolishly let him off the hook with another question.  “Did you just call me cargo?"

“Sorry sugar, no time right now.”  You ride in silence, bracing yourself as he careens around a corner. 

The tears in your eyes threaten to overflow, then one does.  

-

Joel pulls up to your apartment.  He waits with one hand still on the steering wheel for you to get out, but when he looks at you, he sees that big fat tear run down your cheek and his face softens. 

“Aw, shoot,” he says, and unbuckles. “I’m an asshole.”  He gets out and jogs over to the passenger side.  He opens the door for you and you slide out of the chair lazily, numbly, not quite wanting to meet his eyes.  

“Hey,” he says, and tilts your chin up.  Suddenly, it seems like he’s in no hurry at all.  He takes off his Ray-Bans and looks at you like he’s trying to heal you with his eyes.  You finally make eye contact and take a shaky breath, trying not to full-on sob.  His thumb brushes away your tears, then the same hand cradles the back of your head.   You stand there reading each other’s eyes.  Slowly, your head begins to pull like a magnet toward his lips.  You almost feel like his hand is ever so subtly pulling you that way.  You steel yourself for rejection anyway.  But then, Joel’s head drifts toward yours.   

His beard lightly prickles your skin as your lips lock and his free arm wraps around you.  You’re caught off guard, but in less than a second, you don’t care about anything else in the world.  Joel’s tongue parts your lips and you accept it hungrily.  His lips are soft but strong as they suck you into him.  Your mouths are needy for each other.  His hand behind your head pulls you further into him.  You kiss like you’re sharing a last breath of air.  Then, he seals the moment on your upper lip and pulls away.  The whole kiss can’t be more than ten seconds, tops. 

“Gotta go, Trouble.” he whispers, then swallows solemnly, looking down.   “I’m sorry.”  

He jumps in his truck and peels off.  

-

next: part 5

-