UntamedHeart81

“Sweetheart, come on, she’s just being nice,” Joel laughs.

You know better, though. Patricia is not just being nice.

She’s been very much hitting on Joel since the first day she arrived in Jackson.

Always asking him for some repairs, checking him out all the way across the Tipsy Bison or the dining hall, smiling and touching his bicep every time she speaks to him, laughing at his every joke.

It’s so obvious you’re surprised to say the least that Joel has never realized how much Patricia is into him.

He’s totally clueless even after what she’s just done.

She came over, bringing him a whiskey, leaned over the table to show off her cleavage, all flirty and coy, saying it was “to thank you for the hard work”. She barely acknowledged you, while you were sitting right in front of him, only giving you a nod and a fake smile.

Ugh, you hate Patricia.

Of course, you trust Joel with all your heart, he never gave you any reason to think badly of him.

Joel is like a faithful dog, the most reliable and loving person you’ve ever met, he would do anything to see you happy.

But damn, Patricia is really testing your patience and your ability to think straight.

Every time she’s in your peripheral vision, you feel your blood pressure rising and your hands itching with the need to slap her.

You’re generally a very calm, peaceful person and you’ve behaved like you don’t care but enough is enough. The way she always acts around Joel, being all coy and sweet, is so annoying you don't know how much longer you can remain calm.

You look at Joel sitting there without a single ounce of worry, his deep brown eyes softly staring at you, a little amused smile on his lips, and you scoff, “Yeah, of course, keep on thinking that…”

Joel takes your hand over the table and squeezes it in his huge, meaty palm, reassuring you, “Darling, you know I’m not interested, right? So why are you bothered? Forget about her, I’m with you. There’s no other person I’d rather be with.”

His thick thumb runs gently over the back of your hand, soothing you, making your heart warm.

He’s amazing, and he’s done nothing wrong.

It’s just you and your silly brain.

Gnawing jealousy doesn’t leave you, though. It keeps fogging your mind as you think of the way Patricia dares to put her hands on your man anytime she can.

“It’s just the fact that you don’t see that, I mean…she couldn’t be throwing herself at you any harder!” you whine.

“Aw, jealous bunny…” he coos, his lips softly curved into that crooked smile that always makes your knees buckle.

“I’m not jealous…” you try to say, but he chuckles, “Oh yes, you are. Which is cute…but I’m still pretty sure she’s not into me. It’s just her personality, you know. She’s like that with Tommy as well.”

“Yeah, she would love to fuck him too,” you spit out and his jaw drops.

“Baby…” he starts, but a thought suddenly runs through your mind, and you smirk, interrupting him, “Wanna bet?”

“What?” Eyebrows raised, he looks at you puzzled.

“Yeah, let’s bet. Go over there and ask her out.”

Patricia is sitting at the counter, sipping her drink, casually shooting very lustful looks at Joel, biting her lower lip.

“I would never do that!” He protests.

“You’re scared to lose, aren’t you?” You tease him, happy to have finally found a safe method to open his eyes.

“‘M not scared, it’s ridiculous. Honey, we don’t need to do that.”

He tries to put some reason back into you, but to no avail.

“Joel…” you purr with that tone of yours you know always works on him, “you’ll win something if she says no,” batting your eyelashes for good measure.

Joel immediately takes the bait, “mmm, and what will my reward be?” both arms stretched out on the table as if he couldn't stand having it between you.

The bet doesn't seem appealing to Joel but the prize on the other hand seems to interest him.

“If I’m wrong…which I’m not, by the way, I’ll give you head every night, for a month straight.”

His crooked smile makes its appearance again. “This doesn’t sound like a loss…you love to do that.”

It’s true, you love to suck him dry. Even deepthroating him.

Your boyfriend has the nicest cock you’ve ever laid your eyes on and never fails to make you hungry and needy.

You snort, crossing your arms over your chest.

“Ok, so…is free use an adequate reward for you?”

Joel stays silent for a moment, processing what you just said, before asking, “Is that what I think it is?”

You smile, nodding “Yes…whenever you want, wherever you want…as many times as you want.”

His gaze lights up at the realization, a satisfied expression spreads across his face as he replies “Now we’re talking.”

This isn’t a punishment to either of you. Only the thought of him using you whenever he pleases makes your pussy throb.

You’re almost on the verge of backtracking on your bet.

Who cares about Patricia when this hunk of a man is all yours?

You should call it a day and move on.

You don’t, though, and add,

“But if she says yes…you’re going to wear a condom tonight, sir.”

His smirk immediately disappears.

“Aw, damn…it’s not fair, you know how much I hate that.”

Oh yes, you know it very well. And you never want him to wear one, actually, you love to fuck him raw, feeling every throbbing vein rubbing against your walls, his thick shaft hitting your special spot and making you as wet as a damn lake.

You love the intimacy of it all, flesh against flesh, a beautiful merging of your bodies and souls.

You also love feeling his cum deep inside of you.

You haven't talked about it in depth yet and many years ago a doctor told you that it would be difficult for you to have one but you would love to have Joel’s child. He’s already the best uncle, Benji absolutely adores him and you know how much he loves Ellie, like she was his own daughter. He would be the best dad, for sure.

“Yes, I’m aware of that, Joel. That shouldn't worry you since you're so sure she doesn't like you,” you quip. “So what are you waiting for? Go there and win your prize.”

He reluctantly gets up, sighing, and walks over the counter where Patricia is sitting.

You can read how much he doesn’t want to do that all over his body.

His shoulders tense, his steps comically slow, he’s walking like a man sentenced to jail time.

You watch the scene from the table, sipping your drink, ready to be entertained.

Joel scratches his beard while he’s talking, like he always does when he’s nervous. Patricia giggles like a teenager with her first crush, her eyes basically devouring Joel’s lips.

Ugh, you almost walk over there to tell her to stop hitting on your man.

You see Joel blushing, head tilted to the side, big paw on his neck, you can’t hear a single word but you’re pretty sure he’s asking her out.

Patricia’s face lights up like she saw a miracle happening right before her eyes; she almost falls from her stool in surprise.

Her lips are rapidly moving; she’s 100% saying yes to him.

Joel freezes, his ears red and his lower lip trembles slightly.

He doesn't know what to say, he's completely taken aback.

Yet you warned him, you knew it would happen.

Something begins to grow inside you, something you hadn't expected. The unfounded and foolish fear that he'll accept and Patricia will take him away from you. For a moment, the image of the two of them walking through the streets of Jackson flashes before your eyes, her breasts pressed against his arm, his rapt, dreamy eyes looking at her the way he's been looking at you.

And what would you do if that happened? Why did you make this stupid bet? What if you lost Joel forever? You could have spoken to Patricia privately, told it straight to her face that Joel is yours, yours alone, told her to find someone else to swoon over. But no, first you tried to act superior, and then you got into this stupid game with the person you loved most in the world. What an idiot.

It’s irrational and unmotivated, but terror rises from the walls of your stomach, all the way to your throat, knotting there, making you want to cry.

“Please, please, please don't say yes,” the voice in your head screams like an echo.

Joel takes a step back and responds, his face serious as he speaks, his body rigid. You think you see disappointment on his face, even disapproval; you just hope you know your man as well as you think.

He comes back a couple of minutes later, which to you seemed like an eternity.

He sits back down and stares at you silently.

“Well?” Your voice is shaking more than you'd like, the smirk you were sporting earlier has completely disappeared from your face.

Joel rolls his eyes, admitting, “You were right, dammit. She said yes.”

You're stunned for a moment, unable to shake the thought that maybe he might prefer Patricia to you. After all, you have to admit she's pretty, her tits are big enough to turn heads, she has a nice ass, nice hair, beautiful eyes.

You'd imagined you'd laugh, yelling at Joel, "I told you so," with enormous satisfaction, but now you're not in the mood for joking around.

“I told her that was a stupid bet between me and you.”

You think you’re dreaming.

“What?” You utter.

“Of course! I couldn't lie. I made sure she understood that I was crazy about my woman and could never cheat on her.”

His voice raises a little when he says he’s crazy about you and your heart instantly flutters.

You feel your face on fire, relief flooding through you.

Joel is so damn serious, his eyes fixed on you, glowing with love.

“I wouldn’t want her in a million years, is that clear?”

“Yeah,” you softly reply, feeling your heart drumming behind your ribcage.

THANK GOD.

“You think we’re done with this bet? Can we forget about this?”

You nod, feeling the need to hug and kiss him growing stronger in your chest, a loving warmth that is spreading from your tummy.

You get up from your chair and sit on his lap, wrapping your arms around his neck. You no longer care about people around you, the indistinct chatter, the clinking of glasses, and even less about Patricia, who is still staring at you with a clearly disappointed expression on her face.

Joel drapes his arm around your waist, pulling you close and kissing you right there in front of everyone. He'd never done it so openly before; Joel is reserved and very protective of his private moments, he doesn’t like people gossiping about him or prying into his life. But now, he doesn’t care. His tongue gently pushes between your lips, silently begging for entrance. He grunts when your mouth opens and his tongue meets yours.

Your hand tightens on the back of his neck, while the other curls into a fist on his shirt.

Your breath runs short and your panties get wet.

All your stupid fears are so far away from you now.

You love him so much the sole idea of him getting with someone else is the most terrifying thing you could think of and as much as you know he would never do that sometimes your insecurities win and creep down on you badly. It’s a tough job to keep your self-esteem up, especially when your ex-husband left you and your mum was not exactly the most loving.

When he pulls away from you, rasping “let’s go home” you can only nod.

You can feel every person in the room looking at you, and you don’t give a fuck.

Walking home, holding Joel's hand tightly in yours, he asks you, "Do you still want me to wear a condom?"

You weren't even thinking about it anymore, honestly, and you didn't care anymore that you won the stupid bet.

“No,” you reply, a soft smile playing on your lips.

“Good,” he leans over you, whispering in your ear “Can’t wait to fuck your little pussy raw.”

Your cheeks heat up and a shiver of pleasure runs down your spine.

He’s a man of action and you know that. Joel is the type of guy who proves his love building stuff for you, fixing stuff for you, using gestures and caresses instead of words. He talks very little but you’re pretty sure he was very clear with Patricia because he never says anything he doesn’t mean when he speaks to you.

Feeling his warmth right into your palm spreading around in your whole body along with his filthy mouth is just a little too much now.

And apparently it's the same for him.

He pulls you towards the back of a house under construction, and he reaches the wall in the dim light.

You don’t resist, only squeal, "What are you doing?" but you follow him. Of course you do.

He pushes you against the wall, facing you.

"I can't wait," he whispers, his voice low, filled with desire.

"Our house is just around the corner," you object, searching for his horny eyes, lingering on his lips curved into a smirk. "Can't you wait another five minutes?"

"No. I can't," he replies firmly, his hands on the buttons of your jacket, one after the other being undone by his impatient fingers.

"They might see us..."

"No one's coming here this late."

You’re still surprised, but you don’t have to be told twice.

Joel smiles at your awkwardness as you try to shed his jacket as quickly as possible, and helps you by pulling it out of the sleeves and letting it fall on the ground. Yours follows shortly after.

“You always surprise me,” you say softly as he fiddles with your shirt.

He pulls it from your pants and rips it open, popping buttons everywhere, revealing your bra underneath.

You gasp, fresh air hitting your hot skin and making your nipples harden against the fabric.

“Jesus, honey, did you have to do that?”

“I’ll get you another one,” he replies, taking a handful of your tits.

“You’re nasty, Mr Miller,” you coo, moaning at his big paws kneading your breasts over your bra.

“Do you like me like this?”

“You bet I do, in every sense possible.”

“Good,” he growls, “all that talk about free use inspired me.”

You giggle softly. Of course, it stayed in the back of his mind all this time, and you couldn’t be more glad.

Your lips meet, and the kiss is messy, wet, and sloppy, his tongue eagerly licking everything it can while you moan and slide yours over his, tasting whisky and minty candies he likes to carry in his pocket all the time.

Your fingers reach for one of his nipples over his shirt, and you pinch it, making him growl into your mouth. A low baritone sound sends goosebumps all over your skin.

“Talking about nasty…” he breathes, detaching from you, his eyes dark and hazy.

“Mmm, couldn’t resist…” you smile softly, sliding your hands under his shirt, over his soft belly, resting on his sides.

His low grumbles ring in your ear like the most delicious sound. He pins you to the wall, caging you with his arms, his leg between yours.

“What am I going to do with you?”

“Whatever you want, Mr Miller.”

“All this calling me Mr Miller is indecent, honey, you know what it’s doing to me…”

“Yeah, I know…”

His leg presses on the seam of your jeans, right where your clit is, a rush of dizziness washing over you.

“Your little pussy crying? Does she need Mr. Miller to help her?“

You moan “yes”, your voice faint and your breath labored.

“Ask nicely, hun.”

“Please, Joel… Mr Miller… please.”

“Good girl. I bet you’re dripping wet, huh? I haven't even started with you.”

“I…”

“Shhh baby… let me feel her.”

He unzips your jeans in a flash and his hand slides inside, over your panties.

His fingers caress your folds from above the fabric, slowly, until his index finger slips between them.

He's right, of course, you're soaked, your panties completely ruined. You moan at the feeling of the fabric sticking to your skin, his finger moving up and down your slit, pausing only to apply pressure to your hole. Your clit is hard, you feel it twitching and crying for attention, but he's avoiding it.

“Yeah, just like I thought… you’re drenched.”

Your voice comes out all shaking and hoarse when you beg for him to give you more.

“You know, it’s a shame your eyeliner looks so good today…” he grins. You’re a bit puzzled, not really sure what he means, until he adds “on your knees, baby.”

You cry at the loss of his fingers down your pants as he pulls away from you to give you enough room to kneel.

You do so, your legs feeling like jelly, a hand on his arm to keep you from falling, your pulse hammering into your ears. Your knees touch the ground as he undoes his jeans. He lowers them just enough to pull out his cock.

You haven’t done anything like this outside before. You willingly and happily sucked him in the privacy of your home, kneeling at any given occasion, slurping on his cock like the most delicious ice cream.

But being there, out in the wild, where anyone could potentially stepping and seeing you on your knees, his cock deep in your throat it’s a whole new experience. Dangerous, filthy… arousing to the point your head is just a mess of lust and your heart is drumming in your chest so loudly you can hear it in your ears.

His cock bobs right in front of your eyes, hard, gorgeous, veins throbbing along his length, his tip leaking out a few drops of his yummy and sticky precum.

You swoon at the sight, embarrassed to be so exposed but eager to give your man what he asked for.

“No one is gonna see you, darlin’, they’re all home or at the Tipsy” Joel reassures you, guessing your thoughts. His voice is gentle and low but also firm in a way that sends you into a rapture.

You quickly learned that Joel was more than okay with being submissive, letting you play along with your dominant side and you loved that so much. Hearing your strong, broad man begging you, his voice cracking and shaking was a delight.

But you also enjoyed him taking matters in his own hands, giving you orders and praising you when you carried them out well.

You lick his tip, his unmistakable flavor spreading on your tastebuds, making you hungry.

He grabs a fistful of your hair, his dark eyes looming over you.

His voice is a whisper, but no less commanding “it’s your cock, am I right? Not Patricia's, nor anyone else's. Suck it good, darlin’”

The smile that twists your lips is wide, ear to ear. You welcome his shaft, feeling it slide over your tongue, your hand closing around his base.

Enveloping his cock in your spit, feeling him throbbing against your palate is divine.

You always enjoyed giving head, even before meeting Joel. But the way you do it with him, the way he praises you, the way his cock reacts, his eyes glued to yours, taking in your every expression, feeling his hips buck, silently asking for more, it’s all new and exciting, it makes you all giddy and proud.

Reality is, you’ve never been so in love before with anyone else, not even your ex husband that you married only because you thought it was the right thing to do.

You took different paths long before the outbreak happened, both of you unhappy and frustrated. At least he'd been honest enough to sit down with you and talk. You were more like roommates than husband and wife. There was no passion or sex anymore, just a quiet coexistence that was becoming detrimental to both of you. In the back of your head this always felt like a failure and you thought you would never meet the right person. Maybe you were unlovable and inadequate like your dear mommy was always so ready to remind you.

You chose to be with Joel, you craved him long before he asked you out, watching him work and carry heavy planks and give out orders to other men.

You'd always loved watching people work with their hands; as a child, you'd sit for hours watching your grandfather do woodwork or build the birdbath you'd insisted on. Joel gave it a whole new meaning, though, making it dreamy and hot.

You started bringing everyone hot coffee as an excuse, then moved on to sandwiches, until you worked up the courage to talk to him. You chatted while sitting on the porch of a house he was helping build, in a mess of dust and debris you didn't care about in the slightest, happy just to talk to him. He was so gentle, you’d say a little bit shy at the beginning.

You realized he was not so used to sharing his feelings or talking about his personal life. He opened up to you a little more everyday and you were so grateful he trusted you enough to talk about Sarah. You talked about your failed marriage and the way your mum always treated you and he was so sweet, telling you didn’t deserve any of that. And finally, one day he nervously asked you out. You felt your whole being come back to life, rekindled with a new enthusiasm.

That night, after a drink at Tipsy, you'd sucked his cock for the first time. You could hear the voices of your old friends in the back of your head, yelling at you "never on a first date," but you didn't care, you'd wanted him since the first time you'd seen him. And you knew Joel wouldn't dump you like trash after getting what he wanted.

You were right. Joel never fails to treat you with respect and consideration, he’s always there when you need him, he listens to you, dotes on you and gives you lots of love. You don’t even know why you doubted him before. It’s been almost a year since you got together and you’ve never been so happy.

You start sucking him, stroking the rest with your hand, bobbing your head up and down in slow calculated motion, grazing his veins with your tongue the way he likes.

His musky scent fills your nostrils, the tip of him almost hitting the back of your throat when you lower yourself more, making yourself weep, hot tears streaming down your face, but you don’t stop. You want this, you need this, all of him inside your mouth, your spit coating his entire shape, marking him, making him yours and only yours.

“Just like that, darlin’,” he growls, his big hand clenches into a fist in your hair, a soft mischievous smile dancing on his lips.

Looking at him, his forehead beading in sweat, his face flushed and his arm tensed, prominent veins bulging on his forearm, you feel a new wave of arousal dampening your underwear, heat rushing through you like a burning fire.

You gurgle a little bit, coming up and licking at his tip like a kitten, sliding your tongue on the underside of his cock, a move that never fails to make him twitch.

“Fuck, honey, I won’t last long…”

You smile, tip brushing on your lips before taking him back in.

You suck more, hollowing your cheeks, the length of him filling your mouth just right.

When he bursts out, long streaks of sticky white cum hitting your palate, dripping down your throat you make sure to swallow every drop.

It’s lewd and filthy, wet obscene sounds rising from the back of your throat.

You stay there, licking him clean until he comes back down from his peak and his cock begins to soften in your mouth.

You don’t even know how much time has passed, everything is shrouded in darkness now, silent, your shallow breaths and the crackling of wind are the only things you hear around you.

When you stand up, your jeans are stained with grass and dirt from knee to ankle, green and brown streaks spreading across the fabric. The makeup you'd applied before leaving the house is a distant memory, smeared across your face and dripping down your cheeks. Joel doesn't stop gazing at you adoringly, whispering, "You're so pretty like this, all messed up for me," wiping a drop of his cum from your lower lip and slipping his finger into your mouth. You suck it greedily, humming sweet moans. You still feel a rush of your shared maddening desire invading your body and cloud your brain.

“‘M not done with you, baby,” Joel drawls in that southern accent that never fails to make you all needy.

“Mmm Mr Miller, what else do you have in store?” you purr, gently stroking his cheek, his beard deliciously prickling under the pad of your fingers.

“Give me a minute, and I’ll show you, darlin’”.

You wait, patiently, wrapped in his arms, right where you want to be, stealing kisses from his lips.

Until another idea comes up to you, far more clever and pleasant than the one you had before involving Patricia.

“Let me help,” you whisper, gently moving from him a little.

Joel looks confused but no less enthralled.

You look at him, lowering your jeans and ruined panties, exposing your pussy for his gaze to feast on.

Your fingers slowly approach your little button, barely touching it, attentive to Joel's reactions.

“Jesus, honey, you’ll get me hard again in no time,” he whispers, almost hissing, desire coating his every word.

His eyes are fixed on you in a way that makes your skin crawl with pleasure.

Joel takes a step back to look at you better, ecstatic. You begin to draw tight circles on your clit, a temping smile dancing on your lips, your body leaning on the wall to keep you steady, your back arched, while you’re giving a little show to your man. The man you hope to have next to you for the rest of your life, the man you care about so much that you’re happy to do things you’ve never expected from yourself.

“That’s what I want…” you rasp, your breath shallowing, growing heavier with every touch, with the look that made you change your mind about love devouring every second of you.

You move lower, collecting more of your juice, returning to your clit continuing the dance of your fingers.

“Joel…” you call softly, “would you like to fill me up? Because I want it so much…”

Joel clears his throat but the words fail him. “And she wants it so much…” you coo, looking down “you don’t want to disappoint her, do you?”

Joel clenches his jaw, fidgeting on the spot, his gaze spellbound, his cock starting to get hard again.

“Jesus, the effect you have on me…” he grumbles and you giggle, tight circles on your bundle of nerves, your fingers coated in your juices.

You lower them again, prodding at your entrance. “She feels so empty…” you whisper and you know it’s enough to make Joel snap.

One of your hands goes up to one of your tits, lowering your bra, playing with your nipple.

“Show me, baby. Show me how you please yourself,” he orders.

You don't care about the still-pungent, yet dry, smell of paint, you don't even care about how hard the wood feels against your back, or how your filthy jeans are bunched around your ankles, just above your boots. Only Joel exists.

It's tingling all over you, your body burns under his gaze, desire, awareness and security that those dark, deep, delicious and lustful eyes are yours alone invading every single part of your soul.

Your middle and ring finger slide inside of you and a moan escapes your lips.

“Good girl…just like that,” he praises you.

Your thumb is still flicking your clit as you start thrusting into your little hole, whimpering against the wall, reaching for that tender spot that always makes you see stars.

It's not like when Joel does it—nothing compares to his hand cupping your sex, two of his thick fingers sliding inside you, while his thumb works on your clit—but it's still nice. Especially now that he's watching you.

He takes his cock in his hand, stroking it gently, his arm outstretched, his cheeks flushed, beaded with a sheen of sweat.

Your fingers keep filling you up, scissoring your hole, juices flowing down your palm. You moan louder and arch your back some more for him to see.

Joel is stunned, his pupils blown, his Adam’s apple bobbing in his throat. His cock is hard as a rock again, heavy in his palm as he strokes it up and down, gathering precum from his leaking tip and smearing it along his length.

He curses under his breath, a low and raspy “fuck” rumbling between his lips.

You’re a mess of lust and sweat but you’ve never felt sexier in your life.

“I’m so close…” you whine, your eyes fixed into his, drowning in that warm brown coffee.

“Cum for me, baby,” he urges

One last bucking of your hips against your hand and you come biting down on your lower lip, moans escaping from the back of your throat no matter how hard you try.

Joel walks over to you, grabs your wrist, and pulls your fingers out of you, watching your pussy flutter and quiver right in front of his eyes.

“Fuck, this is so good, look at her, all puffy and cute for me.”

You cry out incoherently like a child, your orgasm washing over you, head dizzy and weightless, your whole body shaking against the wall.

Joel leans even closer, you can feel his breath on your skin. His cock is still in his hand. As soon as you come down from your high a little, he brushes the tip of his cock against your entrance. You try to pull back, overstimulated and sensitive.

"Joel!" you moan, but his hand cups your cheek, the pad of his fingers tracing your cheekbone. "Shh, you're okay.”

“I can’t!”

“Yes, you can, baby” he gently admonishes you, wiping a tear from your face.

He pushes against your entrance, his swollen tip stretching you much wider than your fingers.

You cry and beg, your voice cracking in your chest, but he whispers softly, "You're okay, baby, you're okay,” so gently you can do nothing other than melt. He waits for the rawness and the feeling of invasion to subside, for them to evolve into the satisfying feeling of fullness you've been craving.

You calm down, your pussy adjusting to his thickness, growing hungry again for him.

He trails kisses down your neck, his beard brushing against your skin, tickling you. He feels you slowly relax, your whole body unwinding.

“Ready?”

“Yeah…,” you whisper, almost giggling, almost surprised he was right. Joel knows you better than anyone.

He pushes in a little more, reaching about halfway, one hand gripping your hip, his gaze searching yours. A smile spreads across your lips, you're intoxicated by him, and it's a feeling so sweet you wouldn't trade it for anything.

“Fill me up to the brim, Joel,” you beg, one of your hands raking through his salt and pepper hair that you love so much, grasping the soft curls at the base of his neck.

“Whatever my darling wants…” he exhales, thrusting deep inside you. His bush brushes against your pussy as he begins to move slowly, testing how much you can handle. You moan, tugging on his hair, bucking your hips, throwing your head back against the wooden slats. He’s thick and throbbing inside you. You’ve always loved it, and maybe you love it even more now, you feel him so deeply you could say you two are the same.

He's still almost fully clothed against your practically naked body and the contrast sends you into ecstasy, the soft fabric of his shirt brushing against you, hitting your nipples and making you see stars before your eyes.

“You’re so big…,” you sigh.

“I know baby, you’re doin’ so well for me.”

He lifts your leg with his hand, thrusting faster into you hitting that gummy spot again and again as you moan so loudly, anyone could hear.

You don’t even think about that, though, so lost in your pleasure your head isn’t coherent or reasonable anymore.

“So full…” you mumble “so close…” but Joel is not done with you already, he bends to your uncovered nipple and takes it between his lips, his tongue swirling around your bud before he starts sucking on it.

He knows you love it and his mouth is more than eager to please you.

Mouth full of your tit, hands grabbing tightly on your hips, his cock drowning into you like it was made for your soaking wet pussy, he whimpers against your skin, his sticky white warm cum making a mess against your walls.

He lets go of your nipple, hiding his face in the hollow of your neck chanting “I love you’s.”

You come undone again, as soon as you feel it hitting your little hole, your lips shaping into an “o”, your eyes hazy and clouded, your whole body shaking against him and your voice stammering his and God’s name.

His chest rising and falling rapidly, he’s panting, trying to regain his breath.

You’re completely out of words, still trying to fathom the incredibly risky and yet ridiculously exciting way he just fucked you.

“My Gosh, this was fucking great,” you murmur.

He chuckles into your neck, softly biting on the tender skin right under your ear.

“Yeah, it really was, baby…enough to make you not want to have other weird bets?”

“I promise,” you say, taking his chin between two of your fingers, kissing him right on that heart shaped patch on his beard that you love and then on his swollen, delicious lips “no more stupid bets.”

“I love you more than anything, you know that, right?” Joel says, caressing your hair, holding you tightly in his arms.

“I love you, too,” you whisper, completely wrapped into his arms, the safest place you know.

Absolutely npt for the people who showed interest in this wip: @milla-frenchy , @shadowqueen2024 , @baronessvonglitter , @peepawmiller , @mcthsman , @broad-shouldrs , @joelmillerspnk , @balhoneysweetstuff

You avoided the porch for two days.

You waited until Joel’s truck was gone before checking the mailbox. If you heard his voice outside, you stayed inside.

Of course you were angry, he didn’t get to act like none of it happened.He didn’t get to make you feel wanted one night and disposable the next.You replayed every conversation over and over, every glance,

every “sweetheart.”

Had all of it been real or had alcohol simply made him reckless?

Josh texted you twice asking if you wanted dinner after work. You stared at the message for nearly five minutes before finally replying.

“Maybe another night.”

You set the phone face down, you knew exactly why you weren’t saying yes. And that only made you angrier.

~~

Joel noticed Josh’s truck never parked outside. Couldn’t deny he wasn’t too upset about that. He noticed the curtains in your bedroom stayed shut in the evenings.

Every little change felt like another reminder of what he’d done.The next couple of weeks were…quiet. Joel had gotten exactly what he’d wanted…distance. Yet, he found himself not liking it.

It should’ve made things easier. Instead he found himself looking toward your house without thinking. Every morning and every evening.

Just once, hoping to catch a glimpse of you walking to your car or watering the flowers by the porch.

Nothing.

Your dad working overtime, he couldn’t even use him as an excuse to come by and see you.

~~

Three Saturdays later Joel was halfway through replacing a warped fence board when the sound of tires crunching against the curb made him glance toward the street.

A black SUV eased to a stop in front of your father’s house. Joel frowned, he didn’t recognize it. The driver’s door opened and a man climbed out.

Late thirties or early fourties..tall, broad shoulders beneath a fitted charcoal button-down with the sleeves rolled neatly to his forearms.

Dark hair touched with just enough gray at the temples to make him look distinguished instead of old and a trimmed beard.

Joel’s hammer stopped mid-swing.

Without saying anything he stayed watching wondering who this man was, had to be a friend of your dad’s.

The man checked his watch before walking confidently toward the front door like he’d been there before. A minute later the front door opened and there you were..for the first time in weeks.

A navy sundress hugged your waist before flowing softly to your knees.

You looked..happy..

The man smiled the second he saw you then you tip toed as he leaned forward and kissed you on the lips. Joel froze in that moment, his hand tightening around the hammer in his hand.

He watched the man lean forward and whisper something in your ear, whatever it was it made you laugh. He intertwined his fingers with yours before leading you to the car.

Joel stared…just watching you happily sit beside this man.

The SUV pulled away from the curb and Joel’s eyes followed it until it disappeared around the corner.

“You alright over there?”

Your father’s voice distracting Joel.

Your father stepped out onto the porch carrying a fresh cup of coffee.

“Yeah.”

“You’ve been lookin’ down the street for about five minutes.”

Joel cleared his throat.

“Just…”

He shrugged casually.

“…Saw somebody stop by.”

Your father grinned as he crossed over to his side.

“Oh.”

Joel tried to sound indifferent.

“Friend of hers?”

“Date.”

The single word hit him hard, yet he kept his face perfectly still.

“…Is that right.”

“Mhm.”

Your father took a sip of coffee.

“I’ll admit…wasn’t too thrilled at first.”

Joel finally looked over, sun hitting his eyes making him squint.

“Guy’s older.”

Joel swallowed.

“How much older?” He asked as he looked back at his work.

“I don’t know.” Your father shrugged.

“Probably around your age.”

Joel hit the nail harder than he meant to and chipped at the wood.

“You alright?” Your father asked taking a step closer.

“I got it” Joel almost sounded irritated, your father took a step back.

“Well anyways,…he’s been respectful.”

Joel stayed quiet.

“Comes to the door every time. Calls when he says he’s gonna call.”

Joel’s grip around the hammer slowly tightened again.

“Treats her like a lady.”

Each sentence only making him feel levels of jealousy he’d never felt before.

“I figured I’d scare him off with all my questions, but he handled them pretty well.” Your father laughed.

Joel looked away toward the empty street.

“Said he understands why I’d be protective.”

Joel pressed his lips together as he tried to focus on his work.

“…Sounds like a decent guy.”

“Well, she is happier lately.”

That one hurt.

Your father leaned against the porch railing.

“Funny thing is I thought she’d sworn off dating after…whatever happened a few weeks ago. Figured it was that kid Josh disappearing, didn’t see much of him since that BBQ.”

Joel froze at the mention of the BBQ, his mind quickly flashing back to you on the couch in a daze after he-

“She was pretty upset.” Your father’s voice cut in pulling him out of his thoughts.

“Never really said why but I could tell. But then she met him.”

Your father smiled warmly.

“And it’s been nice seeing her smile again.”

Joel spent weeks convincing himself pushing you away was the right thing to do.

So why did seeing another man hold your hand feel like he’d just lost something that had never been his to begin with?

The worst part was….he still had the picture locked in his phone. Some nights he wouldn’t look out of guilt, trying to force himself to forget it was there instead of just deleting it. Other nights….the want for you overtrumped any guilt he could feel. His cock would harden and he’d find himself cumming at the thought of you more nights than he’d like to admit to himself.

~~

A couple days later your father sat on his porch enjoying his usual cup of tea as the sun slowly went down. He watched Joel pull in from work and called out to him.

“Come have a beer before you head home.”

Joel looked up from the half finished fence.

“I shouldn’t.”

“C’mon. One beer isn’t gonna kill ya.”

Joel hesitated. Every instinct told him no. Still, he gave in.

“…Alright.”

~~

Your father disappeared into the kitchen and returned with two bottles, handing one to Joel before dropping heavily into his recliner.

They talked about work, the neighborhood, the heat.Anything except what Joel’s mind kept drifting back to. He took another drink before asking as casually as he could manage.

“…She home?”

Your father looked toward the hallway.

“I don’t think so.”

Joel nodded once.

Your father shrugged.

“Actually…”

Before he could finish-

A loud splash echoed from somewhere behind the house. Then there was that laugh of yours, Joel’s eyes lifted instinctively.

Another splash, then more laughing.

Your father chuckled.

“There she is.”

Another burst of laughter followed.

This time…a man’s laughter joined yours.

Joel’s jaw tightened. Your father didn’t seem to think anything of it.

“They’ve been out there most of the afternoon. Thought they headed out by now.”

Joel stared toward the backyard doorway without realizing it.

“…Sounds like they’re having fun.”

“Sure does.”

Your father stood.

“I forgot something in the car, I’ll be right back.” He slapped Joel lightly on the shoulder.

“Help yourself to another beer.”

Joel nodded although part of him thought he should just leave.

The second your father disappeared out the front door another peel of your laughter drifted inside. Followed by his.

Joel exhaled sharply through his nose.

Damn it.

He stood.

If he was going to sit there listening to another man make you laugh…

He at least needed another beer.

~~

Joel opened the refrigerator harder than necessary and reached inside.

The cold bottle barely touched his hand-

“…Joel?”

He turned.

You stood frozen in the doorway.

Your hair was soaked, tiny droplets sliding down your neck before disappearing beneath the straps of your swimsuit. An oversized white button-up hung loosely over it, unbuttoned and clinging slightly from being damp. For a second neither of you moved.

Your eyes widened in genuine surprise before your expression carefully settled into something neutral.

“I didn’t know you were here.”

Joel shut the refrigerator.

“Your dad invited me in.”

“…Oh.”

Painfully awkward silence.

He cleared his throat.

“…How’ve you been?”

You folded your arms loosely across yourself.

“Fine.”

“Good.”

“…Good.”

Another silence.

Joel hated how different everything felt now.

You wouldn’t even look at him.

For him it was the opposite, he couldn’t take his damn eyes off you.

From the damp strands of hair framing your face…to the water glistening along your chest..to your bare legs.

He caught himself almost immediately and looked away.

Your lips pressed together.

“You need something?”

The question came out polite yet cold.

“No..just grabbing another beer.”

“Then don’t let me stop you.”

Before either of you could say another word, strong footsteps crossed the hardwood behind you. A familiar voice followed.

“Babe?”

Joel’s head lifted.

The man from the black SUV stepped into the kitchen carrying two towels over one shoulder.

He stopped the moment he saw Joel….something about the way Joel was staring at you, still his expression remained nonchalant. Yet, something hardened behind his eyes.

He stepped beside you.

One arm slipped naturally around your waist before gently pulling you back against his chest.

“Benny,” you laughed softly, glancing over your shoulder. “You scared me.”

His hand settled comfortably at your side.

“Sorry.”

His attention returned to Joel.

You looked between them, immediately sensing the energy change in the room.

“Oh…”

You cleared your throat.

“Joel…”

You gestured awkwardly.

“This is Benny.”

Then to Benny.

“Our neighbor.”

Joel offered a short nod.

“Joel Miller.”

Benny extended his hand without hesitation.

“Benny.”

Joel took it, their handshake was firm, a little firmer than necessary.

Neither man looked away, then Benny smiled first.

“So…you’re the neighbor.”

Joel’s expression never changed.

“Guess I am.”

“And you’ve known her a long time?”

Joel answered without taking his eyes off him.

“Long enough.”

You shifted uncomfortably between them.

“Well…”

You forced a small laugh.

“I better shower and get ready if we’re gonna catch the movie on time.”

Joel looked down at you, the thought of you continuing your night with this Benny guy didn’t settle right in his mind.

Benny’s thumb absentmindedly brushed against your side as he kept an arm around your waist not exactly allowing you to move freely.

Joel noticed and he hated that he did.

“Benny” you looked up to see him still staring at Joel, lost in thought.

“Of course-“ he cleared his throat, pulling his arm gently away from you.

“I’ll wait for you down here.”

You looked at Joel as you began to walk towards the door, your body hesitant at the idea of leaving them alone together.

When you finally did, Joel watched Benny dry his hair off with the towel. Couldn’t help but notice how fit he was, Joel looked away irritated at the thought of you liking it.

“So,” Bennys voice caught his attention as he put on a shirt.

“She mentioned there were good neighbors around here.”

Joel raised his brows before looking up at him.

“Did she.”

“Mm.”

Benny smiled politely.

“Said everyone’s looked out for her and her dad.”

Joel gave one slow nod.

“We try.”

Bennys eyes narrowed on Joel for just a second, he wasn’t buying it. Not with the ways Joel’s body language screamed at the sight of him against you holding you close.

“I’m sure you do” Joel noticed the tone in Bennys voice but didn’t acknowledge it, instead taking a sip of his beer.

“So, guessing you’ve met other boyfriends huh?” Benny chuckled as he crossed his arms.

“Not really,” Joel shrugged.

“Not really? Come on, must’ve met a couple. I mean, maybe not exactly my age.” Joel remained serious.

“But…she is a total knock out” Benny insisted, almost wanting to get a reaction out of Joel.

“Lucky for me, huh?” Joel took another drink of his beer, saying nothing.Benny watched him for a moment before chuckling under his breath.

“You know, she’s got this effect on me.”

Joel’s eyes narrowed.

“What effect?”

“Keeps me young.”

Joel stared at him.

Benny laughed, shaking his head.

“I’m serious. Woman like that around me, I feel ten years younger.”

“Good for you.”

He snapped back a little too quickly.

Bennys smile widened.

“Yeah? Come on, you must’ve had a round or two with a young one. I’m sure you know how it is.”

Joel looked at him over the rim of his bottle.

“I really don’t.”

Benny laughed again.

“She keeps me busy.”

Joel’s expression hardened almost imperceptibly.

He set his bottle down on the counter.

“Maybe keep some of that to yourself.”

Benny raised his eyebrows.

“Why?”

Joel looked toward the front window.

Your father was still outside, the trunk of his car open as he gathered whatever he’d gone out to get.

“Because her father’s twenty feet away.”

And he himself hated hearing the way this guy was talking about you. As if you were just some play toy.

“Fair enough.” Benny agreed but he wasn’t finished.

“Still,” he said casually, “I can’t blame him for being protective. She’s something.”

Joel didn’t respond.

Benny studied him.

“You agree?”

Joel looked at him.

“What?”

“That she’s something.”

“She’s a good kid.”

Benny laughed.

“A kid?”

Joel immediately regretted the word.

Benny caught it too.

“She’s not exactly a kid, Joel.”

“I know.”

“Do you?”

Joel stared at him.

For the first time, the easy smile disappeared from Benny’s face.

There was a quiet understanding between them now. Benny wasn’t stupid.He had noticed the way Joel looked at you.And Joel knew he had.

Before either man could say anything else, the front door opened. Your father stepped inside carrying two bags.

“Hey! So you’ve officially met Benny” your father smiled as he walked past Joel who had never taken his eyes off Benny.

“Yeah.”

“Perfect.”

Your father looked between them, seemingly satisfied.

“Where’d she go?”

“Upstairs,” Joel answered.

Benny glanced toward the stairs.

“She’ll be back.”

A few seconds later, you came back downstairs, completely unaware of the conversation that had just taken place.

Your eyes immediately found Benny. His arm reaching out to you.

“Come here.”

You smiled and walked toward him.His hand settled naturally around your waist again.

This time, Joel looked away.

Your father began talking about something that had happened outside, but Joel barely heard him.

Because Benny leaned down and murmured something into your ear that made you laugh. Joel’s fingers tightened around his beer bottle.

Benny looked over your shoulder, straight at him. He knew exactly what he was doing.

Joel held his stare for a second, then calmly looked away.

But Benny had gotten his answer.

~~

As the days went on Joel watched Benny either picking you up or dropping you off.

The nights you came late his stomach turned as he remembered the comments he’d made about you “keeping him busy”. He shouldn’t have spoken about you like that, the thought still pissed off Joel.

Then one night you came home wearing that same dress you had worn the night of the BBQ. It was the first thing he noticed. Joel sat on the porch, his mug in hand as he watched you walk to your door.

“Jackass” Joel mumbled to himself watching Benny drive off, couldn’t even wait till you reached the door and got inside before driving off. But instead of going straight in you began to check on the flowers around your garden. He hadn’t seen you do that in some time.

He took another sip of his coffee, trying to convince himself he was only watching because he hadn’t seen you outside in weeks.

He watched the way you tucked a strand of hair behind your ear. The way you carefully touched the leaves, checking each flower as if you were making sure nothing had been neglected while you were gone.

And that dress.

Joel’s eyes lingered as he remembered that night. Your body trembling against his, the moans that came from your lips-

He looked down at his mug as if trying to distract himself. He could feel himself throb in his pants just remembering the way he made you cum.

“Oh dammit” your voice made him look up, shaking off the thought. He watched you looked down at on of your plants that seemed to have been eaten at.

“Gotta be careful planting those, pretty sure I saw a possum the other night.”

You stood, brushing a little dirt from your fingers. Joel’s voice had startled you, his porch light off you didn’t see anyone outside.

“Didn’t know you were there.” You called out to him still staring at the dark.

Joel stood up and moved towards your side, the light from your porch making his face now visible.

You didn’t say anything at first, not knowing what to say. Joel himself stood silent, questioning why the hell he said anything to begin with.

Then he glanced toward the street.

“Prince Charming huh?”

Your eyebrows pulled together.

“What?”

Joel looked back at you. “He drove off before you even got to the door.”

You stared at him for a second, a little confused.

“He was probably in a hurry.”

“Yeah.”

Joel nodded.

“Probably.”

You could hear the irritation in his voice.

Your eyes narrowed slightly.

“Why do you care?”

Joel looked at you. He could’ve said he didn’t, hell lying would’ve been easier.

“I don’t know.”

The honesty caught you off guard. You looked away.

“I should go inside.”

“Wait.” Joel blurt out.

Joel set the mug down beside him.

“I’ve been meaning to talk to you.”

Your expression immediately became guarded.

“About what?”

“About…” he looked down at the ground thinking of where to start.

He thought of everything, the way he touched you. The way you made him feel.

The night he walked away.

The things he should’ve said.

The fact that he still thought about you more than he had any right to.

But none of that came out.

“I just wanted to make sure you’re alright.”

You gave him a small, humorless smile.

“I’m fine.”

“I can see that.”

“Then why ask?”

Joel exhaled.

Because he didn’t know how to fix something he couldn’t even admit he wanted back. That was never really his to begin with.

“So Benny…”

Your eyes immediately closed for a second.

“Joel.”

“He treat you right?” You stared at him.

“Why?”

“Just curious.”

His eyes returned to yours.

“Does he?”

You let out a frustrated breath.

“Yes.”

Joel didn’t say anything at first, his eyes drifting down to your dress. You hadn’t noticed as you looked off into the street.

The thought of Benny touching you, feeling you, the damn thought of you giving your body to him…

Joel’s nostrils flared.

Then you looked back at him and caught the way he was looking at you. His eyes instantly back up to yours.

“As long as you’re happy.” He pressed his lips together. You didn’t say anything at first, closing your arms around your body as a cold breeze blew past you.

“Aren’t you gonna go inside? It’s late.” You asked almost hoping he’d say no.

“Rather make sure you’re in first.”

Your lips parted, you wanted to say more. Instead you hesitantly nodded and turned towards the door, he watched you walk inside and close the door behind you, only then did Joel go inside.

~~

You thought you were over him, you were almost pissed at yourself. That’s all it took? One stupid interaction of him asking if you were ok, him looking at you with those damn brown eyes…and here you were questioning everything.

Again.

~~

The next morning you woke up with tired eyes to the sound of a power drill. You wondered what your dad was getting into now.

“What the hell” you whispered as you got out of bed.

Heading down the stairs you could see your father and Joel on the floor working on something under the sink.

“Oh I’m sorry honey, didn’t mean to wake you like this. The damn pipes are giving trouble, had to break through all of this-“ he motioned towards the mess on the floor.

“Thankfully we got a neighbor who knows what the hell he’s doing.” Your dad chuckled.

Joel set the power drill down and sat up pushing his goggles back, his eyes instantly landing on you.

“Sorry about that.”

“It’s..it’s ok” you responded a little confused, still half asleep. Joel noticed you wore an over sized shirt, he wondered if it was Bennys and looked away.

“Well, let me get the extra materials you need from the hardware store and hopefully this can all be finished today.” Your dad told Joel as you stood beside him.

“I’ll be right back, honey.” Your dad grabbed his car keys and walked out leaving you and Joel alone together. After a moment of silence he stood up and walked towards the counter. Your hand brushing through your hair as you looked at the mess on the floor.

“Looks like you’ve found yourself a couple days work” you laughed softly looking at the floor. Joel’s eyes drifting down to your shirt as you looked up, your hands quickly covering your shirt realizing you hadn’t changed.

“Oh uh, I didn’t know anyone was here. Thought my dad was just looking for something to fix again-“

“Bennys shirt huh”

“What?” You looked at him confused.

“No, I got this a few years ago. I always wear oversized shirts to bed.” Joel didn’t know if he was relieved or…aroused at the thought. He looked away swallowing hard.

“Well, I’m gonna…gonna go freshen up.” You awkwardly walked away, Joel watched before turning his back to you.

~~

Shutting the bathroom door you squeezed your eyes shut, all those damn dreams you had of Joel last night and of course here he was. Trying to shake off the thoughts you took a quick shower and fixed yourself up.

~~

Not too long after, you came back down to see him once again under the sink. The view of his waist down distracting you instantly, his navy blue shirt pulled up as he worked, a glimpse of a trail of hair leading into his grey sweat pants. His bulge so clearly visible, he wasn’t even hard. Suddenly you were hot, then he sat up, instantly he caught your eyes on him. You quickly looked away, your cheeks turning a bright shade of red, he noticed. He didn’t say a word but you could feel him staring at you as he walked towards you. Against the counter you didn’t know which way to go, instead you stood still. His eyes remained on you the closer he got, he stopped before you. A simple top with a pair of leggings, yet he still couldn’t help but stare. Your heart racing as he towered over you, you couldn’t hold eye contact. Slowly he reached for something on the counter behind you, his arm purposely sliding against your waist. Your lips parted, you let out a trembling breath, his body so close to you, you could smell his scent. Joel noticed how fast you were breathing by the sight of your chest rising and falling rather quickly. Your nipples hardened beneath the thin fabric of your top, for just a moment he remembered them in his mouth. The tension between you both was almost too much to bear, yet you couldn’t move away.

“I haven’t been able to delete it.” He suddenly blurt out.

“What? Delete what?” You almost sounded out of breath.

“The picture.” He bit his bottom lip as he looked away, a hand brushing over the back of his neck. Maybe he shouldn’t have admitted that to you.

“Why-why are you telling me this?”

You sounded almost frustrated, not mad that he had the photo but mad at the fact that you liked that he still had it.

You were with Benny after all.

He didn’t have an answer for that, he seemed frustrated himself. Wanting to say so much more but not knowing how.

“I can’t…I can’t stop thinking about you” he spoke hesitantly as you began to shake your head.

“N-no. Don’t tell me this now-“

“I thought pushing you away was the right thing, how the hell am I suppose to look at my friend in the damn eye knowing…-“ he moved towards you, his gaze dropping to your lips.

“-Knowing how badly I want his daughter” his eyes darkened. You continued to shake your head.

“Shut up..” you whispered, he leaned towards you. His crotch area against your pelvis. You could feel him growing hard. His breath against your face, so close yet still hesitant. Temptation taking over your body, he knew you wanted him just as much. Then you felt his index finger gently beneath your chin, he tilted your face up and he kissed you. You could feel your heart practically jumping out of your chest, his cock fully hard, God he wanted you so bad. He kissed you gently waiting to see if you’d push him away, instead he felt your body relax against his. You slowly found your arms wrapping around his neck, kissing him back just as he slowly picked you up and sat you on the counter. Joel pressed himself against you as you moaned. In that moment any sense of right or wrong left your body. He aroused you in a way you couldn’t ignore. It was all you had yearned for all along.

His cock twitched in his pants, you reached between you both, feeling him rock hard.

“Don’t-“ he almost choked out.

“Don’t do that” His expression almost painful.

“Why not?” You whispered before you pushed yourself up enough to remove your pants, kicking them to the ground before reaching for his pants and pulling them down.

“What are you doin’” Joel whispered, he couldn’t stop you if he tried yet he knew he couldn’t allow himself to fully give in.

As hard as it was.

As hard as he was.

“It’s my turn…” you spoke softly before pulling him close. He stood between your legs watching as you wrapped your hand around his bear shaft. He was warm, thick and already his precum dripped onto your thigh. Your hand lubricated with spit, you began slowly move up and down his shaft. Joel breathed hard before looking up towards the window making sure your father hadn’t pulled up. His eyes barely able to focus. You scooted closer to him and made the tip of his cock brush against the thin material of your underwear, feeling your pussy lips.

“Baby-don’t-“

“We’re not having sex.” You whispered weakly defending your actions. The soft fabric of your underwear already soaked from how aroused you were. He groaned being teased watching as you closed your eyes at the sensation. His hips thrusting forward moving on their own as he soaked your panties more until you unexpectedly pulled them aside. His bare cock rubbed against your clit, soaked with your pussy juices. His breathing hard to control, you knew he was close.

“Does that feel good for you?” You asked softly as his hips thrusted faster, how badly he just wanted to slide in.

“Yeah-so damn good..” his hands taking hold of your thighs.

You moaned feeling him move faster. Oh how fun it was to tease Joel Miller. You wanted him to cum but more intense than he could imagine and so you stopped him mid thrust.

“Wait..” you whispered holding his cock against your clit. He moaned something unclear, his forehead leaning against yours.

“Baby, please”he begged breathlessly.

“Are you gonna cum-“

“Yes” his voice cracked. You smiled before reaching below and taking his member fully in your hand and began jerking him off.

“Go ahead, cum. Cum on my pussy” you demanded. Joel’s body tensed up not expecting those words to leave your lips. And before you knew it thick ropes of cum shot out of him. He moaned loudly against you, his hips jerking as more cum spilled out of him. You cursed at yourself watching the way his body fully gave into you until he grew limp and leaned completely against you. His face buried into the crook of your neck, his cock throbbing against your thigh, both out of breath he couldn’t speak. He held himself up, hands against the counter the best he could, he knew he was done for.

And then your phone rang.

At first neither of you moved, no care in the world right now still on a high. Never had you heard such desperate moans from a man, the sound arousing you in ways you didn’t know possible.

And then you heard your father’s car pull up.

“Shit-Joel, he’s back”

He lifted his head to look out the window but the wind was completely knocked out of him.

“Joel!” You whispered with a shove.

“Shit” Joel stumbled a step back seeing the mess you both made. Jumping off the counter you pulled him into the bathroom just as you heard the front door open.

After cleaning yourselves off in a panic, Joel splashed water on his face. Your father calling out to him, you looked to Joel for what the next move was.

“I’m here! Gimmie a minute” Joel responded.

“What do we do?” You whispered just as your phone vibrated again on the sink. Grabbing the phone you looked down to see Bennys name lit up in the front. Your heart sunk and Joel noticed.

“Why don’t you grab us some beers from the garage, I’ll be right out!” Joel suggested as your father chuckled at the idea of drinks in the morning.

“What is it?” Joel looked down at you with concern.

“It’s Benny” you whispered still looking down at the phone, his expression changing noticing the guilt in your eyes. The sound of the garage door opening snapped you out of it, you quickly took advantage of your father’s distraction and opened the door until Joel grabbed you pulling you back in.

“You’re ok?” He asked low. You pulled your arm back as a feel of shame sat heavy on your chest. You didn’t respond and simply rushed out. Joel stood still pressing his lips together until you slammed your bedroom door shut upstairs.

~~

You hated this feeling. Hated it because no matter how badly you wanted to blame someone else, you knew this was a choice you had made. Joel hadn’t forced you into anything. This wasn’t his fault.

And yet, a bitter part of you couldn’t stop wondering why the hell he had waited until now. Why now, when you were with Benny?

The thought alone pissed you off. Maybe you were angry at Joel. Maybe you were angry at yourself. Maybe you were just desperately searching for someone to blame because admitting the truth was harder.

Beecause the truth was, your feelings for Joel had never really disappeared. You had buried them, ignored them, convinced yourself you had moved on. But seeing him again, hearing him finally admit what he’d been keeping to himself…it only rippped everything open again.

And now after what you had done, you were left standing in the middle of a mess you didn’t know how to untangle, wondering if you had made a mistake or simply given in to something you had never truly stopped wanting.

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Chapter Eighteen ⋆.˚ ☾⭒.˚ Your body.

You spent the next few days in a state of excitement you haven’t felt in a while. The world felt different as if the colors were brighter, the light was warmer, the days filled with an happiness that was starting to feel lost.

That night had been strange, and if you were honest, not entirely good. But the way it ended, something changed, and this time it felt real. It was raw and intimate in a way you weren't used to with Joel, and you'd walked away almost convinced that whatever he was feeling, it wasn't nothing.

None of your friends knew, of course. That night, Addie sent you something like fifty messages, she'd got worried when you left and disappeared. She even got angry when she found out you just “fell asleep” — an anger that was really just relief dressed up as frustration because of all the anxiety you made her feel.

You didn’t want to explain where you'd gone or why. The important thing, for her, was that you were safe. You'd told her that much.

It was strange, keeping this much from the people closest to you, meticulous even, the way you'd started scrubbing every trace of Joel from the surface of your life, making sure nothing showed.

That summer, you'd gone to stay with your parents, and Addie had come along, her relationship with her own family was complicated, so for years now she'd just folded herself into yours whenever summer or winter breaks came around.

You were glad to have her there. The two of you had always been good at having fun even with not much around.

The first days were easy, catching up with your parents, sitting through dinners with your cousins and some relatives you only half remembered. But every spare hour you had, you wrote.

It was close to compulsive, the way the words kept coming. Something about the strangeness of your life lately seemed to have cracked something open in you, and whatever was leaking out, it wanted to be put down on paper.

For a while, you were happy. You laughed a lot, went out with Addie and your old friends from home, stayed out late, long summer nights and easy conversations, no particular worry about what came next. You loved it, that feeling of being temporarily exempt from your own life.

But you couldn't stop thinking about him. About all of it, how everything that happened between you felt like it had been lifted from the pages of a novel, most of it was almost laughably clichéd, and yet that was part of what gave it that strange, dreamlike atmosphere — the surrealism of living inside something that never felt a hundred percent real.

You missed Joel, more than made sense. When the university posted the new course listings, you didn't hesitate. Miller's name was there and you chose it, without pretending you were weighing your options. That version of yourself from the end of last semester, the one who had been ready to walk away from all of it, seemed to belong to someone else now.

You were sure there was more. More to him, more to whatever was quietly building between you. That last night was the first time the two of you looked like two normal people in a normal relationship — talking, arguing, feeling each other without the performance of the thing you built inside of the college building.

He even told you something about himself. Not much, almost nothing, really, just that he didn't like his house. That was the only personal thing he gave you and you couldn’t help but go crazy over it.

The happiness didn't last, though. It curdled into something closer to melancholy as the days passed, you weren't sure if it was missing him specifically, or just the fear that after all this, nothing would come of it. That the summer would end and everything would reset and what had been building would dissolve.

You had no way of contacting him. And even if you had, you wouldn't have. There was some small, stubborn part of you that kept pulling you back from a certain line, no matter what you felt, no matter how far you'd already gone.

Yes, you'd spent months trying to get his attention in ways that ranged from slightly unhinged to actively humiliating. Yes, you'd told him to fuck off once, drunk and furious, words you'd never imagined saying to him, and he hadn't even flinched, like he understood you had the right to say those words.

But that other line, the one you didn't have a clean word for, romantic wasn't quite right, but it was the closest you had, that one you couldn't cross. The thought of it scared you in a way you’ve never felt before with anyone.

Those thoughts kept creeping in until you almost told Addie everything. You felt confused in this relationship and you didn't know how to explain, you'd never lived through anything like this before, and it showed.

Joel was everywhere. You'd look at your bookshelf and think of him, running through titles in your head, wondering which ones he'd read, which ones he'd dismiss.

You thought about the book with the coffee stain, still somewhere in his office probably. A man in a tie on the street and your mind went straight back to him. The lit end of a cigarette, your mind went to his mouth. The smoke, the grey at his temples and his beard .

Your friend picking up a guitar one evening, and somehow, inexplicably, Joel again. You'd never seen him play, never heard a single note, but your mind found every good opportunity to remind you how much you missed him.

Like Jake didn’t exist.

The two of you had barely spoken those weeks, he was busy, a part-time job, the family thing, but if you were honest, part of it was simpler than that: you just couldn't make yourself care. You were waiting, in a vague and shameful way, for the group vacation to end so you could finish it properly.

As the last days of your little vacation approached, Addie asked you to go on one of those outings you used to have with her, those quiet nights where you drove somewhere green by the lake with nothing but beers and each other’s company. You agreed immediately, feeling a spark of excitement for your little adventure.

As soon as you found your usual spot near the lake, you spread out a blanket and sat down, pulling the cold beers from the pack. You started talking about everything, stories from when you were kids, memories of high school, and Addie’s ex crazy girlfriend who had eventually moved to Europe for some reason.

"Do you remember Sophie? The one who was sleeping with that married guy?" Addie chuckled, lighting a cigarette. "I heard things didn't end very well for her."

"Yeah, why?" You looked at her and took a long sip of beer. By then, you both had already finished quite a few.

"The wife found out. She went insane. Found them right there in their house. I mean, how stupid do you have to be to bring your mistress home? What an idiot," she laughed, taking a drag of her cigarette.

"Did she leave him?" you asked, letting out a small chuckle of your own.

"Not a chance... he somehow talked his way into being forgiven. They packed up, moved out of state, and started over. I heard Sophie was absolutely devastated," she replied, before taking a sip of her beer.

“Well, I can imagine…” you said with a shrug, pausing for a second to think. "Do you think it was her fault?" you asked, looking over at her.

"What? The affair? Well, both are to blame, but probably him more, he was the adult in the situation. Sophie was just a young girl in love who actually believed he would leave his family for her".

The conversation was starting to feel a bit too personal. In any other moment, you would have changed the subject, but the influence of the beers and the warm summer evening air clearly had other plans.

"Well, some of them do leave their families, maybe she hoped he was one of them." you murmured. "Have you ever liked someone who was married?" you asked, catching her eye.

Addie considered this, taking one last drag before stubbing out her cigarette. "I think so, but I never acted on it. It’s a waste of time. Why all these questions?" she chuckled, glancing back at you.

You shook your head slightly. "Just curious".

"And you?"

You thought about it for a moment. "Yeah, it happened".

Addie laughed. "No way! You didn't seem like the type. You never told me".

"It was a stupid crush, nothing serious," you replied with a faint smile, lying back on the blanket as you finished your beer. Addie followed, stretching out right beside you.

"Anyway, Jake asked me if you’re pissed off at him for some reason. He says you’ve been giving him one word answers for a week now".

You sighed, rubbing a hand over your face. "I'm not pissed. It's just... I don't know, Addie. I feel like a bitch, but sometimes when he talks to me, I just want him to shut up. He’s just too... nice".

"And that’s supposed to be a problem?" Addie laughed. "He’s hot, he’s head over heels for you, and he’d hand you the moon on a silver platter. What the hell else do you want?"

"That’s exactly the point," you replied, your voice trembling just a little. "I feel like I’m dying of boredom. I feel like a horrible person because he gives me everything a girl is supposed to want. I find myself wishing for someone who made me feel a little less safe. It would be fun, maybe".

You were going totally out of your mind for sure.

Addie didn’t answer right away. She stared up at the starry sky before shifting her gaze back to you, there wasn't a hint of judgment in her expression, then, she let out a long sigh.

"So, you want someone who doesn't give a fuck," she joked, even though you could feel she really meant it. Knowing her, Addie couldn’t bring herself to romanticize any of the stupid bullshit you were talking about, it showed.

"Come on, you know what I mean," you said, looking at her.

"Look, let’s do this: when we get to France, try to hit the reset button. Try talking to him more, about how you’re actually feeling. Maybe you just need to find a real connection with him again. Maybe seeing each other there will put everything back in its place".

"Mm, I'll try," you whispered, turning your eyes back toward the night sky.

One thing Joel noticed when summer break started, was how hollow his life felt since you last saw each other. He never truly struggled with boredom before, in fact, he usually craved it, boredom meant things were peaceful. He enjoyed retreating into his study, losing himself in his books. What he enjoyed less was the creative block that had plagued his writing for years.

Joel used to love writing, he published several novels once, but now his days were consumed by academic papers and analytical essays. Nothing emotional, nothing real.

Lately though, a persistent whisper in the back of his mind suggested that maybe the time had come to start creating stories again. He wasn't entirely sure why.

Something he was sure of was how it annoyed him more and more the way you occupied his thoughts like a stubborn stain, an intruder with no intention of leaving.

Each time he climbed into his car, the memory of that night surged back to life, the fogged up windows, the sound of your moans filling the small space, your skin, your hair damp from the rain, your lips. He had never touched your lips before. They were soft, and he felt it even in the heat of the violent kisses you were lost into.

He remembered how you stood your ground against him, despite everything, despite the nature of your relationship. And he thought that in another time, in another context, it would have ended very differently.

But that night, something was off, perhaps it was the cognac, the adrenaline of letting you into his home, or simply the agitation of pulling you away from that monstrous situation.

Every dinner with his wealthy, boring friends felt more tedious than the last. Every night out, every conversation felt like something he had already seen and heard a thousand times before. His life at home was too quiet, too predictable. He watched his wife move through the house and her actions were familiar.

Even eating breakfast in a silence that was supposed to be peaceful, but to him, it just felt empty. There was no tension, no risk. She never looked at him with the desperate hunger he saw in your eyes.

Even at night, when they lay in bed together, it felt boring. He would touch her arm or her shoulder, and she would offer her usual kind and soft smile, she felt safe — he loved it, but since you happened it irritated him. It’s not like he didn't want her to feel safe, perhaps he needed the rollercoaster you gave him.

At some point, he began to believe that this was exactly what was rotting at the core of his marriage. Maybe, throughout all these quiet, domestic days, it was simply the explosion of such an intense connection that he lacked. He craved the knowledge that you allowed him to exert total authority over you.

It was a side of himself he didn't quite recognize, one that had only surfaced in your presence, but he knew it drove him to the brink of madness. He couldn't stop thinking about how your pupils dilated when you knew what was coming, or the way you stayed perfectly still when he tied you down.

He thought about how much you wanted him to do those things to you, and how you were willing to humiliate yourself for him. It was repulsive, in a way, how much he was attracted to that part of you. He looked at his wife and felt like a stranger in his own home, possessed by the memory of a girl who had ruined his taste for a normal life, probably.

Joel would sometimes think that he was revolting for that, and maybe it was better if he pulled away from you and search for this spark with Elizabeth.

One afternoon, while the house was silent, he found himself standing before his desk, opening the bottom drawer. He moved the Polaroids there days ago, bringing them into his home, an act he knew was likely disgusting, a violation of the trust he shared with Elizabeth. But he couldn't help it. He missed everything about the chaos you represented.

As he looked down, he didn't pull the photos out. He simply stared at the thin white edge of a Polaroid peeking from beneath a stack of mundane documents. He stayed like that for a long time, his hand hovering over the papers, telling himself that he would fix things with his wife. Elizabeth didn't deserve a husband who kept photos of his half naked student in his desk.

It wasn't exactly guilt that moved him — it was a different — the need to repair something that was broken. He felt like his life drifted off course, and he desperately wanted to regain his grip on the wheel. He needed to believe that his obsession had a limit. You were just a girl, after all, a student. Nothing more.

But Joel stopped being careful after a while. The effort required to maintain his mask was becoming exhausting. They just returned from another dinner with their circle, a long, tedious evening filled with people who lacked the vocabulary to discuss anything other than their net worth.

Back in the bedroom, Elizabeth sat at her vanity, removing her jewelry, while Joel stood nearby unbuttoning his shirt. When his hand reached his waist, he paused. He looked at his belt for a moment too long, before turning his gaze toward her.

"Why don't we try something different tonight?" he asked, the leather strap already coiled in his hand.

"Huh?" She didn't look back at first, her fingers still busy with an earring.

"To keep you still," he said, holding the belt out so she could see it. He watched her intently, trying to decode the subtle change in her expression.

Elizabeth finally turned, but there was no spark of anticipation. She looked at the leather, then back at him with a faint, practical frown. "That’s a limited edition Hermès, Joel. Do you really want to use that? You’d ruin it” she murmured, already turning back to the mirror to finish her routine. "Maybe use something else?"

She was trying, in her own way. She wasn't rejecting him, but something about it completely destroyed his will to do anything with her. The  banality of her concern, worrying about the scuffing of expensive leather turned him off instantly. 

"Never mind. There isn't a belt cheap enough in this house for you not to complain about it." he snapped. The words came out harsher, more jagged than he should have.

Elizabeth looked at him through the reflection, her confusion was genuine. "Well, I’m sorry. You don’t need to act like that." she said a little annoyed.

He didn't offer an answer. He couldn't explain that it wasn't about the belt, but about the fact that she saw a price tag where you saw a rope. He walked into the bathroom and turned on the shower. She was right, he didn't have to act like that, but he could feel his composure fracturing, his mood taking a definitive turn for the worst. 

The next time Joel completely fucked up.

The days passed, he was already in bed, reading when she came out of the bathroom in just a silk dress, hair loose, face clean of makeup.

She crossed the room without saying anything, took the book from his hands and set it on the nightstand, and climbed into his lap. He looked at her, a little amused at first, but when she kissed him, slow and soft, the amusement dissolved into something warmer.

Joel kissed her back, his hands sliding under her short dress to rest on her back, and it didn't take long for the kiss to become something more serious.

He sat up, shifted one hand to her jaw, fingers curving just under her ear, thumb along her cheekbone, and his other hand moved to her thigh. She leaned into him, the kiss deepening by degrees, and he felt something loosen in his chest, something that was killing him for weeks without him quite noticing.

And then, without warning, you were there.

Not even really a thought, something fast, he pushed back against it immediately, and broke the kiss, reaching for the hem of her dress

She lifted her arms as he pulled the fabric over her head. He didn't give himself time to think, he simply pressed his mouth to her neck, she let out a little whimper, tipping her head back as he moved lower — his lips now tracing her collarbone.

The ridge of bone felt familiar under his mouth. As her hand came up to rest in his hair, he moved from her shoulder to the hollow of her throat and back again. She was making quiet sounds now, her fingers tightening their grip against his scalp as she grinded on his warmth.

Unfortunately, the intrusive thought struck again. You over him, him kissing your neck, you grinding against him. Fuck off.

Joel told himself it was just the position. He let her pull off his own t-shirt and leaned back against the bed, searching for a different angle, anything better. After all, he had never been in this exact position with you.

He pulled her back onto him, kissing her again and feeling her weight against him, helping each other discard the last of their clothes until there was nothing left between them.

She remained on top, straddling him as she took his hardness, Joel groaned at the feeling. She began to move with a slow pace on top of him, trying to adjust to his thickness.

Joel’s hands were already moving to her waist and he gripped her hips, his fingers digging slightly into the soft skin there, trying to keep himself attached to the present. He watched her, the way her hair fell over her shoulders, the way her eyes were half-closed in concentration.

But even as he held her, his mind was a disgusting traitor. Every slow slide of her body against his felt like a comparison. Joel found himself analyzing the friction, the movement, the heat, searching for the memory of your movements in hers.

He squeezed her hips tighter, a silent command for her to move faster, to be louder, to drown out the silence in his head that was screaming your name. As the pleasure increased, Elizabeth’s rhythm broke, her movements becoming faster and more desperate, chasing her pleasure.

Joel didn't let go, his hands remained locked on her hips as he guided her, dictating the pace even as she tried to lose herself. He wanted her to feel him, his presence — more than that he needed to hear Elizabeth’s voice to keep the silence and the memory of you away.

"Don’t go faster," he rasped. “I want to feel you.”

He was trying to build a cage of words around her movements, hoping that if he gave enough orders, he could turn this moment into something that was far from you.

Elizabeth did it, she listened to him and slowed down, moaning his name as she moved on top of him.

It worked, for a moment.

She leaned forward to change the angle, her breath hitching against his neck, triggering a sensory memory so violent it made his head swim

For a second, the smell of her expensive perfume was replaced by the scent of rain and alcohol, he was not in his bed anymore, he was in the back seat of a car.

The frustration of it became too much to bear. He needed a different angle, a different sensation, anything to stop his mind from spiraling. Without warning, he reached up and gripped Elizabeth’s shoulders, quickly pushing her back onto the mattress.

She let out a soft, surprised oh as her back hit the sheets, her hair fanning out across the pillows. Joel didn't give her a moment to recover. He moved over her, his weight heavy as he entered her again with a sudden and sharp intensity that made her whimper.

Joel didn't want her moving on her own anymore, he wanted to restrain her so that maybe it would’ve given him control in his thoughts too. He grabbed both of her wrists in one of his hands, pinning them firmly above her head against the headboard. He locked them there, his grip strong, forcing her body to arch and stretch beneath him.

“Stay still” he said, his face inches from hers.

He looked down at her, watching the way her chest moving faster and the way her trapped arms made her look defenseless. He told himself he was doing this to focus on her, to force himself back into the present.

Though once again, looking at her pinned wrists, all he could think about was the way your skin had felt under his palm.

He began to move again, his pace fast — drowning his wife in his weight, but the harder he pushed, the harder you were clouding his imagination, and at some point without realizing it he just stopped fighting it.

Joel felt a desperate need to intensify the connection, to make the reality of the moment match the feverish images of you that were screaming in his mind. He couldn't help himself. He moved his free hand down, his fingers curling around Elizabeth’s throat.

He remained harsh in his movements, his body driving into hers with an unrelenting force. He wasn't with Elizabeth anymore, again. The pressure of his hand on her neck increased, a physical manifestation of his need to touch you like that.

Elizabeth tried to stay with him at first. She leaned into the new pace — thinking this was the "something different" he asked for.

But as his grip tightened, the thrill vanished, replaced by fear. This wasn't funny or exciting anymore to her.

"Joel," she whispered, her voice strained against his palm. "Joel — wait."

He didn't hear her for a moment. To him, the struggle beneath him felt like your passion, your way of playing with him — not her fear.

"Joel, stop — I can't breathe!" Elizabeth suddenly gasped, her body trying to wake him up.

The sound of her choking on his name was the thing that made him go back to the moment. Joel snapped back to reality, his eyes focusing on his wife’s face, gasping for air. He ripped his hand away from her throat as if the contact burned him. He froze with anxiety completely filling his body, his heart hammering so hard it was sickening. The silence that followed was uncomfortable. Elizabeth turned her head away, coughing a little.

“I'm sorry…” he murmured, feeling totally and completely guilty of making her feel this scared.

He rolled off her immediately, the heat of the moment died into suffocating shame. He then reached out, his fingers gently brushing her arm.

"I’m so sorry, Liz," he said, his voice still low. "I didn't mean to go that far. I didn’t want to scare you." he tried hard to voice how bad he felt for doing that.

Elizabeth looked at him, the fear in her eyes faded and was replaced by concern. She reached out and took his hand, her thumb tracing his knuckles. "I know you didn't mean to hurt me, Joel. But you’ve been so different lately. What are you thinking about?"

Joel didn’t expect it — Elizabeth asking why he was so alienated lately. Truly, he didn’t even think she realized it.

"It’s just been a long few months.” he lied, though he tried to make the lie sound as kind as possible. It was a stupid lie, and he knew.

She wasn’t sure, but she felt so drained that asking more questions felt exhausting. “Just cuddle me, I don’t feel like doing anything anymore.” She muttered.

“Yes…yes, let’s just sleep” he said, kissing the top of her head. He pulled her closer and lay back down with her. “I’m sorry.” He whispered again as he saw her closing her eyes, comforted by his words.

After that night, it didn't take long for him to decide it was enough. It was a conscious extraction of a thought that was becoming too dangerous to entertain. He never in his whole life felt so out of his mind for someone, to the point that he fucking dissociated during a moment like that. It was nauseating.

Thinking about Elizabeth feeling unsafe — or the thought that she would feel like this — was the saddest thing that happened until now.

Time passed and Joel settled back into his skin, he returned to being the man the world expected him to be, the perfect husband. When Elizabeth’s schedule finally began to clear, Joel made it a point to find comfort in their shared life.

One evening, they attended an art gallery opening for one of her close friends. He stood by her side, a glass of expensive scotch in hand as a gift, watching with forced interest as she indulged her passion for collecting. She bought a few paintings and several unique decor pieces for their home, and Joel supported every choice.

Another night was spent over a long, relaxing dinner at her favorite restaurant. They sat in their usual table, the soft candlelight masking the coldness that filled their house for days after that night. They talked for hours.

They even escaped for a weekend to their cottage by the lake. Perfect domestic bliss. Their mornings were slow, framed by long breakfasts on the sun drenched terrace. Over coffee, they slipped back into their comfortable habits: discussing the morning news, her work, and listening to her lighthearted gossip about her friends.

As their trip drew closer, one morning Elizabeth decided to start preparing for it. She started folding every dress she felt like taking into her suitcases. She looked up, her face glowing with a genuine excitement that Joel hadn't seen in months.

"I can't wait to feel the sea, Joel," she said, her voice was light. "It feels like forever since we’ve been to France. I’ve already messaged Emma and Camille, they’re staying at a villa close to our hotel. We’re planning a weekend just for us."

Joel stood by the window, adjusting his cufflinks, he wasn’t really thinking about France, just about the conference he was about to do. He looked at her reflection in the mirror and just offered a smile. "It’ll be good for you to see them. You’ve been working too hard. You need some time off."

"I really do" she sighed, then walked over to him, looping her arms around his neck. "I’m happy we’re doing this together. It feels like we’re finally back to ourselves, right?”

Joel looked down at her, he leaned down and kissed her forehead, a tender gesture that hid a strange distance. "Yes," he whispered — a lie. "I have to go now, I’ll call you later." 

“Tell me how it goes.” He nodded, leaving the room.

Joel felt a sense of relief, he successfully buried the memories. He rebuilt the walls of his life so securely that he truly believed nothing could ever breach them again. By the time they began preparing for the trip, though, a slow lingering frustration possessed him. Now that he successfully wiped your body from his mind — after he stopped searching for more from his wife, what was he missing? 

author's note: Joel is so incredibly fucking stupid and insane but oh well. I felt bad for Liz writing this :( but HEY next two chapters are crazy asf. they're nasty.

You stand on the side of the road, clothes drenched from the downpour that’s literally making this already bad day worse.

This reason exactly is why you broke up with your ain’t shit boyfriend. He’d always leave you in the worst predicaments then act like it was all your fault. 

So when you two got into a routine argument while on the way to your place, you decided then and there that you didn’t want to put up with it anymore. So you dumped his ass.

And what did he do? Dumped your ass too, in a literal sense.

That asshole pulled over and told you to get out of his car. You were honestly a little surprised that he would stoop as low as to leave you deserted on the side of the road.

Now here you are with a dead phone and wet clothes, teeth chattering as you stick your thumb out in hopes that any of the cars that drive by see your request for assistance and have it in them to stop and help you out.

You feel like you’re in the beginning of some thriller movie or some shit, knowing that the odds of something bad happening to you are increasing by the second on this fairly deserted stretch of road.

Just as you’re about to give up hope, headlights cut through the rain and you see a pick up truck slowing down until it’s right where you are.

The window rolls down and possibly the most handsome man you’ve ever seen is looking directly at you.

“Where you headed?”

You’re struck momentarily. The passenger has a cap pulled low over messy curls, while the driver sports a perfectly trimmed mustache and intense brown eyes. They’re both stupidly attractive. 

“J-Just into town. Or if you have a phone I can call a ride.”

“It’s pouring out. We’ll drive you. Only if you’re comfortable with that.”

He gives you a suave once over, gaze lingering on your exposed thighs from your mini skirt, then trailing up to your hard nipples that show through the thin material of your top.

His gaze on you feels good and it has heat pooling at your cheeks.

You bite your lip, weighing your options. The smart choice would be to just call your best friend and have them pick you up.

However, how often is it that you have not one but two hot guys offering to help you out?

Throwing caution into the wind, you say fuck it and take them up on their offer to drive you home.

“That’d actually be super helpful. If you don’t mind…”

“It’s no problem.” He smiles kindly at you, opening the door and slipping out, offering you the middle spot on the bench seat of the truck.

Oh fuck.

You politely return the smile and get in, giving him a good view of your ass as your skirt rides up when you climb into your spot.

His eyes linger but he doesn’t make it weird, getting in next to you. Now you’re in between these two and it has your breath catching, senses overwhelmed with their presence and smell of their colognes.

“It’s a tight fit in here. Sorry,” the driver murmurs, shifting slightly so you have a little more room. Still, your thigh presses firmly against his, and your arm brushes the other man’s.

“It’s fine,” you breathe, heart racing. “Thank you. I’ve been out there for what feels like forever.”

“You having car trouble or something?” the passenger asks, taking off his cap to run a hand through his curls before putting it back on.

You scoff, staring at the road ahead as the truck pulls forward. “I wish. My stupid fucking boyfriend, or ex-boyfriend, ditched me out here when I dumped his ass for being a piece of shit.”

Both men chuckle and it has a thrill shooting up your spine. 

“What kinda man leaves a pretty little thing like you stranded out on the road like that?”

“Not a real one.”

Your heart thuds in your chest and you shift in your spot, which they both notice immediately and it has them smirking in their own way.

“I’m Frankie, by the way.” Says the one with the cap (who’s been doing most of the talking) while the hot one with the mustache drives silently, occasionally his eyes meet yours in the mirror and the tension there makes your pussy throb.

“Javier.” He introduces himself and you do the same, telling them your name.

“Where in town do you want us to drop you off at?”

You give Javier loose directions and he gives you a tilt of his chin in acknowledgement.

“Feel free to tell us to fuck off, but I own a bar not far from where you’re going—if you wanted to stop for a drink. On the house, considering what a shitty day you’ve had.”  Frankie tells you, very boldly resting his calloused hand on your wet thigh.

Almost lightheaded from the action, you can’t give him an answer right away, especially when Javier mirrors it and places his free hand on your other thigh.

You’d be an idiot to pass this up.

You don’t even remember how many drinks it took to get you making out with Javier as sloppily as you are now.

His lips taste of whiskey as they trail down your jaw and latch onto your neck. Strong hands slide up your thighs, fingers digging into soft flesh with bruising force, yanking you flush against him. The scrape of his stubble against your sensitive skin sends sparks racing down your spine.

Whimpers spill from your throat as you tilt your head back, grateful the bar is closed and empty except for the three of you.

Frankie lounges on a nearby barstool, casually sipping his beer, dark eyes hooded with lust as he watches the way you and Javier devour each other. Your hands fist into Javi’s broad shoulders, nails biting into hard muscle when he sinks his teeth into that perfect spot on your neck.

You spread your thighs wider to accommodate his frame, grinding against the rough denim at his crotch. He grumbles into your neck at the feeling of it.

“You gonna let me fuck you baby, or have you just been a tease all night?”

You’re wordless and out of breath, bucking your hips up into his to chase more of that amazing friction.

Displeased with your lack of a reply, Javier wraps one hand around your throat and pulls back to look at you directly, squeezing softly. “Talk to me.”

You’ve never been more exhilarated, eyes glassed over in lust as you make direct eye contact. “Yes, fuck, yes I want you to fuck me.”

He smirks at how wrecked he’s got you, and it’s as irritating as it is enticing. 

Your tongue feels heavy in your mouth, body humming in anticipation as his fingers move dexterously, pulling your panties down your legs and off you, throwing them over his shoulder.  Frankie reaches over to catch them, rubbing the damp lace between his fingers before tucking the pretty fabric into his back pocket.

Javier makes quick work of his jeans, pushing them down enough to release himself, his hard length making your breath hitch then whine desperately as he drags the underside between your folds, coating himself in your arousal, teasing your clit with every slow pass.

“How wet is she?” Frankie’s raspy voice somehow manages to reach your ears.

“Soaked. Bet I’ll be able to just slide right in.”

He does just that, pushing his cock inside you with maddening ease. 

You fall back flat against the table top, moaning pathetically as you take everything he’s giving you. 

The burning stretch is oddly pleasurable. He’s so thick, filling you so completely that you unrealistically feel him in your stomach. 

You’ve never hooked up with someone with both size and girth as glorious as this man’s, and it probably explains why you suddenly feel like you can’t breathe, eyes rolling to the back of your head as he begins to fuck into you.

“Oh my god… oh fuck,” you chant breathlessly, fingers scrambling for purchase on the edge of the table. Your thighs tense with every thrust. Javi seems to be more amused by your reaction rather than the fact that your body is gripping him so tight.

He groans, eyes locked on where his cock disappears into your tight cunt. “Holy shit, she’s fuckin’ tight.”

The way they talk about you like you’re not even there makes you wetter. Your back arches off the surface when he hits that specific spot inside you, drawing a loud, needy sob from your lips.

“Bet she tastes sweet too,” suddenly Frankie’s voice is closer, as he’s standing behind you, dark eyes assessing the way your body moves with each thrust.

You are unable to say anything comprehensible, instead babbling out more moans and cries—especially when you feel Javier’s thumb press down against your clit, his cock coated in your buttery wetness.

Frankie leans over you, roughly pulling the neckline of your tank top down (you can hear the fabric rip slightly from the force of it), exposing your tits to both of their lecherous gazes. He caresses the soft skin before pinching your tight nipples between his calloused fingers, relishing in the yelp you make.

One of your hands comes up to wrap around his wrist, pleading him wordlessly to do it again.

He does, licking his lips lowly, his cock throbbing in anticipation of getting to fuck you. Whether that be your mouth or your pussy, he doesn’t really give a fuck. It’s not often that a pretty thing like you comes across him and Javier, so he won’t get greedy with whatever you give him.

Javi, on the other hand, is being the most indulgent bastard, pulling out of your cunt and slapping his dick against your puffy folds a few times before slamming back in, growling at the way your pussy flutters around him.

“You love this, don’t you?” he taunts. “Getting used by two strangers who picked you up on the side of the road like a desperate little slut.”

The degrading words make you squeeze harder around him.

The dirty talk coming from Javier almost surprises Frankie, since the man is basically mute in his day to day, unless he’s pissed off about something. Hearing him so vocal and degrading towards you spurs Francisco to be just as indulgent, pulling his touch from your breasts so that he can free himself from the confines of his jeans, his heavy cock flushed and hovering over your parted lips.

Sweat beads along your temple, eyes watering in pure ecstacy. “I love it. Needed it so bad,” your lips pout up at Frankie, another wordless request.

I want to taste you.

“I’m going to be dreamin’ about these eyes every night baby, holy shit.” He says with a heavy sigh, breaching your mouth, the salty taste of his cock dizzying you further as he slides in until the tip nudges the back of your throat, making you gag lewdly all over him.

Both men groan in unison at the sound. Your cunt clenches violently around Javier’s cock in response, earning you another deep, appreciative thrust.

Your body burns—full, stretched, and completely used in the best possible way. You’ve never wanted anything more.

Frankie grips your hair tight to keep your head right where he wants it, feeding you more of his thick cock as he rocks his hips, fucking your throat in shallow, greedy thrusts.

Saliva drips messily down your chin, coating his heavy balls every time they tap against your face. The lewd sucking sounds fill the empty bar as he takes your mouth.

At the same time, Javier pounds into your pussy. Your juices coat his shaft and drip down to your asshole, making everything feel so filthy.

Every thrust from Javier forces you further onto Frankie’s dick, making you choke and drool even more.

“Her throat’s even better than I imagined… so fucking warm and tight.”

You’re lost in the sex, moaning and whimpering around Frankie as your orgasm builds violently. 

Your pussy continues to flutter rhythmically around Javier’s length, sucking him deeper, until you come hard. A muffled scream vibrates around Frankie’s length as your whole body convulses, spewing around Javier.

Both men groan at the feeling, but they don’t stop, not until you feel Javi’s warm release pulsing inside you.

They ease out of you, leaving you gasping, pussy spasming and drooling onto the table.

Before you can catch your breath, they manhandle you further up the table so your ass rests right where they want you. Javier drops to his knees between your spread thighs, while Frankie does the same. You spread your thighs even wider, seeing double as you take in what’s being done to you.

Two ravenous mouths descend on your soaked and used sex at the same time.

Javier licks a broad, filthy stripe from your entrance up to your clit, while Frankie sucks your swollen folds into his mouth.

Their tongues battle over your pussy—lapping, sucking, and fighting for every drop of your sweet arousal, mixed with the creamy release of the orgasm you gave Javier.

The sounds of them devouring you wholly are louder than your own desperate sobs.

Javier pushes his tongue deep inside you, fucking you with it while Frankie sucks hard on your clit. Then they switch—Frankie’s thicker tongue spearing into your cunt as Javier flicks the tip of his tongue mercilessly against your sensitive pearl. The constant shifting, the competition between them has your body twitching as if you’ve just been electrocuted.

They get so lost in it that their tongues occasionally meet, sliding against each other over your clit. They don’t pull away. Instead, they kiss sloppily right there—tongues tangling hotly, sharing your taste between them while their lips grind against your dripping pussy.

The filthy sight alone nearly makes you come again. You don’t even notice the way they’re both stroking their cocks vigorously as they kneel before you.

You’re on cloud nine, floating out of your body. Nothing else exists except the relentless pleasure of two capable men devouring your cunt. Their facial hair scrapes deliciously against your skin.

Javier groans deeply as he moves over to kiss and nip at your inner thigh, the vibration traveling straight into you. Frankie hums in approval when another gush of your tangy arousal coats his tongue.

“Oh my fucking god—” you weep, fingers threading desperately through their soft hair, not sure whether you’re trying to pull them closer or push them away from the intense sensation.

They switch tactics then. Javier seals his lips around your clit and sucks hard while Frankie pushes two thick fingers inside you, curling them perfectly against your g-spot. Then Javier adds his own fingers, stretching you wider as their tongues continue to lap and swirl and battle over your throbbing clit.

The pressure builds powerfully fast. Your thighs quiver around their heads, back arching clean off the table as another piercing orgasm rips through you. You finish hard, coming all over their tongues and chins, crying out their names in a wrecked wail.

They lick you through every tremble, drinking every ounce until you’re a shaky, oversensitive puddle of a woman.

Only then do they finally pull back, lips shiny and swollen, chins glistening with your release. They look at each other, then at your ruined body, both of them breathing hard with wicked hunger in their eyes.

They still haven’t had enough of you.

Taking their respective positions, you’re moved again, this time flipped onto your stomach, loose tits pressing against the sticky table top as Frankie positions himself behind you, hiking up your skirt over your hips.

His large hands lift your waist up so that your spine is bowed exactly how he wants it, thighs pressed together, your pussy enticing him to slip in again.

“Gorgeous…” you hear him mutter, a miracle really since you’re panting hard as fuck right now. He gropes your ass, spreading your cheeks, taking some of your pussy lip too so that he can get a good look at your needy sex.

Javier is in front of you, his cock rock hard again as he strokes it in front of your face, licking his lips to taste more of your sweet cunt. 

“Fuck her for a bit. I want to see her face while you’re inside her.” Javi’s tone is gravelly and deep, it makes you squirm, tongue hanging out of your mouth like a bitch in heat to try and get his dick in your mouth.

There’s a smug smile on Francisco’s face as he does exactly as his friend directed, taking his cock in palm and notching it at the mouth of your pussy before slamming in.

You sharply exhale his name, squeezing your eyes shut as he starts to fuck you at a quick yet gratifying pace. 

A heavy hand taps at your cheek firmly, making you flutter your blurry eyes open to gaze up at Javier. 

“Keep those pretty eyes open.” He tells you, his shaft bobbing in front of your face, the faint smell of your pussy clinging to him.

He just watches the way your expression twists and pinches in absolute bliss, head tilting in a mocking gesture as you two keep eye contact while Frankie plows into you, his hands now pawing at your luscious hips. He’s biting at his lower lip, brows pulled together in concentration as he relishes in the way your cunt swallows him whole then spits him out covered in your arousal.

Darkly satisfied by the carnal sight of you and Frankie fucking, Javier finally gives in to his horniness and slides his cock along the length of your hanging tongue, tipping his head back and clenching his jaw at the feel of your wet mouth around him

Your moan is muffled as Javi’s thick cock fills your throat. You struggle to keep your eyes open, tears trekking down your cheeks as both men continue to use your body for their own pleasure.

“Fuck her pussy is so damn good. Might have to keep you around for longer than a night, pretty girl.” Francisco grunts behind you, his own breath labored as he feels his balls tightening, his own orgasm looming over him.

“Bet you’d like that. Getting fucked whenever. Taken care of properly.”

The idea of being the orbit of these two is very, very appealing. Your pussy tingles at the prospect of getting to fuck them together like this again—or seperatley—you do not mind either outcome.

Javier cups your jaw with both hands, keeping you still as he starts to enthusiastically fuck your mouth, getting off on the tight constrict of your throat and gargling sound of you choking and drooling all over him. 

Your brain has been thoroughly fucked out of your skull. You’ve been reduced to this mindless person that’s been conquered by avaricious men who have somehow learned your body and everything that unravels you in the short amount of time you’ve been in their presence. 

The three of you move and fuck in sync, hitting flow state, pornagraphic noises rattling around the open space of the empty bar.

You tap on Javi’s thigh when you feel like you can’t breathe, your nose clogged up and throat full of his cock blocking your airway. He pulls out in a sloppy, wet mess as you gasp in air to fill your lungs. You bring one shaky hand up to wrap around the base, stroking him in time with the backshots Frankie is still delivering.

His grip on your waist tightens, nails breaking the soft skin, no doubt leaving marks that you don’t ever want to fade.

“I’m about to c-come,” you stutter out, using your tongue to lick around the bulbous tip of Javi’s length, flicking it all over before lathering every inch with devout attention.

They both fucking cuckle at you, picking up the pace of their ministations.

“C’mon baby, give it to us. Just one more.”

“Doin’ so good, looking so fucking hot while you’re taking two cocks.”

Blood roars in your ears as your body locks up and your final orgasm shocks your system. In that moment, you deep throat Javi as deep as you can, nose flush against his pelvis as you burst all around Frankie’s cock. 

Javier grips your hair as he spills down your throat, which you swallow down eagerly. Frankie spanks your ass in a harsh sting before burying himself to the root, squirting his cum into your engorged pussy.

You blackout. Like… seriously… falling limp between them as you doze off, feeling sensations you’ve never experienced before. 

When you come to again, you’re lying on one of the booth seats in the corner, a leather jacket that reeks of cigarette smoke and cologne blanketing your body. 

You sit up slowly, wincing, bringing a hand up to rub at your eye, the flakes of your mascara rubbing off on your palm. Your throat feels scratchy, the lower half of your body sore from the strenuous coital activities you’d been part of. 

“She’s awake.”

Frankie approaches you with a glass of water and two ibuprofen pills, handing them over. You take them without hesitation, popping the painkillers and swallowing down the glass of water. You hadn’t realized how thirsty you were.

“You okay?’ His sweet brown eyes meet yours, sitting at your side but giving you your personal space. 

Nodding, you flash him a warm smile. “Better than okay. Where’s Javi?”

“Had to run out to handle something. That’s his jacket you were sleeping with.”

Your fingers curl around the leather. “How long was I out?”

“Not long. Maybe half an hour. Guess we worked you pretty hard.”

You see the ghost of a smirk threatening to show itself on his soft lips.

“It was fun,” your eyes sparkle mischievously, the smudged mascara tangible evidence of how messily satisfied you’ve been left.

Frankie slides in closer, arm thrown across the back of the booth, staring down at you, suggestion coating his intense stare. “Wanna stick around? My place isn’t far from here… Jav should be back soon…” he trails off.

Your pussy tingles, literally, at the invitation. What do you have to lose? Not a boyfriend, that’s for damn sure.

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He walks in straighter than he left and you recognise that the time has steadied him – that what you said to him has gone in and taken hold – and his eyes come to the front row first thing and find you there. He nods, then sits beside James, turning his chair the few degrees that lets him keep you at the edge of his sight.

"All rise for the Honourable Judge Amos Pryor."

The room stands, scrapes and settles as Judge Pryor resumes his seat. He looks out over the sea of spectators and raps his block once for the form of it.

"I’d like to remind everyone that we're here on the charge against Joel Miller – the attempted murder of Reverend Eziekiel Sawyer. That is the charge before this court. That, and nothing else. I’ll remind you all that the rumour the Reverend flung out this morning – of some killing years past, unnamed, unproven, never charged – is not evidence. We're here on one question and one question only. Did Joel Miller strike Reverend Sawyer, attempting to murder him, and if he did, was he in law justified?”

He shuffles his papers.

“Mr Dean, do you have any further witnesses?”

“No, your honour,” the prosecution lawyer replies.

The judge pauses. “You don’t intend to call the man who witnessed the alleged assault?”

“No.”

“Fine,” he makes a face. “Mr Oliver?”

"The defence calls Tomás Rodrigues."

You sense movement behind you and half turn to see Tomás making his way down the aisle to the front of the room. He goes to the witness chair, places his hand on the Bible and swears the oath, then settles himself in the seat, offering a nod to Joel as he does so.

"Can you please state your name for the court," James asks.

"Tomás Rodrigues.”

“And are you in Mr Miller’s employ?”

“Yes,” Tomás nods. “Have been for more than five years.”

“Is Mr Miller a good employer?”

“Yes,” Tomás smiles softly. “The best and kindest I have ever worked for. I am proud to call him my employer.”

James nods. "You were present at the Miller ranch the day Reverend Sawyer came out, weren’t you? The day of this alleged assault?"

"I was and I saw the whole of it, start to finish. Mrs Miller was sick with the fever and Joel – Mr Miller – was beside himself. He lost his first wife, had just found love again and was terrified he was going to lose her. He sat with her the whole time, just holding her hand and praying.”

"And then,” James says, “the Reverend arrived.”

“Yes,” Tomás nods, his tone turning contemptuous. “He came in his wagon, announced. Nobody sent for him. Mr Miller met him in the yard.”

“And could you hear what was said?”

“Yes, I came out of the barn. The Reverend said he had come to offer a prayer for Mrs Miller. Mr Miller asked him to leave.”

“Do you know why?”

“Mr Miller and the Reverend were not on good terms since the death of Mr Miller’s first wife, the Reverend’s daughter. The Reverend had tried to claim that Mr Miller was not a fit man to care for…”

“Objection, hearsay!” Mr Dean leaps to his feet.

Judge Pryor sighs heavily. “Sustained. Mr Rodrigues, please confine yourself to that which you personally witnessed.”

“What happened next?” James asks quickly.

“The Reverend was unkind about Mrs Miller. He said that she was weak and would likely die. He said that it would be the Lord’s will and that his younger daughter would then be best placed to become Mr Miller’s wife.”

A ripple goes around the room.

“Mr Miller took hold of him, told him to leave and pushed him away.”

“And did you step in?”

“At that point, yes. To ensure Mr Miller’s own safety. Then the Reverend got back into his wagon and left.”

"Thank you,” James says, moving back to the table. “Your witness.”

“Was Mr Miller angry, Mr Rodrigues?” Nathanial asks, rising from his chair.

“He was angry at the Reverend’s words, yes.”

“Angry enough to try and kill him?”

“No,” Tomás says firmly. “Mr Miller would not have done that.”

“But he laid hands on the Reverend – an unarmed man of God.”

“Yes, in defence of his family. You would have done the same.”

“It’s not a matter of what I would have done,” Nathanial replies. “But you are Mr Miller’s trusted employee.”

“Yes.”

“And you depend on him for your livelihood.”

Tomás pauses, “Yes.”

“Then, there is every reason for you to come in here and tell a tale that best fits the narrative that Mr Oliver wants – to make Mr Miller seem less culpable than he is.”

Tomás’s face goes red. “I am no liar, sir. As God is my witness.”

Nathanial moves back to the table. “Nothing further.”

“Mr Oliver?” Judge Pryor peers over his spectacles.

James squares his papers on the defence table and turns to look at you.

"Your honour, the defence calls Mrs Miller."

You inhale deeply then rise smoothly and walk forward to the witness chair with your chin up and your eyes forwards. Passing the defence table you don’t let yourself look at Joel, because you know that if you look at him too soon you won’t be able to do what you’ve come up here to do.

You take the witness chair, swear on the Bible then sit, smooth your skirt over your knees, look at James and wait.

"Mrs Miller," James says gently. "You are the wife of the defendant."

"I am."

"And you are the woman who lay sick with the fever on the day Reverend Sawyer came to the Miller ranch."

"I am.”

"Mrs Miller, tell the court about your husband.”

You look at Joel, watching you from the defence table with his whole heart naked in his eyes, and the sight of him there undoes something in you, forcing you to breathe once before you can go on. And when you go on you speak to him, not to James or the room, though every spectator there hangs on every word.

"When I married Joel, it wasn’t for love. I'll be honest before God and this room when I say that. I had known him, known his late wife and how much he loved her. I had seen the devastation he suffered after her death. Here he was, a widower with a good ranch and a motherless girl who needed a wife to keep his house and help him raise his child. I also knew that the Reverend, his own father-in-law, had threatened to take Sarah from him and understood that him having a wife would be an advantage were any court proceedings ever to be raised. That’s how it began, and I'll not dress it prettier than it was."

You lace your fingers tight in your lap.

“Joel was…a broken man and I knew my task was to keep things in order and I did that, as best I could for several months. I watched him work the land and love his daughter and grieve his wife and I knew what a good, kind man he was. And then, one day, things changed between us.”

“In what way?”

“We became closer over time until…well until we realised that we cared about one another more than our original arrangement intended us to.”

You take a breath.

“When I became ill, Joel cared for me. He sat with me, night and day, and prayed for my recovery. I know that he was terrified to lose me, just as he had lost Tess. And I know that when the Reverend told him that I would die…”

Tears form in your eyes.

“I can only imagine how that must have felt. The Reverend had no business on our land that day, not when he and Joel were on bad terms, and Joel pushed him away to silence him. I have asked myself what I would have had him do instead. Should he have stood aside and allow a man who was wishing for his wife’s death to be allowed to be near her? Allow him to continue his tirade?”

“Your honour…” Nathanial half rises, but the judge waves him back into his seat.

“He pushed him away one time and I thank God he did, and if that is a crime then I don’t understand the word."

The silence in the room is a living thing.

"One last question, Mrs Miller." James says quietly. "Do you love your husband?"

You look back at Joel, his face wet.

"With my whole heart," you reply. "More than I’ve loved anything in all my life. I didn’t expect it, but I have it, and I mean to keep it, and I would marry him all over again for the privilege of keeping it. Joel is a good man, good clear through. And he pushed a man away to stop him when he wished me dead. That man did not succeed, and I would like very much to be able to go home with my husband and live the rest of our lives as God intended."

"Thank you, Mrs Miller." James turns, something in his face that’s near to triumph held hard in check. "Your witness."

Nathanial rises because he has to, but you can see in his face that he knows what the room has become, and he comes at you carefully, almost gently, because a man who bullies a beloved wife is a man who loses his case in a breath, and he’s not a fool.

"Mrs Miller, do you accept that Reverend Sawyer, whatever his manner, came to your home that day believing he did right? That he came to pray and not to harm?”

"I'll accept that may have been part of his intention,” you reply. “But a man may do great harm believing he does right."

"Indeed. But you are the defendant's wife and, much like Mr Rodrigues, you have every reason in the world to colour this in his favour."

"I have every reason in the world to love him, Mr Dean, which is a different thing. I’ve sworn on the Bible to tell the truth, and the truth is in his favour. If the truth ran against him, I should be sitting here far more wretched than I am, but I should still be bound to tell it. The truth is that he did the right thing and I'm sorry that's inconvenient to your case."

Soft laughter rings through the room. Nathanial colours and you see him decide to cut his losses.

"Was the Reverend armed, Mrs Miller?"

"He was armed with his voice and his attitude,” you say stiffly. “My husband disarmed the only weapon in that yard that afternoon, and it was not a gun, and he did it with one action and here I sit."

He looks at you for a long moment. “Forgive the impertinent question, Mrs Miller, but is your marriage legally consummated? Have you and Mr Miller shared intimate relations?”

Gasps ring around the room and Judge Pryor’s eyebrows raise, but given you’ve been bracing for this all along, you meet the lawyer’s gaze with a steely one of your own.

“Yes, happily and frequently.”

The laughter is louder this time and Judge Pryor raps on his block. “Any further questions Mr Dean?”

Nathanial pauses and shakes his head. “No, your honour – none.”

“You may step down, Mrs Miller,” the judge says and you rise and manage to make your way back to your seat, Joel’s eyes following you. When you sit down, you look over at him and smile.

James rises and rests his case, shaking his head when the judge asks if Joel intends to testify. Nathanial then does his best to sum up, speaking of the sanctity of a minister's person, of the danger of every man deciding for himself when a blow is justified, of the rule of law that must not bend even to a husband's love. It’s a competent speech and it falls into the hot room like a stone into a well and raises no echo, because the room has already made up its mind and the lawyer’s own weary voice half knows it.

Then James sums up for Joel, briefly, because he’s too good a lawyer to gild what you’ve already laid before them.

"Your honour, you've heard witnesses to the deed, and they don't disagree in any particular that matters. We have a sick woman, at the crisis of a deadly fever. We have a man who came, however he meant it, and told her husband that she would die, a man who knew the impact those words would have. And we have a husband, a man who had lost his first wife already and, in the half-second the law and God gives a man to defend his own, grabbed the Reverend and pushed him away. One time. And then he stood down, told the Reverend to go, and went straight back to his wife."

He takes a breath.

"The law does not require a man to stand with his arms folded while another man threatens the health of his wife. The law calls that the defence of habitation and the defence of conjugal estate – and it does not hang a man, nor jail him, nor brand him a criminal, for striking one blow in that defence, using the least force the moment allowed. You heard Mrs Miller. She will not wish her husband had done otherwise and neither, I think, will you. Joel Miller defended his wife's life. That is no crime in Texas, nor anywhere men have wives they love. Send him home to her. Send him home to that little girl. That's all I ask, because it's all that's right."

He sits back down and claps his hand briefly on Joel’s shoulder.

Judge Pryor takes off his spectacles, looks out once more across the room and then does a thing that makes James go very still with hope and makes your heart climb into your throat.

"I'm not going to trouble everyone by leaving the room. I have been on this bench for many years and. I know an attempted murder case, and I know a defence of conjugal estate when they're laid before me plain, and this one has been laid before me as plain as any I've heard. There's no dispute in the facts worth the name and they tell it the same.”

He picks up his hammer.

"The law of this state does not require a husband to suffer another man to imperil his wife's life in his own yard. He may meet it with such force as the moment fairly demands, and no more. Joel Miller grabbed Reverend Sawyer pushed him away and stood down the instant the threat was past. That is not the act of a brawler nor a beast. That is the least a man could do and still call himself a husband. I find that Joel Miller was provoked – grievously provoked – by the conduct of Reverend Sawyer, and that in striking him he acted in the lawful defence of his wife and his household, using no more force than that defence required."

The hammer comes up.

"I have also read the letter from the town council and the many testimonials to Mr Miller’s character and I therefore find the defendant not guilty. And I'll say further, for the record and for this whole county to carry home, that in my judgment Joel Miller did nothing that afternoon but what any decent man in this room would have done and been right to do.”

His eyes move to where the Reverend sits near the back of the room. “You should be ashamed of yourself, sir, a man of the cloth.” Then his gaze moves to Joel. "You're free to go, Mr Miller. Take your wife home."

The hammer comes down and the room comes apart.

It breaks into a great roar – not the ugly buzzing of the morning but something else, a swell of noise with cheering in it, men on their feet, hats going up, and you don’t hear the half of it because you’re already up out of your seat and Joel is already up out of his and neither of you give one thought to the crowd or the judge or the whole watching county.

He meets you in the open space, catching you up into him so hard your feet leave the floor, both his arms crushing you against him, his face buried in your hair. You wind your arms around his neck and hold on as you both weep, past caring, and the county can watch and be damned.

"Darlin’…" His voice breaks against your hair. "I’m comin’ home, darlin’…”

"You're coming home." You draw back enough to take his wet face in both your hands, laughing and weeping at once. "You're coming home, Joel. We’re walking out of that door together. "

"And we have the rest of our lives together,” he says, wrecked and laughing as he presses his forehead to yours. "Sarah…we have to get Sarah."

“She’s with my father. We can go straight there. Oh Joel, she’ll be so happy!”

Suddenly remembering yourself, you pull away and turn back to where James is gathering his papers. “Thank you!” You throw yourself into his arms. “Thank you so much!”

“You’re very welcome,” he laughs in response as you pull back. “Please take this in the way it is intended, but I hope never to see you again.”

You laugh as Joel extends his hand. “I can never repay you, sir.”

“You can indeed by living well,” James replies, shaking Joel’s hand heartily. “Now, I would wager that your daughter will be eagerly waiting for you. You should go to her.”

Taking Joel’s hand in yours, you begin making your way to the entrance to the hotel – or at least trying to. Joel is swarmed by townsfolk, clapping him on the back and offering words of delight at the verdict. You smile at them, but inside you can’t help but feel the sting of irony for all those who had previously whispered and stared.

Tomás steps in front of you, parting the crowds and leading you back out into the hot afternoon sun. “I will fetch the wagon,” he says.

Joel nods. “Thank you, Tomás – for everythin’.”

“Si patron, it is my pleasure.”

The journey along the boardwalk to the mercantile feels far longer than it is, and when you open the door and Joel steps inside, you see Sarah at the counter, drawing with your father, her face lighting up in delight.

“Pa!”

She jumps down and runs to him, Joel catching her out of the air as she flings herself into his arms. He gathers her up against his chest, buries his wet face in her hair, and you go down onto your knees beside them, wrapping your arms around the both of them at once. And the three of you kneel there on the floor tangled together, the hard bright afternoon light coming slanting gold through the open windows across the three of you on the floor.

“You’re coming home, Pa,” Sarah sobs, “you’re coming home…”

“I’m comin’ home, babygirl,” Joel says. “I’m comin’ home and I’ve never leavin’ either of you ever again as long as I live.”

Rising, you allow your own father to pull you into his embrace, feeling his body shake against yours. “I’m so glad, my love, I’m so glad…”

“Pa…” Sarah pulls back. “Now that you’re coming home – can I have a baby sister?”

Joel laughs, wipes away the tears from under her eyes and then glances up at you, gaze full of love. “We’ll see, babygirl, we’ll see.”

➰➰➰➰➰➰➰➰❤️➰➰➰➰➰➰➰➰

Chapter Seventeen ⋆.˚ ☾⭒.˚ The Party.

Jealousy got the best of you again, and there wasn't much you could do about it except live through it, through the anger and the sadness and the hated exhaustion of feeling things you had no right to feel.

The last week before finals you spent most of your time with Addie and Eric, buried under an enormous amount of material, surviving on caffeine and the occasional hour of sleep that actually felt like sleep. Jake wasn't around much, he had his own exams, his own friends, a completely different set of things to worry about, and honestly that was a relief.

Your life narrowed down to papers and coffee and, underneath all of it, always, Joel. Even when you hadn't seen him. Even when you were trying not to think about him. He was just there, a constant low frequency you couldn't tune out.

When finals week arrived the anxiety hit its peak, day after day, one exam after the other, no room to breathe between them. The last time you saw him was during your exam. It was hot that morning, the kind of heavy, airless heat that you hated. You were exhausted from studying, terrified the exam would be harder than you expected, terrified he wouldn't like your paper.

And then there was Meg. You started to hate her, she had annoyed you since the first time you saw her, but the feeling had grown sharper with every passing day, layer by layer, until that other morning in class became the last straw. You had seen her around campus since then but never had the chance to talk to her, which was fortunate, because you weren't sure what you would have said. Something about her made you more nauseous than even the thought of his wife, maybe because she was a student, just like you. 

He was handsome that morning, as always, and it cost you an enormous amount of willpower not to look at him. His almost gray hair, his neatly trimmed beard, his tired eyes, the ring on his finger catching the light every time he moved.

You tried to keep your gaze on your paper and failed, repeatedly. You caught him glancing at you too, your eyes meeting more than once — more than twice actually, more than was necessary or professional. He looked pensive, turning something over in his mind without any resolution. Far away, unreachable.

When you handed in your paper your fingers touched his for a moment. Just a second, barely anything. Your heart skipped anyway, like a stupid middle school crush, and you hated yourself for it immediately.

You left feeling something close to relief. It was becoming too serious, all of it, the whole thing, and you could feel it in the way your chest tightened every time you walked past his office, every time someone said his name. You wondered if he knew how much just hearing his name affected you. Not choosing his advanced course next year was the cleanest way out. Let it go. Walk away while you still can.

You thought about everything that had happened. Because of Meg you never got the chance to ask him about the polaroids, he still had them somewhere which was both embarrassing and in some small stubborn way exciting. You left a mark on him. You were sure of that much.

No, you didn't, said the other part of you, something crueler that wanted you to go back to this earth. You were just one of the many.

Exam after exam, the anxiety slowly drained out of you and what it left behind was worse in a way. A huge and heavy pool of sadness that sat at the bottom of your chest and didn't move. You stopped making plans. You watched movies you didn't pay attention to and ate whatever was within reach and thought, more than you should have, about how thoroughly you had managed to ruin yourself over a stupid old man who probably hadn't thought about you once since your fingers touched over that exam paper.

It was insane — you were insane for letting yourself get trapped into this relationship for almost six months. But you never ever wanted somebody this much.

Eric had been on your couch since the dorms closed, waiting out the two weeks before his flight home. It wasn't a problem, your roommates had already left for the summer, so the apartment was too quiet anyway. Having him there helped, even when he spent twenty minutes deciding what to eat for breakfast. Yes, not even a meal like lunch.

He was unmovable though, about the party that was organized for the ending of the year.

"C'mon," he said, appearing in your doorway with his usual energy. "You're coming tomorrow. End of discussion."

"I'm not in the mood, Eric." you murmured.

"You will be in the mood once you arrive." He dropped onto the edge of your bed, shamelessly making himself comfortable. "It's going to be fun. Good music, good people. I need you there."

"There's going to be so many people." You pulled your blanket up slightly. "And I don't have anything cute to wear."

His eyes lit up in a way that immediately made you suspicious. “We can go shopping. Or… okay, hear me out, Addie has that black dress you borrowed last spring, the one that —”

"Eric stop."

"Please." He put his hands together, eyes wide, deploying the praying expression that had been getting him what he wanted since you were nineteen. "I need you there for Becca. You know her, she likes you, you can just be there, talk to her a little, make me look good."

You looked at him for a long moment. Then a small, involuntary laugh escaped you. "Oh. That's why you need me. This is about Becca."

"PLEASE"

"Okay," you said, already pushing the blanket off. "Okay. Only because you need a wingman and frankly you're hopeless without one." you joked.

"Woah, that's offensive. I appreciate your honesty though, the important thing is you’ll be there." he chuckled.

His excitement was genuinely contagious, the kind you couldn't defend yourself against no matter how determined you were to stay miserable. By the time you were actually out of the apartment and walking to the shops with him, you had to admit that the fresh air helped.

Eric had opinions about everything, which made shopping with him an experience. He held up dresses and dismissed them immediately, muttered under his breath about colors and cuts, made you try on three things you never would have picked yourself. You were wondering why he ended up studying literature instead of something that had to do with fashion.

You ended up spending more than you planned, and it was his fault. For the party you chose a deep red dress, nothing that screamed "too much", but it worked for a night at the disco. Short enough to be interesting, comfortable enough that you didn't have to think about it. For the resort you found yourself buying new swimsuits and more dresses than you should’ve.

Eric pushed you to buy a pale slip dress in a soft ivory that looked perfect to bring on vacation. He held it up against you in the middle of the shop and nodded proud of himself, thinking he was making an important decision.

"Jake's going to lose his mind," he said, you just smiled.

The day after Addie was there with you while you got ready, sitting on the edge of your bed, filling the room with that warm energy she carried everywhere. She didn't wear dresses often, but that night she did, and it stopped you for a second when you saw her.

She looked like something out of a fantasy novel, the kind of character everyone would fall in love with. You always thought Addie was beautiful even if she didn't fully believe in herself. Green eyes, her face looked good in any state, without make up, tired, happy, angry. The dress she wore that night made her look like a painting with her red hair.

Truthfully, you felt lonely standing next to her lately. Not because of her, just because of everything you weren't saying.

You used to tell Addie everything. That had always been the deal, the unspoken rule of your friendship, no filters, just the actual truth. But this semester you had been lonelier than ever, carrying things you couldn't put down and couldn't hand to anyone. Part of it was fear.

You knew Addie well enough to know she wouldn't have judged you, not really, she was too good a friend for that. But she didn't like Joel. She had made that clear more than once, and she had only ever seen the surface of it, only the bad parts of him. Which perhaps, you thought, was the only version there was.

What would you even tell her? How confused and sad you felt most of the time? How he left you alone in that hotel room to go back to his wife, like you were something he could fold up and put in a drawer until he needed you again? The humiliation of that, said out loud to someone who loved you, felt unbearable.

And then there was Jake, completely undeserving Jake, who Addie introduced you to herself, who she still asked about with genuine warmth. She would know you cheated on him. That you had been doing it for months, and that you hadn't stopped — worst part? you felt like you couldn't stop doing that. Your head started to hurt just tracing the outline of it.

You put on your red dress and looked in the mirror and decided — for one night — not to think about any of it.

Addie turned to you when she finished her makeup, tilting her head slightly like she wasn't sure about something.

"How do I look? I'm not convinced."

"You look beautiful," you said meaning every word. "You always do. Stop thinking about it."

She smiled, a little relieved, then crossed the room and pulled you into a hug. You hugged her back, your chin on her shoulder, and felt the weight of every single lie you've told her. The thing was, she knew you too well and noticed too much.

"We're going to have fun tonight," she said against your hair. "Are you sad because Jake isn't coming?"

"No," you said. It came so fast. You just wanted to tell her you were sad because you thought it was over with Joel.

"I needed some time to myself, honestly. It's fine." Jake had gone back home out of state the day after finals ended, something with his family, an urgency he hadn't explained in much detail and you hadn't pushed for.

Addie pulled back and looked at you for a second, like she was deciding whether to ask more. 

"Right." she said, turning back toward your dresser and starting to go through your perfumes. "Lone wolf." She picked one up, smelled it, set it back down. "Do you think Becca will actually give Eric a chance tonight?"

You laughed, genuinely. "Absolutely not."

"Yeah." She picked up another bottle. "Me neither."

"Although" you leaned against the doorframe, "we might be wrong. Eric can be really charming when he actually tries."

Addie considered this seriously, which made you laugh again.

When Eric was finally ready the three of you took a cab to the party. Thirty minutes of Eric cracking jokes to the driver, who laughed more than was strictly necessary, which only encouraged him.

You heard the music before you even arrived, a low thud you felt vibrating in your chest when you were still a few minutes away,meaning the night was already well underway. When you walked in it wasn't that late but the place was already packed, loud and smelling like alcohol.

Familiar faces appeared everywhere, people from your classes, people you had passed in hallways for a year without ever properly meeting, people whose names you half-knew. It was weirdly intimate even if half of the people didn't even know each other, everyone suddenly friendlier than usual, the shared relief of having survived something loosening people up. Addie took your hand almost immediately and pulled you toward the bar.

"One drink," she said,. "It'll help."

It did. You took a cocktail, then another, and somewhere between the second and the third the knot in your chest loosened slightly and you stopped monitoring your own mood quite so carefully. The music was good and the people were easy to talk to — well when people are drunk they are always happy to be there. 

The moment you spotted Becca you pulled yourself together and actually tried, talked her up to Eric, found the right moments, said the right things. You weren't sure exactly how you managed it, but at some point during the night you looked across the room and saw them kissing in a corner. The alcohol probably helped. 

At some point Addie appeared at your elbow.

"I'm going out for a smoke. Come with me?"

"Yes." You said it immediately. "I need air." The place was getting warm and slightly too much, the walls a little closer than they felt an hour ago. You needed a break from the noise, from the drinking.

You walked out to the terrace with a cocktail in your hand, which somewhat undermined the break from drinking. Outside the air was cooler and the music dropped to a manageable thud through the walls. Addie leaned against the railing and lit her cigarette, tilting her head back slightly as she exhaled.

"Did you see Eric?" she asked, the beginning of a smile already on her face.

"I did." The laugh that came out of you was loose and easy, you were already way too tipsy. "They should get a room."

She nodded, exhaling slowly, when a group of girls spilled out onto the terrace, looking for air like you, or a quieter place to talk. They stopped right beside you, beers in hand, loud in the way people got when they had too many drinks.

And then you saw her. Meg. Laughing at something one of her friends said, close enough that you could catch pieces of the conversation without trying. Addie glanced at them briefly and looked away. You didn't.

"I think I got him." Meg smiled, satisfied, turning slightly toward the girl beside her. "I think he'll keep me on as his assistant next year too."

"I'm so jealous," her friend said. "He looks so fucking hot."

"I know, right?"

You had no idea what got into you. It was probably the gin, but before you fully decided to do it you had already taken a step toward them.

"You're Professor Miller's assistant?" You smiled at her, easy, like it cost you nothing. "We've met before, actually. Remember?"

Meg looked at you for a second, something shifting briefly behind her eyes. "Oh," she said. "Yes. The one without the appointment." She smiled back.

"How is it? Working for him?" you said, eagerly trying to get information.

Everyone on the terrace seemed to look at Meg at once.

"Where do I even start." She exhaled, almost happily. "He's such an interesting person. The way he thinks about literature, the conversations we have…and working on his writing with him, it's just…" she paused, like she was choosing the word carefully.

"It's a lot." She looked genuinely pleased to say it. Bragging about it, even. She was holding something most people couldn't reach and wanted everyone to know it.

"Isn't he kind of mean, though?" someone asked, half smiling. "Like, that's probably what makes him so hot."

"Yeah, Meg." You turned to look at her directly. "Isn't he mean?"

"He can be," she said, with the tone of someone who considered this a selling point. "But he knows how to make things interesting, if you know what I mean." She bit her lip. The girls around her laughed.

You felt something, a sharp movement through your chest.

Seemed like you were surrounded by fucking middle schoolers.

"What the fuck are you even talking about?" It came out before any part of your brain had the chance to stop it, direct — too harsh for the terrace conversation. 

The laughter stopped. Everyone looked at you. Meg looked at you. Even Addie, beside you — you could feel it.

"What?" Meg said.

"She's had too many drinks." Addie's voice was smooth, immediately trying to fix it. She took your hand, firm. "Sorry about that. Right?" She squeezed, a clear and specific warning.

"I want to know." You didn't move. "What exactly makes it so interesting." you said again, boldly, your expression was definitely looked pissed.

Meg stared at you, visibly thrown, trying to work out what she was looking at.

"C'mon." Addie pulled the drink from your hand with a calm that suggested she had done this before, and steered you firmly back inside. "Now."

The group behind you dissolved into whispers and low laughter as you walked away.

"What is going on with you?" Addie murmured, close to your ear.

"She's annoying," you said. Still too harsh. Still not entirely in control of your own voice.

Addie looked at you for a moment, "I know," she said finally. "But it was strange...what you did. She just likes to brag, she's always been like that about everything. I think that's enough drinks for tonight, yeah?"

You nodded, your heart beating too fast and too loud. You wanted to know. You wanted to know exactly what he did with her, what she meant by interesting, whether they saw each other outside of college. You wanted to punch her for talking about it like that, casually, proudly, in front of strangers, when you had been crying yourself to sleep since finals ended.

You took the cocktail back from Addie's hand. "Just let me drink."

"Hey—”

"I'm going inside. I don't want to see her face." Before Addie could say anything else you were already through the door, swallowed back into the noise, the heat and the press of bodies.

You started drinking more, instead, trying to silence your brain, at some point the room stopped making sense. The lights bleeding into each other at the edges, every face around you a little blurred and too close, too loud all at once.

You reached for something to hold onto and found a wall, or maybe a person, and stood there for a moment just trying to remember which direction was forward. Your thoughts had stopped arriving in order. They came in fragments, Meg's voice, his name, the way she bit her lip, the ceiling of the lab, the hotel room, all of it surfacing and dissolving before you could hold onto any of it. Your mouth tasted like gin. The music became a single unbroken pressure behind your eyes.

You needed to sit down. Getting to the door took longer than it should have. You kept one hand on the wall and moved carefully, trying to look like you knew what you were doing and fairly certain you weren't succeeding.

"Hey, pretty."

A man's voice, somewhere to your left. Your head was still spinning too hard to place it, it sounded far away, muffled, like everything else. You didn't respond. Maybe it wasn't for you. You sat.

"What are you doing out here alone?"

Closer this time. Definitely for you.

"Leave me alone," you muttered, not looking up.

"Why so unfriendly?" He chuckled unbothered, like your answer had been an invitation rather than a refusal. "Maybe I can help."

So fucking annoying. You planted your hands on the ground and tried to stand, which was a mistake. The heels and the alcohol combined against you immediately, the pavement tilted, your ankle turned slightly, and before you could correct it he had his hand on your arm.

"Careful."

"Don't touch me." You pulled yourself free, or tried to. "Leave me the fuck alone."

You started walking, not entirely sure where, just away, just not back inside — not back toward the noise and the lights and Meg's voice still rattling somewhere in your head. The world refused to stay still around you. Every step required a negotiation.

"Can't just leave a pretty girl alone out here, can I?" His voice came from behind you, closer than it should have been. You could hear him moving, following, chuckling like he found this funny.

The fear arrived quietly, underneath the alcohol, small at first — it knew the difference between annoying and something worse.

"Someone cut your tongue?" He laughed, and his hand closed around your wrist.

He pulled you toward him before you could react, your back against his chest, his grip firm enough that twisting away didn't work the way you needed it to. His hands moved to your hips first, a possessive hold that made your skin crawl, and you felt him laugh quietly against the side of your head, like this was still funny to him, like you were still funny to him.

"Stop." Your voice came out smaller than you wanted. "Get off me."

He didn't. His hands moved higher, sliding over your waist, your ribs, and you grabbed at his wrists and pulled but your coordination was wrong, your strength not where you expected it to be.

"I said leave me alone." Louder this time, shaky. "Don't touch me."

"Relax," he said, close to your ear. His hands reached your chest and you flinched hard, your whole body recoiling against a grip that didn't move. "You're fine."

"Get your hands off me." You dug your nails into his forearm. "Now."you tried everything you had to not let the words come out broken and shaky.

His lips found your neck before you could turn away, wet, uninvited — your stomach turned completely.

"No." You twisted hard, both hands pushing against his arm. "Stop it. I said no."

He didn't stop. His mouth moved along your neck slowly, he had decided your words were background noise, like no was just something you said before you meant yes. His hands stayed on you, one on your hip, keeping you against him.

"Let go of me." Your voice cracked slightly. You hated that it cracked. "Please. Let go."

You pulled at his wrist again, harder, and got nowhere. The alcohol made everything feel slow and slightly wrong, your body not responding the way you needed it to, your balance unreliable, the pavement unsteady under your heels.

The fear wasn't small anymore. It climbed up from your stomach into your chest and stopped there, taking up space, crowding out everything else. You became very aware of how far you were from the door. How loud the music still was inside. How unlikely it was that anyone could hear you.

"Someone's going to come," you said, more to yourself than to him. Your heart was hammering. "Someone's going to come out here."

You felt him on you for one more moment, his hands everywhere, his mouth where it had no right to be, and then the scene shifted so fast you couldn't follow it. The alcohol made everything fragmented, each second disconnected from the last. There was a man. His hands were no longer on you. Someone had him by the collar.

He hit him once, hard enough that the sound of it cut through the music still bleeding through the walls. Then again. There was nothing controlled about it, just the fury of someone who’d completely lost his mind. The guy's face was a mess. Blood on his mouth, blood on the man’s knuckles, the guy's legs barely keeping him up.

"Get the fuck away from her." You recognized his voice in the middle of the dizziness.

Joel’s voice. It was completely serious, you could feel the rage in it. His hand was still in the guy's collar, holding him up slightly, like he hadn't decided yet whether he was done. "Or I will kill you. I'm not joking."

The guy didn't argue. When Joel let go he stumbled backward and didn't come back.

You felt the ground tilt. Your legs stopped cooperating and you thought you were falling — but you weren't, Joel caught you, one arm around you, steadying.

"Hey." His voice changed entirely. His hand moved to push your hair away from your face, careful. "Are you alright?"

"Joel?" You looked up at him. The confusion hit you in waves, too much alcohol and too much adrenaline and too much of everything all at once. Your eyes filled up with tears, all you wanted to do was cry, and let him hold you.

"You're okay," he murmured. "He’s not here anymore."

You almost hugged him. You were about to, your body was already moving toward him, when a female voice cut through the air behind you.

"Joel! Joel, are you okay?" Her voice was sharp with worry as she reached him, slightly breathless. She looked at you, then back at him. "It was too much, look at you, you're covered in blood." She sighed, shaking her head. "It could have ended much worse than it started..." She looked half relieved and half worried.

Joel ignored her. He put a hand on your arm, trying to get you upright. You felt her hands find yours a second later, cool, careful, pulling you gently toward her.

"Are you okay? Thank god we were walking to the car." She squeezed your hand once, then looked back at Joel with that same expression. "You got her dirty." she said, quieter. Probably meaning the blood.

"I — what's happening?" It came out in pieces, barely a murmur. The nausea sat heavy at the base of your throat, the voices around you still arriving muffled, late, like a signal struggling to come through. The pavement under your feet felt uncertain. You weren't entirely sure which parts of the last five minutes had been real.

"Maybe we should take her back to ours for a bit." she said, looking at Joel. "She's way too drunk to leave here alone. I'd feel terrible." She was still holding your hands, rubbing her thumb over your knuckles in small circles.

You watched Joel nod. Slow, silent, his face carrying an emotion that told you he agreed but wasn't entirely sure he should.

His wife. She's his wife. You're standing here with his wife.

The thoughts came in and broke apart before you could do anything with them. Your eyes burned. You wanted to cry again, or maybe you were already crying — and you couldn't tell anymore which feelings belonged to the fear and which ones belonged to the fact that you were in this situation. He was there. He was there at exactly the right moment, and he was here because of her, and all of it together was too much for your brain to process in its current state.

A tear ran down your face. You didn't stop it.

"Oh, sweetheart." She reached up and touched your cheek, gentle, completely unaware of who she was touching. "It's okay. Don't cry. Do you want to come with us for a bit? Just some water, some air, you'll feel better."

You looked at her. Her face was blurred, you couldn't hold the details together.

"You don't have to," you managed. "Thank you."

"I insist. Come on, Joel, let's go to the car." she murmured, "At least until you feel better."

She guided you toward it with a hand on your back, Joel already ahead of you. Maybe you silently agreed to this with your expression, you weren't sure, confusion never hit you so much so fast.

You got into the back seat. She sat in the front. The doors closed and the noise of the party disappeared, replaced by the quiet of the car and the low sound of them talking, her voice, then his, words you couldn't quite assemble into sentences.

Your head spun worse when you were still. You focused on the back of Joel's seat instead, on his hands on the wheel, dried blood still on his knuckles, dark against his skin in the low light. Her perfume reached you from the front seat. At some point Joel's eyes found the rearview mirror, looking for you.

Why the fuck were you in his car with his wife?

Cutting through the alcohol fog a thought hit you for exactly long enough to make your chest tighten. The anger you had been suppressing for weeks surfaced briefly, tangled up with something closer to panic. You were going to his house. His actual house. With his wife sitting in the front seat talking about whether you needed aspirin.

You didn't have much time to think about it. The drive took something like fifteen minutes.

Joel opened the car door for you when you arrived, one hand steadying your arm once more as you got out — not looking at you directly. The building was enormous, a place that had a doorman in a dark coat who nodded at them by name, marble in the lobby, elevators with mirrors on every wall. You caught your own reflection and looked away. Your heels were destroying your feet. Your heart was exploding somewhere in your throat. The elevator ride up felt very long.

A fucking penthouse.

The doors opened directly into the apartment and you stood in the entrance for a moment, genuinely unable to move.

It was vast. An open plan living space that seemed to go on longer than made sense, ceilings insanely high. The far wall was almost entirely glass, floor to ceiling windows that framed the city below like a painting, all amber light and dark geometry stretching out into the distance. You had never seen the city from that high before.

The interior was all clean lines and considered materials, pale stone floors, walls in a deep warm white. The furniture was clearly chosen carefully — a long sofa in slate gray linen, a coffee table in smoked glass, built-in shelving covering an entire wall and filled, not surprisingly, with books. Hundreds of them, organized with precision.

In the corner near the kitchen there was a bar cart, the type you only saw in films. Crystal decanters, good bottles, glasses that caught the light.

The whole place smelled faintly like him. You stood in the middle of it and felt, all at once, exactly how far outside his real life you had always been.

She removed her jacket, “Go wash your hands” she sighed, looking at him, “you ruined your shirt too”, you looked at the hem of his shirt sleeves, it was true, a little of blood there too.

You stayed silent, you felt so small there, his wife and him, the embarrassingly huge house in front of you. 

How fucking rich are they? He is just a teacher.

“Sweet heart you can sit on the sofa, I’m going to make you tea, alright?” You nodded, going on the sofa, that huge and surely extremely expensive gray sofa. This was the first time you actually had a chance to really look at her.

A totally and extremely beautiful woman, and she looked expensive too — you noticed it catching the red sole in her heels, Louboutin heels. What the fuck. Her hair still the same you learned to recognize: dark, almost black, perfectly blown out as always. Her coat was camel cashmere, a tailored black dress that fit her like it had been made specifically for her body — it probably was honestly. Brown eyes, warm and deep. And her features, they were soft but still elegant. She smelled extraordinary, something sweet, spiced, exactly the kind of perfume you would associate with a successful woman.

She was, in short, exactly what you would have built if someone had asked you to design the right person for Joel. Or maybe that was your insecurity talking, she looked totally perfect as a woman. She fit, they looked like they would go well together. The nausea climbed higher.

You sat on the sofa and felt the space close in around you despite how vast it was. The city stretched out beyond the glass, all that light, all that distance, and you felt completely claustrophobic inside it, like the walls were closer than they appeared, like the air had a weight to it. You wanted to get up and leave, but you felt made of stone.

Joel came back after a few minutes, you noticed his hands were clean. You watched him without meaning to, tracked him across the room the way you always did, automatically by now. He didn't look at you directly. He looked worried — or maybe anxious — you couldn't read him properly, your head still spinning slow lazy circles, the room was occasionally tilting without warning.

From the kitchen you could hear his wife’s voice, on a phone call while she made your tea. Joel moved to the bar cart in the corner. You watched him pour himself something dark — cognac perhaps — from one of the crystal decanters. He didn't add anything to it. He drank it in one go, set the glass down, and stood there for a moment with his back to you. 

"Where's the bathroom?" you murmured, the nausea pushing up your throat, unsure whether it was the alcohol or the insanity of the situation you somehow ended up in.

"Down the hallway." He raised one finger, pointing, already pouring himself a second glass without looking at you.

Truth is, Joel was absolutely freaking the fuck out.

He had never, in a million years, expected to find himself standing in his own living room in this situation. You on his sofa. His wife making tea in his kitchen. His knuckles still raw. The cognac was supposed to help, was supposed to settle something, burn through the noise, but his thoughts kept moving too fast for it.

What did he need to do? How did he get himself out of this without anything escaping from you?

He was worried, yes. He was also genuinely relieved he had been walking past when it happened. The thought of what could have continued, what that man had already done, what he might have done to you if no one was there. The image of someone handling you like that, your voice telling him to stop, the fear he had heard underneath it even from a distance. It made his stomach crawl, thinking it was a miracle he was close with his wife when that was happening.

His hand tightened around the glass. The anger that came with that thought was disproportionate and he knew it. He knew it and he couldn't do anything about it.

You got up slowly and made your way toward the hallway. The apartment demanded attention even in passing, every piece of furniture chosen with a precision that was almost aggressive, ornaments that looked precious and specific. Books everywhere, naturally. And then, in the corner near the hallway entrance, a guitar. It was the least curated thing in the entire apartment, actually used, the finish worn in places, a capo clipped to the neck. The hallway was long and lined with photographs. You slowed down.

They were everywhere, framed, arranged with the same careful eye as everything else. Travel, mostly. An almost absurd amount of travel. Europe, Asia, Africa, places you couldn't immediately name. Every fucking country, you thought. Not a single corner of the world left unvisited, and in every picture they stood together smiling.

You stopped at the wedding photo. They were younger, him especially, noticeably. His hair darker, his eyes something you didn't have a word for. Warmer, maybe. Less cold. It was strange seeing him like that, catching a glimpse of someone you weren't supposed to know existed.

You picked up another frame, unsure of when it was took — just him, with the guitar. Candid, unposed,a photo someone took when the subject wasn't performing for the camera. It was a beautiful picture. So intimate that it made you feel like you were trespassing.

So the guitar was his.

The bathroom. Stop looking at this.

You found the door and closed it behind you and sank down until your back hit the cabinet under the sink, the cold of the floor coming through your dress. Your eyes filled up for the millionth time that evening and this time you let them. You actually cried sitting on the bathroom floor of his apartment.

Because while you had spent the weeks after finals drowning in sadness in your stupid little apartment, crying yourself to sleep and replaying everything on a loop, he came back to this. To her. To the perfect wife and the stupid books and the photographs of every fucking country they had ever visited together. He came back to his devastatingly perfect life and felt absolutely nothing about you.

You stayed on the bathroom floor for a while, the nausea forgotten, replaced by anxiety adn sadness. Until you heard a knock.

"Are you alright? The tea is ready." His voice, through the door. You wanted to disappear.

You got up, looked in the mirror, did what you could to fix the mess on your face and opened the door. Joel was standing there, looking at you. Close enough that you could see the tension he was holding somewhere in his jaw.

"You should go home," he whispered. "I can take you."

So he was anxious of having you close to his wife.

You looked at him with something that felt very close to disgust and walked past him without saying a word. Absolutely fucking insane, the whole thing. All of it.

She was already in the living room, the mug of tea waiting on the coffee table. She looked up the moment she saw you, her expression was genuinely warm.

"Feeling any better, sweetheart?" She handed you the mug as you sat down.

"Yes. Thank you." You wrapped both hands around it. "You're very kind."

"Don't mention it." She smiled, settling into the armchair across from you, finally relaxing. "I'm Elizabeth, by the way. I'm sorry…with everything that happened I didn't even think to introduce myself."

Elizabeth. Of course. Even her name was perfectly elegant. Fuck off completely.

You told her yours and took a sip of the tea.

"Joel." Elizabeth turned toward him, where he stood by the bar cart — again — not quite looking at either of you. "Maybe she should stay? The guest room is ready. Until she feels a bit better."

The anxious pause before he answered was very short but you caught it.

"No." His voice came out sharper than he probably wanted it to be, so he adjusted his tone. "I'll drive her home." said softer.

You looked at him. He didn't look back. He was scared, that much was obvious, written clearly underneath all that careful composure. Scared of you in his apartment, scared of how long you stayed, scared of what you might say.

Good, you thought.

"Oh —" Elizabeth looked between you both, then back at you, her brow slightly creased. "Or maybe you'd feel more comfortable in your own space. That makes sense after something like that."

"I can take a cab," you said. "Really. You've already done so much."

"I will drive you home." Joel's voice landed flat, that same cold tone you had grown so used to. He still wasn't looking at you. "It's not a discussion."

You didn't respond. You stayed on the sofa and finished the tea Elizabeth had made you, a lump in your throat, not looking at him. When Elizabeth's phone rang she stood up immediately. "Sorry, I have to take this," she said, already moving toward the hallway.

The room went quiet.

Joel looked at you. "Aren't you cold?" he said, lower now — talking about the dress. You said nothing. You were furious and you didn't trust your voice. "At least tell me where you live," he continued.

"I'll call a cab."

"No. You're drunk. Just tell me."

You set the mug down on the coffee table and stood up. Why the fuck were you still dizzy after all of this?

But you replied, you told him your address — fuck it, the least he could do was taking you home.

He exhaled, looked like he was relieved, he was already reaching for his jacket.

Those twenty minutes had been an eternity. The longest, most uncomfortable eternity of his life, a spectacularly bad dream he had somehow walked himself into by being in the wrong place and doing the right thing. He was angry at the situation, at himself, at the coincidence of it. And you were angry at him too, he could feel it radiating off you, which was insane given that he had just saved you but fine. Fine.

Elizabeth put her hand on this and there had been no way out of it, no version of no that wouldn't have raised questions he had no interest in answering. He knew that the moment she suggested it. He did the only thing he could do, which was say yes and get through it as quickly as possible. 

He opened the apartment door for you, then stood and watched you walk to the elevator without a word. Thirty minutes, he thought. Thirty minutes of agonizing silence and the full weight of your anger in an enclosed space. Excellent.

The elevator was silent too. When you got to the car he opened the passenger door — the front seat, beside him, because of course he was going to try to say something, and he needed you close enough to say it. You looked at him with an expression of boredom, and got in without a word.

He got in after you and started the engine.

"Seatbelt," he said, turning at you.

You stared out the window and said nothing.

He made a sound low in his throat, a sigh to which followed him reaching over, pulling the seatbelt across you himself. His hands were on you for less than three seconds. You stiffened like he'd done something unforgivable.

"You act like a child sometimes," he said. "You know that?" he muttered, annoyed by your behavior.

Nothing, again.

He pulled out of the parking garage and tried to think of something useful to say. There wasn't much.

"It wasn't my intention to bring you there…" he said finally, eyes on the road. "I would have just driven you home." He glanced at you briefly. Your face was turned away, toward the passenger window, jaw set.

Okay. This is going nowhere. Just drive.

Thirty minutes of it. Thirty minutes of slow, grinding silence, anger, and the faint smell of your perfume mixed with alcohol filling the car until it felt airless. The only sounds were the light rain starting against the windshield, and his fingers tapping against the steering wheel.

You didn't look at him once.

He felt the absence of it the same way he felt it those days after you walked out of his class following the scene with Meg, that stubborn pointed withdrawal that was louder than anything you could have said.

You were hurt. That was it, underneath all the anger. You were hurt, sitting so close to him — but he felt there was nothing he could do about it that wouldn't make everything significantly worse.

When you two arrived, he watched you get out of the car without a word and something in him snapped. He opened the door and got out after you, the rain hitting him immediately, and you were already walking  so he reached out and took your wrist.

You stopped at the touch.

"Can you tell me why the fuck you're doing this?" His voice came out hard, annoyed. He was past caring.

You turned around , the rain was starting to soak through your dress but you really couldn't care less. "Do what?" Your voice was ice. "Do I have to talk to you just because you can't stand someone not doing what you tell them to?"

"I saved you tonight." He stepped closer, his grip on your wrist tightening. "Do you understand that? Who knows what would have happened if I wasn't there."

Something crossed your face — all the emotions that you tried to suppress in your mind and body came out all at once.

"Oh!" The laugh that came out of you was short, sarcastic, sharp. "Thank you so much. You're my Saviour." The sarcasm landed like a slap on Joel.

But it wasn't over. Quieter, with complete conviction you added: "Fuck you."

Joel knew it, the situation with Elizabeth was absolutely uncomfortable and it shouldn't have happened.

"I told you, I couldn't do anything about what happened back there. My wife wanted you to come. I had no choice."

"You could have done anything." Your voice broke on the word. You pulled your wrist free and stepped toward him instead of away, close enough that he had to hold his ground. "Anything. But you're a fucking selfish asshole — that's all you are. Go back to your perfect wife and your fucking life."

The alcohol was making it easy to finally show the bitter emotions he made you go through the past six months. You didn't care about his reaction, about his power on you, about anything. It was over.

"Now you're just being crazy" he replied, shaking his head slightly.

"I'm crazy?" You got closer, rain running down your face, not bothering to wipe it away. Something reckless moved behind your eyes. "You don't like me so much now, do you?"

His jaw tightened. "You act like everything that happened between us was something I did to you." His voice rose despite himself, raw, bitter. "You practically begged me to fuck you." His grip found your wrist again, almost involuntary, holding on while you stood close enough that he could feel the heat of you despite the rain and the cold.

"Like Meg?" you said. 

The silence lasted one second, you could see he was completely annoyed and over it.

"This fucking Meg again." He rolled his eyes. "You're obsessed."

"Yeah." Your eyes didn't move from his. "Because she goes around telling everyone about your appointments. Because everyone knows how you —" your voice climbed, cracked, but then you kept going, "how you go around fucking your stupid assistant."

"You're acting crazy." He repeated again, "Why would you even care about something like that?"

"Why would you care about my boyfriend?" You threw it back at him without hesitation, your eyes not leaving his face for a second. “Huh? You were obsessed with it. Every time he came near me you were dying to let me know how much that pissed you off.”

"That's different." he muttered, his eyes still on you.

"How?" You stepped closer. "Tell me how."

His jaw moved but nothing came out.

"You liked it," he said finally. "All of it. Don't pretend otherwise."

"That was before I opened my eyes." Your voice went flat and cold, "Before I realized how disgustingly selfish you actually are."

Something shifted in his face. "Then go." He let go of your wrist. "I don't need spoiled little girls around me."

"I bet you think about this spoiled little girl." Your voice still calm while you kept your eyes locked with his, "When you're fucking your boring wife."

The atmosphere changed, the tension could be cut with a knife.

"Don't do that." His voice came out lower, guarded. "Don't talk about my wife."

"Or what?"

Your faces were inches apart. The rain had soaked through both of you completely and neither of you moved. His eyes dropped to your mouth for one second and then back up. A moment of silence.

His mouth came down on yours and the kiss was nothing like the argument had been — it was worse, hotter, his hands finding your face and your waist simultaneously, pulling you against him with the kind of force that made it clear he had been fighting it for the last thirty minutes or maybe more.

You kissed him back just as hard, your fingers in his wet hair — the anger didn't disappear, it just changed shape, became something visceral, there was something almost violent about the kiss. It deepened almost immediately, his tongue finding yours with an urgency that made it clear this had nothing to do with tenderness — it was all the things you had said to each other in the last ten minutes, all the weeks before that, exploding all together.

Your fingers started twisting in his wet hair, pulling it, and he made a low groan against your mouth, his hands moved everywhere. Your waist, your hips, up your back, back down again, it was restless, possessive, like he was trying to cover as much ground as possible, he had been waiting too long to be careful about it now. One hand slid to the back of your thigh and pulled you closer, eliminating whatever distance was left between you, and you followed without resistance.

The street was empty, it was late enough that the city went quiet around you, just the rain on the pavement and the distant sound of traffic somewhere far away. It wouldn't have mattered. Neither of you were paying attention to anything outside the radius of each other.

Joel started walking without breaking the kiss, his body moving yours backward, one hand still on your hip and the other braced against the car behind you as he guided you into it. The impact when your back hit the door was rough, but you didn’t care.

He pressed himself against you, pinning you there, and kissed you deeper, his thigh pushing between yours while his hands slid under the hem of your dress without asking. You made a sound against his mouth when you felt his thigh press between yours, his grip on your hip tightened in response.

Your hands moved over him restlessly as much as he did, his wet hair, the back of his neck, down to his chest, feeling the heat of him through the soaked fabric of his shirt. You needed to touch him.

His free hand dropped behind you, fumbling for the door handle without looking — he didn't break the kiss for more than a second and even that second he used to drag his mouth along your jaw before finding yours again. The door clicked open. 

Joel pulled back just enough to get in, sliding into the back seat, and looked up at you for a second before he reached out and took your wrist. One pull. That was all. You climbed in after him, the door swinging shut behind you, and he caught you before you could find your footing, guiding you down onto his lap as you straddled him, your knees on either side of his thighs.

You found his mouth again immediately, your hands went to his jacket, pushing it off his shoulders. He helped without breaking the kiss, shrugging it off, letting it fall somewhere beside him — not much after his hands were back on your hips, pressing you down against him just enough to make you feel how hard he was, a low groan coming from him at the friction.

You felt his arousal against you, and couldn't help but let out something between a breath and a moan, swallowed almost immediately back into the kiss. His hands tightened on your hips in response, not letting you move away even slightly.

Then his mouth left yours, he moved to your neck, finding the spot below your ear that he already knew too well you liked and you let your head fall back, giving him room. His hands stayed on your hips, rocking you against his arousal with a rhythm that was as violent as the kiss. Your fingers found the buttons of his shirt.

The first one came undone easily. The second. By the third your patience had run out entirely — you could feel him against you, could feel his mouth on your neck, and the careful approach stopped making sense. Your fingers pulled at the fabric, not quite tearing but close, working the buttons open with a desperate speed that made him laugh just a little, against your skin. 

You got the last button open and pushed the shirt off his shoulders, your palms flat against his chest for a moment, finally feeling his warm skin — Joel's heartbeat faster than he would have wanted to admit. You rolled your hips against him and watched his jaw tighten until found your mouth again.

"You're a selfish asshole," you said against his mouth.

“You already told me that.” His hands found the zip at the back of your dress, fingers tracing down your spine until they found it.

"It bears repeating." You moved against him again, your hands in his hair, and felt him exhale hard. 

You shifted your weight and helped him pull the dress down, lifting slightly, maneuvering as best you could in the cramped space of the back seat, the ceiling too low, your elbow hitting the window once, neither of you caring even slightly. The dress came off and he dropped it somewhere on the seat beside him without looking at it.

His mouth found your shoulder immediately. Not a kiss exactly, more than that, hungrier than that. His lips dragged across your shoulder, down toward your collarbone while his hands spread across your back holding you in place as he worked his way lower. When his tongue traced along your skin you shivered.

You were aching to have him, to finally feel his body close to you.

"Joel —"

He didn't stop. His mouth moved to the curve of your breast after he took off your bra, his tongue still working on your skin, on your nipples — and the whimper that came out of you was only half-contained, a broken breath that made heat settle in your stomach. Your hands dropped to his belt. You worked it open while his mouth kept moving, the leather sliding free, and you felt him tense slightly against you.

Button, zip, your fingers moved with an urgency that wasn't firm, because every time his tongue found a new patch of skin another half swallowed moan escaped you and your concentration suffered for it. You finally got his trousers open and felt him groan quietly against your chest, an involuntary sound that he didn't bother to hide.

The rest followed with the same necessity, his trousers, whatever was left between you, a tangle of hands and limited space and neither of you willing to slow down long enough to make it graceful. At one point there was nothing left in the way, you found his mouth and kissed him once again — you waited too much to not take any moment to kiss him — you moved your hips and took his cock in without preamble, no waiting, or adjusting, you were too worked up for that.

The stretch of it made you inhale sharply through your nose, a stab of pain that ran up your spine, but you didn't stop, you didn't want to stop. The pain was part of it — part of the whole insane evening, part of the argument still sitting unresolved between you, part of the weeks before that and everything you hadn't been able to say to him. You pressed down further to take all of it and felt your breath leave you completely.

You knew he was big, but having it inside was a whole another story. Perfect, filling you up in ways you could only imagine.

Joel groaned against your skin, the kind of sound he couldn't have controlled even if he'd tried, his head dropped back against the seat, jaw tight, eyes closed for a moment like he needed a second to stay where he was.

You felt every inch of his cock stretching you out and the breath that left you came out ragged, your forehead dropping to his shoulder for just a moment — you needed a second to get used to it before you started to move. Slow at first, your hands pressed flat against his chest, feeling his heartbeat hammering under your palms. His warm hand slid to the small of your back pressing you into him as you moved, and the other stayed on your hip, like he needed something to hold onto.

"Fuck—" It came out of him completely involuntary, swallowed almost as soon as it arrived. His grip tightened.

You kept on moving around him, the pain now leaving space to a pleasure you were begging for since you’ve first met him. Your hips found the pace on their own, your breathing already uneven. The cramped space of the back seat just made it more intimate, Joel pressing your body against his just to feel your skin on him.

You moved faster, the faint ache was still there underneath everything, that painful edge of your carelessness, and you chased it anyway. You kept pressing your nails into his chest while your breath was coming in short broken intervals. He was getting even harder inside of you and you could feel it, shocked that he could get even more aroused than that.

"I hate you so much," you said against his jaw, breathless. Joel kept your body pressed against his, while his own breathing was getting broken, feeling every single movement of you around his cock, every single squeeze on his hardness as your hips moved on him.

"I know, baby." his mouth brushing your temple as you kept riding him. 

You stopped being careful about it at that point. Your hips moved faster, harder, the pace no longer tentative but almost desperate, and the moans that started coming out of you were dripping of lust, completely drown in the moment.

Nothing really mattered at that point. The back seat was too small and it didn't matter. The windows had fogged over completely and it didn't matter.

Joel's hands moved over you like he was trying to memorize you, up your sides, your waist, your back, one hand spreading flat between your shoulder blades and pressing you into him, the other sliding to your thigh and gripping hard.

His mouth found your neck, your shoulder, the curve of your jaw, everywhere he could reach while you moved above him. His breathing had gone ragged, a low groan escaping him when you changed the angle slightly, his head falling back for a moment.

"Don't stop." Joel’s voice was almost unrecognizable, stripped of everything careful and composed, just the raw fact of it.

His hands pulled you down against him as you moved, meeting your pace, trying to go deeper, to feel you more.

"Do you think about her when you're with me?" The words came out between one breath and the next, your hips still moving. "Elizabeth. Do you—think about her right now?"

His jaw tightened. His hands pressed you down harder against him and for a second you thought he wasn't going to answer.

"Do you think about Jake when you're with me?" he said instead. “Since you want to play that game.”

"I hate you — asshole”

"You keep saying that." His mouth found your collarbone, while you moaned, getting even wetter as you moved on him. "Doesn't seem to be stopping you." he said against your skin.

"She was bragging to everyone." You dug your nails into his shoulder, not entirely sure if it was anger or something else. "Everyone knows—”

"There is nothing with Meg." He muttered, his voice dripping pleasure. "There has never been anything with Meg."

"Then why does she—"

He didn't answer. Instead his hands moved to the back of your thighs and lifted just enough, just the right amount to shift the angle entirely and taking the rhythm out of your hands without asking permission.

When he started moving, whatever you had been about to say dissolved immediately. The depth of his cock inside you knocked the words out of you completely, deeper than before, deeper than you had been prepared for, each thrust absolutely rough in a way that made it clear he knew exactly what he was doing to your mind, he decided to stop being patient about it.

With one of his arms wrapped around your lower back and the other between your shoulders, Joel was holding you flush against his chest while he moved underneath you, his cock hitting your sweet spot over and over again in this angle.

You couldn't speak. You couldn't think of anything to say. The argument, Meg, Elizabeth, Jake, all of it gone, pushed out entirely, you felt like he was fucking your soul out of your body honestly. 

The car was filled with the noise of his wet thrusts inside of you and your broken moans cutting the words out of you. Every time Joel drove his cock inside of you like that, you had to fight to not let out sobs of pleasure.

"You feel so good, so — good." You moaned, it came out broken, barely above a whisper, your forehead dropping against his. You didn't mean to say it out loud. 

"You have no idea…" he murmured against your mouth, his pace not slowing for a second. "How good you take it" said into your skin like he hadn't entirely meant for you to hear it either.

The windows were completely opaque by now, fogged over, the outside world reduced to the muffled sound of rain and the occasional blur of a passing light. The car had become its own small universe, warm, smelling like both of you, the leather of the seat, your perfume mixed with alcohol. Every sound you two made stayed contained in that small space, filling it completely.

You felt it building, tightening low in your stomach and that meant you were closer than you wanted to admit, your thighs pressing against him, your fingers twisting into his hair and pulling, hard enough that his breath caught against your jaw.

"Tell me." His voice came out rough, strained at the edges. His hips didn't stop, your walls were clamping around him, and it was taking all he had to not just cum straight into you without asking. "Tell me where you want it."

The question short circuited everything that was left of your brain.

"Don't stop." Your grip in his hair tightened as you whimpered, feeling the orgasm about to explode in your body. "Just — don't stop, please —"

"That's not what I asked." He slowed down just enough, a warning probably. His mouth brushed your ear. "Tell me."

"Inside." The word came out wrecked, halfway between a breath and something that sounded embarrassingly close to begging. "Come inside of me, please — you can, please.” Your voice broke on the last word, your eyes stinging, the overwhelming accumulation of the entire evening pressing up through your chest and finding the only exit available.

His arm pulled you in tighter, impossibly closer — he buried himself completely, and the groan that left him was long and completely unguarded, rumbling against your collarbone where his face was pressed. His hips kept moving, deep and relentless, and every thrust drew another groan out of him.

You wondered if Joel wanted to fuck you like this since that day in the office and just used all his willpower to not do it. Every time, the classroom, the elevator, the hotel. He was driving into you so hard it felt more like he was venting all the frustration of keeping back.

“God” barely a word, more breath than voice, his mouth dragging up your neck.

You started moving against him, matching his pace, chasing it, your hips rolling into every thrust with desperation, so hard that it was getting difficult for him to get out of you. Your mouth found his and the kiss was violent, sloppy, all teeth and breath and neither of you able to sustain it for more than a few seconds before it broke apart into open mouths against skin.

The sounds filling the car were obscene at this point. His groans, low and continuous now, one running into the next, his composure entirely gone. Yours, higher, broken, swallowed against his jaw and his neck and his mouth every time you found it again. 

Joel's hand fisted in your hair, everything but gentle, a proper grip, fingers curling at the root, pulling your head back as he watched you.

You really, couldn’t take it anymore, the orgasm caught you stronger than you thought, you cried out as held you, your whole body tightening and shaking around him, your nails dragging down his back. He followed you over almost immediately, coming inside of you — spilling every drop of his climax as he let out a pleasure filled groan, your name somewhere inside it, his hips pressed up into you one last time and stayed there for a moment.

You let him fill you for a moment more and then lifted yourself off him slowly, letting a small whimper and the sudden emptiness. Your legs felt unsteady, you stayed exactly where you were, your forehead against his shoulder, your hands loose on his chest, not ready to move further than that. Not ready to look at him yet.

His head was back against the seat, eyes closed, chest rising and falling too fast, you could feel it under your palms. The rain had softened outside, just a light patter against the roof now. The windows were still completely fogged. A few minutes passed like that, with you both trying to catch your breath without talking.

Then you heard him move, his arm shifting beside you, the rustling of fabric. You didn't lift your head, you felt him reach for his jacket somewhere on the seat, heard the soft resistance of a pocket, the small cardboard sound of a cigarette packet. The click of a lighter. The smell of smoke reached you a second later.

You turned your head slightly without lifting it from his shoulder and looked at Joel from that angle, his profile in the dim light, the cigarette between his lips, his chest still not entirely steady. His hair was a disaster, it made you almost smile. This was your first time seeing Joel so lost in the action that he couldn't even talk.

He took a long drag and said nothing, the ember glowed briefly in the dark of the car, then faded. His chest rose and fell under your cheek, slower now, almost back to normal.

Then, without a word, he moved his hand and brought the cigarette to your lips, you froze for a moment, then you inhaled.

The smoke was grounding and you held it for a moment before letting it go, your eyes fixed on the fogged window in front of you, not trusting yourself to look at him. Your heart was going faster than it had during any of it, faster than the argument, faster than everything that had just happened in the back seat of his car.

Not from what had just happened. From this. From the unbearable intimacy of this small gesture, his hand steady, the cigarette passing between you in the dark without either of you saying a single word about it.

It felt like something out of a dream you would have been embarrassed to tell out loud.

After a while you spoke, "Your apartment is beautiful…and big." you laughed a little at the end of it, not quite a real laugh, just the ghost of one, enough to break the silence. He took a drag before answering.

"I don't like it much." He said it simply. You lifted your head slightly to look at him. He was staring at the fogged windshield, the cigarette loose between his fingers. You didn't understand why he said that, and couldn't manage to decode what was happening in his eyes.

"How can you not like it?" you murmured.

He didn't answer. Just brought the cigarette back to your lips.

You inhaled, your eyes on his profile. He waited until you were done, then took it back and put it to his own mouth. The small ritual of it settled something in the air between you, a peace you’ve never felt before around Joel.

"It's Elizabeth's, mostly." he said eventually. 

You put your cheek back against his shoulder and watched the ember glow in the dark.

When the cigarette burned down to nothing he dropped it out of the window, just enough to let it go, and the small light disappeared.

The atmosphere broke with it.

You shifted off him and started looking for your things in the dark, your dress somewhere on the seat, your bra half-tucked under his jacket. The back seat was a disaster and the limited space made everything harder, your elbow finding the door again, your hair still damp and tangled. You pulled the dress back on as best you could, reaching behind you for the zip, getting it halfway before giving up on the last few inches.

Joel was doing the same, taking the shirt that dropped off the seat, buttons done up in the wrong order and then redone, belt buckle loud in the quiet of the car. His hair was unsalvageable and he seemed to know it, running one hand through it once and abandoning the project entirely.

You found one shoe, then the other. Neither of you said anything. The movements of getting dressed filled the silence adequately, the rustle of fabric, the small sounds of two people trying to reassemble themselves in an insufficient amount of space. You pushed your hair back from your face and looked at the fogged window.

He looked at you. "Ready?" he said.

You nodded and looked at him for a moment. Joel's eyes were already on you. The distance between you was nothing, the back seat still warm, the smell of smoke and sex still everywhere.

You thought about kissing him but you quickly decided against it. You were scared he would pull back.

"Thank you," you said instead. "For tonight..for what you did. I was scared."

He held your gaze for a moment without saying anything and he nodded, once, small.

You opened the door and the night air hit you immediately, cold and damp — the rain reduced to almost nothing now, just a fine mist that settled on your skin as you stepped out. The street was empty, the smell of the rain filled your senses, and lit with amber and orange reflecting off the pavement, everything slightly blurred from the rain.

You closed the door behind you and through the window you watched him climb into the front seat. He adjusted the mirror, didn't look back at you.

You stood outside for a second, still slightly dizzy about what just happened between the two of you, then you turned and walked toward your building, your heels loud on the wet stone — you knew though, that the car didn’t move until you were inside.

Joel drove in silence for all thirty minutes that separated your building from his. He let the city pass and didn't try to stop his mind from going where it wanted to go; the argument and how it ended. The sex. It was strange, and his chest and mind were filled with emotions that made him unsure of how to navigate that.

Sensations he hadn't felt before, not in this twisted heated way, not with anyone. He didn't want this. He didn't want any of this to happen, and didn't like how far outside his own head he went when you were involved. It irritated him. It irritated him specifically that it was you causing it, that you had somehow gotten under his skin in a way nobody had managed in a very long time.

Honestly, all of it was very confusing, and he did everything he could to not think too much about it.

He hoped Elizabeth was asleep. He needed the apartment quiet and with no questions, not tonight.

But she was on the sofa when he walked in, the television on low and a blanket across her lap. She was waiting for him.

"Joel." She looked up, immediately grasping that something happened since he looked less put together than when he left. "What happened? I called you."

He ran a hand through his hair and kept his voice calm.

"The girl. I dropped her home and then I walked around a bit, I needed to clear my head after everything, but it started raining" He thought about how to continue for a moment "That thing I did on the street was — I don't know. It got to me. It was too much for me."

Elizabeth looked at him for a moment, then her expression softened. "I'm sorry," she said, quietly. "That was a horrible thing to witness. You should rest." 

"Yeah," he said finally. His voice came out more secure than he felt. "You're right." 

author's note: they finally kissed!! I was so excited writing this and I REEEEALLY want to know what you guys think about it. Definitely a turning point for them.

He didn’t say a word, just sat next to you, and dragged his fingers over his forehead, the gesture making his leather jacket creak. 

You used to love that jacket, Javi was wearing it when you met for the first time in that bar. But now it was a witness to his encounters with other women, and you hated it. 

It was easier to hate the jacket than him.

You cut him off just as he was about to speak.

“Don't lie to me, Javi,” you warned, your eyes fixed on an invisible point on the table.

He stood up, his chair sliding so loudly on the floor that it made your ears ring and your heart bleed, then he grabbed a whiskey bottle and filled two glasses. He placed them on the table, one in front of you. You still weren’t looking at him when he took off his jacket and draped it over the back of his seat. He sat down and began swirling the glass between his fingers as you downed yours in one gulp and took a drag.

“You swore to me it would never happen again. You swore to me, Javi. Why do you keep doing this?” you asked and he lit a cigarette, probably buying himself some time, thinking about the right words to use, the ones that would calm you down. 

But those which slipped through his gritted teeth after he drank his whisky only pushed the blade in your heart deeper. 

“Doing what?” he grumbled, his eyebrow shooting up, then took a drag and exhaled the smoke, thumb brushing at his lower lip. He was fully closed off, playing an asshole as usual when he didn’t know how to handle something, or didn’t want to. 

But he was unable to even look at you. The soft Javi, the one you were so in love with, hidden behind his thick shell.

“Are you fucking serious?” you replied, anger back in full swing. His Adam apple bobbed heavily when he swallowed his saliva. 

Seconds passed as none of you talked. You considered leaving him there, alone in the kitchen, and going out to get some fresh air. 

You didn’t really know what else to do. You were lost, your heart in shambles. 

“I don't know why,” he finally said, voice softer, tinted with a hint of regret as if he wanted to erase his previous words and tone.

“You can talk to me, you can use me to forget.” Your trembling voice was coated with despair. “Why don't you use me if it’s the only thing that makes you forget about your job?”

“It's not the same. I care about you.”

His words felt like a slap and hurt you more than he could imagine. 

Or maybe Javi knew, used them consciously as self protection, as a shield or a weapon depending on his inner tournament.

“Fuck you,” you spat. “You care about me but not enough to be faithful.”

“It’s not like that. It doesn’t mean a thing to me,” he said, as if he was talking about something meaningless.

“Really? It doesn’t mean a thing to you? Well thank you for caring about me so much, because it means something to me, Javi,” you replied, voice breaking and tears about to fall, the cigarette shaking in your fingers. 

The furrow between Javi’s eyebrows deepened, as he seemed to realize how fucked up his answer was.

“I know. I'm sorry, cariño,” he apologized, sliding his hand towards yours. But you couldn’t bear the idea of letting him touch you. Not when his hands were on someone else an hour ago.

“Don't fucking touch me. Her smell’s still all over you. Go take a fucking shower, at least I won’t smell her cunt on your fingers anymore.”

Shame lingered in his eyes, and he disappeared in the bathroom while tears drowned yours.

You went to bed and turned your back to his side, your pillow quickly wet with tears. 

Javi slipped under the sheets after the shower and laid on his back. You imagined him staring at the ceiling, thinking about getting dressed and leaving the apartment to lick his wounds like a stray cat that had just been in a fight and didn’t want to be seen.

He surprised you when his low voice broke the silence. “Can I hug you?”

Part of you wanted to scream, to tell him he was an asshole. The other part wanted to feel every ounce of affection he could offer.

“No, you can’t.” 

You fell asleep when you had no more silent tears to cry.

When you woke up a couple hours later, the moon was lighting the room and his side of the bed was empty and cold. You looked at his nightstand and at the Polaroid of the two of you that he kept there.

You felt lonely, vulnerable, as if your ribcage was wide open, leaving your heart bare, unprotected with nowhere to hide.

You thought back to the moment you had met, to the certainty you had felt in your deepest core that he would break your heart sooner or later. 

The night you met you were unable to resist the temptation, waving aside bright red flags floating around him like the swirls of his cigarette smoke and the smell of neat whisky. 

The only thing you could see and focus on was his fragile soul that he kept hidden deep beneath multiple layers of arrogance, sarcasm and black humor, but that called out to you when your eyes met. As if it were waiting for you. 

It didn’t feel like an act of a smooth talker who just wanted to get you to bed. With Javi, his vulnerability seemed genuine, waiting for the right person to show off.

Yet you didn’t expect the right person not to be enough to appease him.

You poured your heart and soul into the relationship, telling yourself that you would wash away his pain with all your tears if you had to. 

Now you simply didn't know how much longer you could hold on. Joy started vanishing off your face weeks ago, life drained from your veins and your heart.

But each time you considered packing your bags and leaving Javi, his softer side, the real one, always showed up. His gaze, on the verge of tears, ready to release everything that was haunting him since he joined the DEA in Colombia, everything he refused to show to anyone else but you. Crawling into your arms, his heart beating so fast that the only thing calming him down was your hand pressed to it and the other one cradling the back of his neck.

You got up and found Javi sitting on the couch. You thought about the first time he had fucked you here, the day you had met. How you had fallen in love with him, fastly and deeply, and more and more each day.

It felt like a million years ago. It even felt like another life.

You sat down next to him and took a deep breath, before saying, “I can’t go on like this, Javi.”

He looked at you, his sad brown eyes fixed on your face. Tears welled up in his eyes, his index finger pressed against his temple.

“Don’t say that, cariño.”

“Javi, I… I don't know what to do anymore. You’re hurting me, I hate the idea of sharing you with other women. It’s breaking my heart because I know you're so much more than that, but… I can’t be the only one carrying our relationship.”

“I know, baby. I know.”

“Then say something!” you exploded, not caring about the neighbors, what they might hear or say. “Fight for us. For me,” you begged.

He didn't answer, didn’t say a word. He gave you nothing.

So you went back to the bedroom, put on a dress, grabbed your travel bag and placed it on the bed. Tears were blurring your vision as you were packing it with your clothes. You wiped them with a back of your hand when you heard his footsteps in the hallway. He stood by the door, and your smile was cold when he asked you not to leave. He was wearing only shorts, and under other circumstances, you would have admired his beautiful face, walked towards him, cupped his cheeks and kissed him, but now you were resigned, exhausted, and started making peace with the fact that your last reserves of strength had abandoned you.

“What would you feel if I were the one looking for something by fucking other men?”

A mix of emotions passed over his eyes -  possessiveness, sadness and regret- and his whole body tensed.

“I’d be devastated. And I'd want to kill them. Hurt them.”

The violence in his words created a reaction in your stomach that you didn’t expect. You always loved him feral and possessive, when he acted in opposition to his usual cold behavior, but you hated the way your body was still aching for him, falling for desire so easily even now, in that moment.

“Then why are you doing this to me?”

“Because I’m an asshole,” he replied coldly, eyebrows shooting up once again.

“Yes, you are. And I’ve endured enough.” You turned your back to him to keep packing.

He watched you put away the rest of your things,  staying silent.

When you reached the door, travel bag on your shoulder, you said, “Move, Javi.”

He did.

Your tears were falling when you walked towards the exit. You took a big breath when you grabbed the handle, trying not to sob loudly. 

You swallowed a gasp when his hand seized your arm, and he closed the door with the other one, caging you against it.

“It’s over, Javi. Let me go,” you murmured. You were so exhausted that you had no anger in you any more. You just wanted to go and cry alone, again and again, until you drowned yourself.

“Let me tell you what happened. Please.”

“I don't care. It’s too late-”

“We shot a kid,” he cut. “Someone… someone shot a kid. Just like that, in front of me, in the street. They were all kneeling and he killed one of them in cold blood. Shot him in the head.”

You were facing the door, horrified, not knowing what to say.

“And… I don’t know, I disassociated. Didn’t even realize where I was until I… and then I threw up. Came here. I’m sorry. I’m really sorry. Please, believe me… I didn’t know what I was doing. Didn’t want it.”

You turned around to confront him and found yourself facing your Javi. The one you loved, the one who couldn’t hurt you, and it broke your heart when he cupped your cheeks with his hands, showing you his soul and flaws, then whipped a rolling tear on your face. 

But how could you separate him from his other self? How could you forgive him when you knew that other side of him was still there, in that dark part of his soul, lurking, ready to reveal itself and take over again.

You shook your head and seized his hands to pull them away. 

“You will never quit your job and I would never ask you to, anyway. And I’ll never be sure that it won't happen again. I knew I was taking a gamble by getting into this relationship. I thought I was stronger than that, but I’m not. And honestly, the fact that you didn’t come back to me, that your subconscious didn’t choose me last night, is telling. I’m not the right person for you, Javi. And you’re not the right one for me either.”

“It’s not true,” he countered. “I never loved anyone the way I love you, you know it. Give me a chance. One last chance,” he begged.

You shook your head again, but you made one mistake when your eyes dropped to his lips. He immediately moved closer to you, brushing his nose against yours, whispering “one last chance. Please, cariño,” against your lips before kissing you. It was tender and filled with everything he had to offer you.

You let him slide into your mouth, let his tongue brush yours. 

You let his hands grip your hips, let him show you how hard he was.

Javi growled when he felt you surrender to his touch, and nudged your cheek with his face to bury it in your neck, while he freed his cock from his shorts. 

He growled when your whole body shivered, as he slid his hand under your dress and pushed your panties aside, nestling his tip at your entrance.

He growled when he felt how wet you were, already ready for him. He pushed in slowly and your nails dug into his shoulders when you realized that you were unable to hold back a moan of pleasure when he filled you perfectly.

Javi rolled his hips, giving you the time to welcome his girth, and grabbed your thigh to put it against his waist. 

“You always feel so good,” he murmured, and you bit your lip to suppress a sob, trying to deal with your emotions, your sadness and your need for him despite everything.

“Come here, cariño,” he murmured, leading you towards the couch where he made you lie down, pushing on your thighs to open you up for him.

You seized his cock, circled his length and jerked it, then slid it against your wet folds up to your throbbing clit, the sensation making him moan.

His tip was oozing over your bud, covering it with precum, making him move so easily against your slit.

You focused on your sensations, desperate to forget the reality.

Forget where he was last night.

Forget how a part of you hated him.

His eyes were fixed on your hand wrapped around his cock, his tip brushing against your clit.

He was whimpering, a set of moans escaping his throat as you were using him.

“Lemme see you come. Make a mess, baby,” he said as he unbuttoned your dress and exposed your breasts.

He leaned forward, sucking on one nipple then the other before. taking it in his mouth and nibbling at it, licking it, slowly moving his hips back and forth to match your movements until you came, your clit throbbing against his crown.

He kissed your neck, and kept moving slowly until your whimpers subsided.

When he stepped back slightly, he seemed amazed by the sight of his drooling tip and your quivering pussy, but his gaze changed when he met yours, knowing fully well what you couldn’t hide, the thought of stopping right there, denying him the pleasure of filling your cunt. But the fear of never feeling him inside you again made you yield. When he saw it in your gaze, as if you were an open book, his obsidian eyes grew piercing and he pulled off his shorts, letting them drop by the couch.

He dragged the head of his cock along your folds, covering it with your wetness then slid in slowly, just the tip at first, before withdrawing and pushing back in, going deeper with every thrust, each one leaving you breathless.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered.

“Shut up. Shut up, Javi.”

“Baby,” he said, cupping your cheek, his eyes diving into yours. “It won’t happen again. I promise. I don’t want to lose you.”

He kissed your forehead, pressing himself against you, then let his lips slide down, brushed your nose tenderly with his, before pressing his mouth against yours.

It was sweet and soft, like a warm embrace. You wanted to believe him, but how could you erase the evening before? And the time before that?

“I should fuck two men,” you said defiantly with a desire to hurt him, making him freeze inside you, his eyes searching for yours.

“Do it. If it makes you feel better, do it, I deserve it. But I promise, it won’t happen again.”

“I won’t do it,” you scowled. “It’s not who I am. Make me come before I tell you to fuck off and leave the place.”

He started moving again, grazing your clit with his thumb without taking his eyes off you.

You let yourself get lost in them, in the sensations you were feeling.

You let him kiss you and show you just how much he cared about you. You didn’t doubt it, but it wasn’t enough anymore.

You let him thrust inside you, again and again, and thought about how many times you fucked, how good he was at it. You thought about the good times you had together, how careful he was with you in the intimacy of his apartment. How you loved the way he wrapped his arm around your shoulders when you went out.

“I’m gonna come,” you whimpered and Javi pressed his forehead against yours, brushing your bud gently as you started fluttering around him.

“Cariño… fuck… I’m gonna come too, fuck…”

He exploded, mouth agape, sending hot spurs of cum between your folds, moaning against your mouth.

You both ended up breathless, spent, but he still had some strength to kiss your neck, until you made him stop, sat up and buttoned your dress.

“Let’s go back to bed,” he said.

But you couldn’t. 

“Javi.. I can’t. I just can’t. I’m heartbroken. I don’t smile anymore. I don’t eat. I can’t sleep. I’m just…I’m just sad. So I’m gonna leave. And we’ll see if fate makes our paths cross, one day. Maybe you’ll be ready to love me fully. Only be with me.”

You stood up and he put his shorts back on and followed you.

You turned to him and shook your head, then smiled at him. It was a sincere smile, a goodbye, a way of showing him that despite everything, a part of you still loved a part of him.

“I’ll find you,” he said.

A few times Javi went back to the bar where you had met, but you weren’t there.

He threw himself heart and soul into his job, yet you never left his thoughts.

When Escobar killed Carrillo, he wondered if he would have been able to keep his promise while begging for one last chance. He hoped so. He thought so.

He hoped you were happy, that your smile was back.

Three years later, Javi resigned from the DEA. You never crossed paths, but he never stopped thinking about you. The Polaroid was still on his nightstand, and sometimes he would stroke your cheek in the picture, recalling the feel of your skin beneath his fingers.

Javi went back to the bar one last time, as if to say goodbye to your memory, hating the idea that he didn’t find you, despite his promise.

He smiled when he saw you there, sitting on the same stool as the day you had met.

You turned toward him as if you sensed his presence, and you smiled too.

“Fate,” he said.

“Maybe,” you replied, smiling at him, and offered him a seat next to you.

Javi p masterlist

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You're already waiting by your car when Joel's familiar red pickup appears. He backs up so that it's in front of your own car and that's when you notice some sort of device attached to the bumper. Presumably that's what your car will be attached to so he can get it back to his place. The car door slams behind him and all thoughts of towing are out of your head. He must have just showered, his hair wet and curling around his forehead. It's dripping onto the grey of his t-shirt, damp spots dotting the neck of it. He's wearing worn blue jeans and work boots too. The jeans hug his thighs quite nicely, if you're being honest with yourself.

"Hey Joel," you say instead. "How are you?"

Joel takes you in the way he always does. His eyes are focused as the trace your face, even as he nods at you in greeting.

"M'good," he says. "How are you?"

"Good too," you say. "Thanks again for doing this. You're really saving me here."

"Now what did we say about this bein' a fair trade?" Joel asks, an undercurrent of humour in his voice. The left side of his mouth lifts in an almost smile and you shake your head, unable to stop your own smile.

"Alright, alright," you acquiescence, raising your hands in mock surrender. "If you say so."

"I do," Joel says. "Now, this is gonna be a two person job. I'm gonna attach your car to that tow dolly and then we're gonna have to push it on. Shouldn't be too hard and I can handle most of it. Might just need you to step in if I need a hand."

"Of course," you say. "I don't know if you've heard but I've taken three boxing sessions so I'm feeling pretty strong lately."

Joel's eyes crinkle when he smiles, shaking his head at your shitty joke. You grin.

He moves to the front of your car and observes the positioning before nodding to himself, seemingly satisfied.

"Can you release the parkin' brake for me?" he asks and you nod immediately, walking over to the drivers side and pressing the handle down. You glance at Joel through your rearview mirror, his brows furrowed as he takes in your car. He leans down, his arms coming up to hold the bottom of the bumper. He pushes once lightly and then more firmly, grunting as he does it. The car moves forward but not enough to bring it fully onto the dolly.

"Can I help?" you ask and he grunts in response. You're not certain what it means but you take it as an affirmative, crouching down next to him and positioning yourself just as he has. He looks at you and nods, and then you both push. The car moves further now. Joel pushes once more, his muscles flexing with the strain of it.

"Alright," he says. His face is flushed red with the effort of it. "That should do it. I'm goin' to secure the wheels and then we should be good to go."

He brings out what looks like leather rope and begins securing the tires of your car to the dolly. He loops the rope quickly and efficiently, like he's done this a million times. He probably has. You watch, fascinated by his delft fingers and fast movements. It's barely two minutes later that he tells you that he's done.

"Should be secure," he says. "We can keep an eye on it when we get started but I reckon it should be fine. What do you think?"

"You're the expert here," you say. "I trust you."

He opens the door of his pickup for you and you decide you're not going to read into it. The leather is hot beneath your thighs. You had decided on shorts since the cooler weather from earlier this week had seemingly disappeared. Now, as your thighs stick to the seat under you, you rethink your choice. Joel gets into the drivers seat, immediately shifting gears and pressing down on the gas. The dolly stays in place and so does your car, as he drives the two of you out of your building's parking lot.

"Looks like we did a good job," Joel says, glancing in the rearview mirror. It's nice of him to give you credit for the single push you helped with.

"So cars, boxing and construction, huh?" you say. "Jack of all trades."

"Master of none," Joel answers, a wry smile tugging at his mouth.

"And you're humble too, " you say, voice teasing. Joel huffs out a quiet laugh, shaking his head. "So is car stuff just a hobby?"

"Sorta," Joel says. "I started doin' it on the side when I needed the extra cash. Mostly when Sarah was little. Now I do it to keep busy since I'm not contractin' anymore."

"So your hobby became your job and your job became your hobby," you say and Joel shrugs, glancing at you sideways.

"What about you?" he asks.

"What about me?" you say.

"I figured boxin' ain't your only hobby. What do you like doin' in your spare time?" Joel says and you hesitate. The honest answer right now at least, is not much. School takes up so much of your mental capacity and when you're not busy working, you have groceries to buy or laundry to do or sleep to catch up on. When you were younger, your mother had signed you up for gymnastics. You had enjoyed the precision of it, the practiced movements that required perfection. Soon enough though, you had starting obsessing over it. You wanted to be more than good. You had wanted to be perfect and your mother, wisely, had suggested that perhaps it wasn't the healthiest environment for you. You had eventually agreed but you can't stomp out that sort of personality trait. And where does a kid with a persistent streak of perfectionism go when they've outgrown the systems that provide the validation they need? Grad school, that's where.

"I like reading sometimes," you say, your answer sounding dull to your own ears. You haven't read anything not related to your research in two years now. "I don't really have a ton of spare time. It's why I took up boxing actually. I needed a distraction from the endless pit that's academia."

You say it with a smile even though your answer embarrasses you. Joel nods, mouth slightly pouted.

"I remember being twenty-somethin'," he says, almost wistful. "Sarah made it good but I don't think you could pay me to go back to that."

"Well I'm glad to hear it gets better," you say. Curiosity's already wrapped itself around your mind so you have to ask. "How old are you anyways?"

"Thirty-six," Joel says. "My back feels about forty-five though."

You snort, before you can stop yourself. You bring your hand up to cover your mouth, your ears going hot. Joel glances at you, amused.

"Sorry," you say. "That was rude."

"Laughin' at my joke is actually pretty nice of you, if you ask me," Joel says and it makes you smile even wider.

"How old are you?" Joel asks and you shift to look at him more fully.

"You didn't see it on my intake form?" you tease and this time, it's Joels ears which flush red. "I'm twenty-seven."

"I did actually," Joel says and you raise an eyebrow in a silent question. "See it on your intake form. It felt polite to ask though. Didn't want you to think I memorized it or somethin'."

He says it in a low, amused voice.

"Well it's getting harder to believe that you didn't," you say. You can't remember the last time you've enjoyed talking to anyone this much outside of hanging with Anika.

"You're my only client right now," Joel says. "In my defense."

"What about Jesse?" you counter, and Joel shakes his head.

"Jesse doesn't count," he says, in a tone so certain it's almost as if it's factual.

"Why not?" you ask, curious.

"Cause he's a pain in my ass," Joel says and a quiet laugh escapes you.

"Consider me flattered," you say.

"Oh, you should be," Joel says, but there's a small smile on his lips. He glances at you as he changes lanes and you catch his eye, a twin smile on your own mouth.

He pulls into a suburban neighbourhood soon after. Most of the houses on the street have well trimmed lawns and jack-o-lanterns on their lawns. There are kids riding their bicycles and playing catch. There's a woman mowing her lawn and a man building a tree house. It's picture perfect suburbia and you can't remember the last time you've been somewhere like this.

"It's nice," you say, even though Joel didn't ask. "Seems like a good neighbourhood."

"It is," Joel agrees. "Nice people for the most part and no ragtag teens makin' a ruckus."

You bite your lip to stop yourself from laughing at how curmudgeonly Joel sounds but he must see the expression on your face because he continues speaking.

"You come back to me when you're tryin' to get a two year old to sleep and there's a group of sixteen year olds drag racin' a Corolla at one a.m," he says and this time, you do laugh.

"Alright," you say. "That sounds awful. Worse than the guy that lives above me that stomps on the floor every time he walks. Or maybe he's just Bigfoot."

"Ah, the wonders of poor floorin'. Y'know builders don't even save money when they do that? It's just laziness on their part." Joel says.

"So then it's truly just to drive me insane," you say, voice solemn even though you're smiling.

"I reckon it is," Joel says, matching your tone. You can see the soft lines of crows feet around his eyes, more prominent now that he's smiling too. He pulls into a driveway. His house is similar to the others you drove by, the lawn neatly cut with flowers dotting the border near the walkway. You slip out of the car, your thighs sticky with sweat and you grimace as you close the door behind you.

"C'mon," Joel says, waving you towards the front door. He slips a key out of his back pocket and unlocks it. The air conditioned air is a relief, immediately cooling you. You can almost feel the sweat on you evaporate. You look around. The walls of the hallway are filled with picture frames, silly ones of Joel and Sarah smiling into the camera. There's some of them and a man who has Joel's same colouring — that must be his brother. You follow him down the hall towards the kitchen which smells like pancakes and orange juice. Sarah's sitting at the dining table, a spread of papers and notebooks and colourful pens in front of her. She gives you a bright smile when she sees you.

"Hi!" she says. "I was wondering when you guys would get back."

"Hey Sarah," you say. "It's nice to see you again."

"You too," Sarah says. She has a dimple on her cheek in the same spot that Joel does.

"Alright well, I'll leave you two to it," Joel says. He turns to look at you more fully, his dark eyes meeting yours. "I have an appointment but I should be back within the hour."

"Sounds good to me," you tell him. In a way you're relieved Joel won't be around to watch you and Sarah get to work. You're too in your head about him as is and you want to give Sarah your full attention. Joel turns to Sarah now, his brow furrowing.

"Be good," he tells her. "Ask her a lotta math questions because the lord knows I won't be able to help you."

His tone is light and there's that fondness in his eyes that you only see when he looks at her. Something warm cracks open in your chest.

She snorts. "Oh, I know you won't dad. Now go on and enjoy your appointment."

She says the word appointment like there's some secret meaning behind it. Curiosity gnaws at you once more.

"Yeah, yeah," Joel says, voice drawling. He gives you one more nod and then he's out the door, the lock clicking behind him.

"Alright," you say. "So pre-algebra."

Sarah groans, slumping in her chair. Her curly hair is loose today, and bounces with the movement.

"The word problems are still killing me," she says. "Why do we even need to know this stuff? When is anyone going to buy fifty watermelons?"

"I can't argue with you there," you say, slipping into the seat adjacent to her. "But I can try make it a little easier."

She pulls her binder towards the shared space between the two of you and you take a look at the printed sheet of homework. If you're being honest, the problems are a little too wordy.

"Okay," you say. "Tell me your three favourite colours."

She searches through the scattered gel pens, pulling out a purple one, a blue one and a green one. She holds them up to you and you take them from her. You can't remember the last time you wrote with one of these.

"Alright. The hardest part with word problems is figuring out what you care about. So we start with what we know and we use purple to underline that. Take the watermelon question for example," you say and she nods. "We know Bill earns five dollars a week, we know he needs fifty watermelons and we know that a watermelon costs a dollar fifty." You underline the information as you speak, Sarah's eyes tracking the movement. Then you take the blue pen.

"What do we need to find?" you ask her and she reads over the question before pointing to the sentence. You smile, nodding. "Exactly! How many weeks he has to work to buy fifty watermelons."

"Okay," Sarah says. "That helps actually. Like a ton."

You hand her the green pen, still smiling. "Have a crack at it."

Her head is bent towards her binder, her hair obscuring the page as she writes away. When she's done, she looks up at you, a pleased smile on her face. She pushes the binder towards you and you go over the equation she set up and how she solved it. When you're done, you look back up at her, grinning.

"And my work here is done," you say and she snorts. "This is really good, Sarah. You got it on the first try."

"Don't get too excited," she says. "I still have ten more questions to go. And then geometry too."

"Ten more opportunities to learn," you tell her and her mouth twitches like she's trying not to laugh.

"You know my dad never said you were such an optimist," she says and your heart might just skip a beat. So Joel had talked about you. You bring your head out of the clouds almost immediately, realizing how silly you're being. Of course he had talked about you. You were going to tutor his kid.

"I have my moments," you say, curbing the urge to ask her what Joel had actually said. "Now, on we go. I think the next person's buying seventy apricots and eighty-three pears."

"These questions absurd," Sarah says but she pulls the binder towards her, her eyes sparkling with newfound motivation. You hum in agreement.

An hour later, Sarah's working almost done with her problem set. The two of you had agreed to work through her geometry homework another day and you make a mental note to arrange it with Joel. Sarah's putting away her things, slipping them into a bright purple backpack when you hear the door open.

"Hey," Joel greets. "How'd it go?"

Sarah beats you to it.

"You were right," she says. "She is a genius. I've never gotten done with my homework that quickly, dad. Now I can head to Gina's even earlier."

Your cheeks heat at the implication. Joel had told her he thought you were smart.

"If anyone's the genius," you say. "It's her. I only had to explain it to her once and she got through the rest so quickly."

Joel smiles, a proud look on his face.

"M'glad," he says, looking at you and then back to Sarah. "Now what's this about going to Gina's early?"

"Daaaaad," Sarah says. "Please can I? I promise I'll be home in time for dinner."

"I was goin' to start the grill," Joel says, sounding disappointed and you look away, suddenly feeling like an outsider. You pull out your phone, pretending to look for something on it.

"We can make dinner together," Sarah barters and you hear Joel sigh.

"Alright kiddo," he says. "Go on then. I'll see you at six p.m. sharp, alright?"

You glance up just in time to see Sarah wrap her skinny arms around Joel. He presses a kiss to the curls on her head and you look back down at your phone, unable to ignore the warmth in your chest. She's out the door in a matter of seconds after that and you're left alone with Joel.

"I should head out," you say at the same time that Joel says "Will you stay for lunch?"

"Oh," you say, eyes widening. You thought dinner yesterday may have been a one-time thing.

"I make a pretty decent burger, if I do say so myself," Joel says. His eyes look even browner in the natural lighting of the kitchen.

"Are you sure?" you ask.

"That I make a good burger?" Joel says, his tone joking.

"You know what I mean," you say.

"I wanted to ask you earlier, but it slipped my mind," Joel says. "No worries if you have plans or anythin' like that." You open your mouth and then close it. Finally, you nod.

"Okay," you agree. "I need to text my friend Anika to tell her that she'll have to pick me up a little later than I had initially told but okay."

"I can give you a ride back too," Joel says quickly. "If the timin' don't work out."

You nod at him, giving him a quick smile. "I'm just going to call her real quick."

You head down the corridor towards the front door, pulling your phone out of your pocket. Anika's contact is pinned to the top. She picks up after the first ring.

"Hi," she greets, sounding excited. "Are you giving me live DILF updates?"

"Shh," you tell her, looking around. There's no way Joel could hear her but you're paranoid. "Do you think you could pick me up at like 2 instead?"

"How come?" Anika asks, her voice singsong.

"Joel invited me to stay for lunch," you tell her, keeping your voice even.

"You realize he's into you, right?" Anika asks. You've considered it but you don't want to think about it too much. You're enjoying being friends with him.

"Does that work?" you ask her, ignoring her.

She laughs. "Yeah babe, it works. I'll just stay at Vicky's longer and then come get you."

"Thank you," you says. "I owe you."

"You do," she says. "I accept payment in the form of a play by play of your lunch with Joel and the white wine we've had in the fridge since a month ago."

"I'll throw in pizza too," you tell her, smiling. "See you soon, okay?"

You head back to the kitchen to find Joel at the counter, a spread of tomatoes, onions, pickles and lettuce in front of him.

"Let me help," you say. "If I keep eating on your dime, I'll start to feel bad."

"I won't," Joel says like it's surest thing of his life. "I will take you up on your offer to help though. I hate cuttin' vegetables."

"Well it's your lucky day because that's the extent of my culinary skills," you say and come to stand by his side. You reach for the knife and start with tomatoes. "Circular, right?"

Joel nods. He stays next to you, a respectable distance away, as he begins to make the mixture for the patties. He moves as if second nature, adding seasonings and herbs, before stirring it together. You focus on your own task, cutting into the tomatoes along the fleshy side.

"M'sorry, by the way," Joel says. You glance up at him, brows furrowing. "For bein' late today. Said I'd be back in forty-five but my appointment ran longer."

"Oh," you say, brows relaxing. "That's totally fine. I didn't even notice, really. And Sarah's amazing. I learned a whole bunch of slang from her so I feel a lot younger right now which is great too."

"M'glad you think so," Joel says. "She's been talkin' about Labubus for a while now and I have no idea what that is and frankly, I don't think I want to."

You laugh, unable to stop yourself. "They're these stuffed toys. They're actually sort of cute."

"I'll take your word for it," Joel says.

"Anyways, like I was saying, it's all good. And I hope your appointment went okay too," you tell him, and he hesitates before he speaks again.

"It did," Joel says. "Thank you."

You can tell he doesn't want to say anymore on it and you know what that's like so you smile, looking back at the chopping board in front of you, cutting into a third of a tomato.

"So," Joel says as the two of you work, side by side. "What made you pick Austin for school?"

"Honestly?" you say. "The funding offer was pretty good. My advisor is pretty nice too which helps. I didn't really want to leave the East Coast but it ended up working that way."

Joel hums, and you glance at him. His brows are furrowed in concentration as he mixes the seasoning into the bowl. "D'you find yourself likin' it?"

You shrug, slice into the last of the tomatoes. "I think it's growing on me. It took me a while to find my footing and make friends but I think I'm getting better at it now."

"It's hard," Joel says. "Startin' over when you're an adult. M'sure you're doin' a good job."

You huff out a laugh as you begin cutting the lettuce into smaller halves. "I think you're being really generous."

"I say it like I see it," Joel says, glancing at you. His gaze lingers, dark eyes warmer in the sunlit kitchen.

"You always this nice to the people you coach?" you ask him, raising a brow. You don't mean for it to sound as flirty as it does. To your delight, the tops of his cheeks flush pink and he clears his throat.

"I reckon we're friends now," Joel says. "If that's alright with you."

You feel something warm flutter in your chest. You smile at him, nudging him with your elbow.

"I'd like that very much," you say. Joel nods, his mouth curling upward into a soft smile. You push the lettuce to the side and get started with the onions. Almost immediately, your eyes begin to water. You tilt your head up, blinking them away, before you continue.

"Alright?" Joel asks, when you sniffle. You wipe at your face with the top of your arm.

"Just really happy that we're friends," you tell him, and he laughs, shaking his head. He rinses his hands and then reaches for a box of face tissues. Your hands are still wet from all the produce you've cut.

"May I?" he asks, and you're not sure what he means but you nod anyways. Gently, he dabs at the tears streaming down your cheeks and your jaw, wiping them away. You shift so you're facing him more fully, giving him access to the right side of your face too. His hand comes up, a finger pressed to the muscle of your jaw to keep you steady, and he wipes away any wetness that lingers. Your eyes still burn and your nose must be red but you can't bring yourself to care. All you can think about is the barely there touch of his index to your jaw. It feels almost like a caress.

"There," Joel murmurs as his eyes trace over your face, scanning as if to check for any missed tears. Your heart thumps against your ribs and you clear your throat.

"Thanks," you say. "I think I'm all done with the veggies."

Joel steps back, tissue dropping from his hand and onto the counter. "Good. I already got the grill goin' so we can carry this out back."

The burgers really are damn good. The flavours melt into your tongue, Joel having seasoned them perfectly. You tell him as much when you're done swallowing a ginourmous bite.

"You weren't kidding about making a good burger," you say. "Jesus, Joel this is probably the best one I've ever had."

Joel quirks a brow, a smile on his mouth. "That so?"

You nod as you take another bite. His eyes stay on you as you chew and swallow and you suddenly feel as if you're being studied. You clear your throat and he glances back down at his plate.

"Once we're done with boxing, I'll take you up on cooking classes," you tell him.

"Don't think Tommy's made coupons for that," Joel says but he's grinning now. He has the beginnings of crows feet, the soft skin by his eyes crinkling.

"Groupons," you correct him, smiling back at him. "And I'm willing to pay full price for 'em."

"Well it'll probably still be cheaper than the boxin' since there's only gonna be two lessons. One for these," he says, gesturing to your now-eaten burger. "And another for pasta. That's about all the cookin' I know."

You laugh. "I think you're being humble, Mr. I-can-build-cars-from-scratch."

Joel snorts. "Just wait until Sarah gets home n' she'll vouch for me."

"Speaking of," you say. "Sarah and I were talking and I wanted to ask if I could come by on Tuesday to help her with geometry."

"I think that should work," Joel says. "If you have the time, we could shift our lesson to after. You could come tutor Sarah whenever and then we can head to the gym. Saves you the trip on Thursday."

It's a good idea. Selfishly, you'd like to see Joel more than once a week but you nod anyways. You pull out your phone and open up your calendar.

"I'm done at two p.m. and it should take me about an hour to get here after that," you tell him. "Does that work?"

He hums, nodding. "I pick up Sarah around three so that should be fine. Y'all can take however long you need and then we can get started."

"Any spoilers about what lesson number four is gonna be?" you ask, eyebrows raised.

"We're goin' to be movin' a bit more," Joel says. "And that's all I'll say."

Before you can respond, your phone buzzes.

[Anika, 13:55 pm]: I think I'm here!

You look up at Joel. "Anika's here. I should probably get going."

"Alright," Joel agrees. "Thanks for keepin' me company."

"Thank you for lunch. And for the ride. And for taking a look at my car," you say and Joel shakes his head, exasperated. You know how he feels about you making it seem like he's doing you a favour. In his eyes he isn't, but you know he is.

"I'm takin' a look at it tomorrow so I'll let you know what I find and how long it'll take me to fix it," he says.

"Sounds good," you tell him. You text Anika back that you'll be out in a few and help Joel put the dirty dishes into the sink. When you're done, you turn to him.

"I'll see you Tuesday then?" you say and he nods. He walks you to the door, even opening it for you. You grab your bag and give him another wave before you head towards Anika's familiar Corolla. She's looking past you, craning her neck. When you glance behind yourself, you realize it's because Joel's standing on his porch, watching you. You give him a quick wave again before slipping into the car.

"Please ask him out," is how Anika greets you. "That is one of the hottest men I've ever seen. You have to."

She pulls away from the curb.

"Anika —," you start but she interrupts you.

"He's fixing your car for next to nothing and he keeps feeding you," she says. "Now I'm not saying he isn't sweet and his intentions aren't pure. That being said, you need to go for it. His eyes literally followed you all the way to my car."

"He's my boxing instructor," you argue weakly. Nerves erupt inside of you. Dating has always stressed you out and the few relationships you've been in were fine, but you were in them because you felt like you had to be rather than because it felt right.

"That's such a hot power dynamic," Anika says and you snort, slumping into the seat. You look up at the grey ceiling of her car. "He could probably hold you down with like, one arm."

"How's Vicky?" you ask, changing topics and ignoring the heat in your cheeks. Vicky and Anika have been dating for six months now and you've never seen a couple more compatible. Seeing them together had given you a new surge of motivation to start dating again. You had even re-downloaded Hinge for three days two months ago, before you had uninstalled it again. Something about getting a message that read wanna meet up 2nite? took you out of the fantasy.

"She's perfect as usual," Anika says. "I know you're trying to change subjects, by the way. I'll allow it for now but trust, when we get into that bottle of wine later today, we are going to talk about it."

"Fine," you acquiesce. Wine makes you brave so it might be easier to talk about it then. "So are you still meeting Vicky's parents this month?"

Anika's eyes light up, a bright smile gracing her face. "She's taking me to their ranch in two weeks. I can't wait. I'm going to need your help figuring out outfits. I'm thinking cowboy chic."

"D'you think you can be good and listen?" Joel asks, his voice low. He's standing closer to you than usual, his broad chest just a hairsbreadth away from your back. You can feel the heat emanating off of him, can imagine how warm his skin must feel. You're too distracted by his proximity to answer. Everything feels warm and hazy and your own skin is heating up. You look around you, and you're back at the boxing gym but this time you're in the ring. Your front is pressed to the ropes that bound the space, and Joel is caging you there. His arm comes up around your neck, his bicep pressing into your jaw so that your chin is tucked into the crook of his elbow. The curve of the muscle is right there in front of you, golden and tempting. You open your mouth, pressing your upper canines into it. You want to leave a mark.

"Sweetheart," Joel drawls, and now his mouth is right by your ear. You can feel his chest moving as he breathes. He squeezes his arm so that his bicep presses into your jaw and you shudder. "I asked you a question."

Sweetheart?

You tilt your head up and Joel's mouth presses a wet kiss to the space between your neck and ear. You shiver in his arms.

"Joel," you say and your voice is breathy. It sounds different then it usually does. Suddenly, the arm that isn't around your neck moves, his palm coming to grip your hip, pulling you flush against his body. You can feel him entirely. The strength in his chest, the slight softness of his stomach, and the hard length of him pressed to your tailbone. You shudder, arching into him. His arm tightens around your neck and your hips shift backwards, desperate for some sort of friction. You can feel yourself drip into your underwear. God, how did this even happen?

"What's the matter baby?" Joel asks, his mouth brushing against your ear. You whimper, pushing back into him and his grip on your hip tightens. He shifts his own hips, pushing himself more firmly against you. You can feel the heat of his cock, even through two layers of clothing. His hand creeps down the front of your leggings, cupping you through the flimsy cotton of your underwear and you rut into his palm, uncaring of how desperate you must seem.

"Now I understand," he says. "My poor girl's desperate for it, isn't she?"

You nod, the movement restricted by his arm. Your mouth opens against it, your tongue pressing into his hot, salty skin.

His fingers find your clit through the wet gusset of your underwear and he draws quick circles. You can feel yourself grow even wetter, the pleasure inside of you reaching a pinnacle. Just as you're about to let go, you hear something. It sounds like a bell tolling. Or are those wind chimes? Your brows furrow and Joel's fingers seemingly disappear from you soaked panties. You can no longer feel the heat of him along your back and the hum of pleasure that was buzzing inside of you seems to fizzle away.

You wake up out of breath and your neck is so sweaty you can feel the dampness it's left behind on your pillowcase. Shit. You just had a wet dream about Joel. Joel who's fixing your car and who cooked you lunch and offers you rides since he's apparently, the nicest man ever. Joel, who had said that the two of you were friends. Friends. Nothing more. You sit up and swipe at the screen of your phone, hoping to turn off your wretched alarm. God, couldn't it have waited two minutes? Flipping over your pillow, you slump back into bed. You try not to linger on the dream but you're only human. And it's almost as if you can still feel Joel's big hands all over your hips and cupping your cunt. You think of how his arm had felt, holding you in place as he had curved it around your throat. Without even realizing, your own hand starts creeping below the waistband of your sleep pants. You hesitate when your fingers brush the bow on your underwear. Would you be able to face Joel later this week if you did this? You consider it for a handful of seconds and then decide, fuck it. You can't remember the last time you had a nice dream, let alone one that gave you any sort of pleasure. Plus, wine has always made you like this, wanton and flushed with need. You and Anika had finished almost two bottles the night before as she had quizzed you about Joel and his life and what you knew about it.

You fingers slip into your underwear and you shift your hips up, already feeling so close to the edge of your orgasm once more. You think of your dream, of how you could feel Joel's breath against your ear and how his thick fingers moved against your cunt as if he already knew how to draw pleasure from you. It's right as you're about to curl two fingers into your wet heat that your phone starts making noise again, this time even more obnoxiously. You yelp at the shock of it and the pleasure dissipates once more.

"You okay?" Anika yells through the door and you groan. You slip your hand out of your pants and sit up.

"All good," you yell back. The moment has passed and now all you can focus on is how dry your mouth feels. There's a slight ache behind your eyes too, remnants of the wine from the night before. You need water. And maybe a vibrator.

Just friends, you repeat to yourself as you get out of bed. You can feel the wetness in your underwear, and you let out a sigh as you make your way to your bathroom. You need to shower all of this off of you.

She’s so small that the impossibility of her feels, for a long, suspended moment, like a kind of vertigo. Her fist against your chest is only slightly bigger than the pad of your thumb, the fingernails on it smaller than grains of rice. Her eyelashes – dark, thick and clumped wet at the corners – lie on her cheeks like tiny commas. Her mouth is pink, half-open and slack with sleep, and there’s a small bubble of milk at the corner of it that you wipe away with the pad of your little finger.

She has his nose. You hadn't seen it before, in the rush, but you see it now and laugh wetly. Bending your head, you press your mouth to her warm crown and breathe her in – the warm, new smell of her, the milk and the iron-trace and the strange sweet impossible smell of new skin.

"He'll be back,” you whisper into her skin. “He'll be back, sweetheart. Your buir always comes back."

She breathes, tiny and even, and her fist opens against your bare chest and rests there, palm flat, the trust of a thing that doesn’t yet know it can be afraid.

You lie still and listen as the hold ticks around you with the sound of metal cooling and there’s a faint creak somewhere aft as the wreck settles further into whatever it’s settled into. You notice the drip of something – coolant, maybe, somewhere in the bulkhead – at a slow steady rate, plink, plink, plink, like a clock. The birds outside the hole in the hull keep singing and there’s the faint distant chuckle of water somewhere past the trees.

You listen for him, for the beskar against the deck-plate but all you hear is a long silence – the kind of silence that means a man has stopped moving because he’s reached the thing he was going toward and is looking at it. You picture him in the wreck of the cockpit, the dome of the helmet tilted at the angle that means he’s assessing, the gloved hand reaching for the long-range comm panel and finding…

The personal comm in the blanket-fold by your hip clicks once causing you to jump and the baby to start fussing. You shush her gently and reach down to place your palm flat against the cylinder. He’s telling you he’s alright, that he’s thinking of you. You press once back once and feel him register it because two seconds later the cylinder clicks once more – an acknowledgment, the smallest possible yes – and goes quiet.

You breathe out, slowly and wait.

You don't know how long for because time is doing strange things tonight – the half-hour of labour that felt like a day, the long suspended second of the helmet coming off that felt like a year, the slow drift of the last little while that has been, in actual minutes, you suspect, very few. You count birdcalls, the plinks of the dripping coolant and the small breaths against your chest. The breaths of your daughter steady your own, the way his breath has steadied yours in the past through a modulator, and you laugh at the small inheritance of that.

You hear him coming back, moving differently than when he left, faster, the bad leg compensated for somehow, the bare grunt of effort each time he braces. He comes around the bend, through the canted bulkhead-door and the visor finds you immediately, the way it always does, the first sweep of the helmet always coming to wherever you are in a room. Even now. Even in a wreck. Even with the world on fire.

He drops down beside you, reaches for the helmet seal and after the soft hiss-click, his bare face is back, dark eyes on you, and the relief on his face when he sees that you’re still there, still breathing, still whole, the baby still snuffling against your chest, is so naked that you have to look away for a moment before you can look back.

"How long was I?"

"I don't know. Probably not long even though it felt like forever."

"Eight minutes. I counted."

"Of course you did," you roll your eyes.

He sets the helmet down beside him on the blanket, takes off his gloves and scrubs his hand across his face, hard, the gesture of a man who’s just been doing a great deal of difficult arithmetic and is letting himself feel it.

"Tell me what you found," you say.

"The cockpit's bad."

"How bad?"

"The whole forward section is…the canopy's gone, mesh'la, sheared clean. The pilot's chair is still bolted down but there's about three meters of nothing between it and what used to be the nose. Half the dash is in the trees. I don't know how I rode it down. I don't know what I did. It doesn't matter, the point is the long-range comm is gone. The unit's gone. It's not in the cockpit. It's somewhere, probably somewhere out there in a tree, but I don't have time to look for it before it gets dark."

"Okay."

"The short-range I already knew was dead. So, we have no comm, out or in. The personal units are short-range only. We can't reach Karga or Nevarro or anyone until I find another way."

"Okay."

"The locker’s intact. The long rifle, the carbine, the spare pistol, the kit-knives, three thermal detonators, two flares, and the med kit-supplemental are all in there and dry. The ration crate is intact. The water reclaimer is probably salvageable, but it would take me half a day, and I don't have half a day, so we’re going to drink from the stream when the canteens run out."

"Okay," you say for a third time and wonder if he’s expecting more.

"The aft hold is the only part of the ship that’s more or less the way it was. The door still seals so, as soon as you can move, we move in there. It's defensible, warm and enclosed. The hole in the hull is in the main hold, here, and I can rig a tarp over it, but I would rather have a sealed door between you and the outside.”

You nod and he nods in return before reaching, carefully, and lifting the edge of the thermal blanket. He looks underneath at the pad between your legs and nods again.

"The bleeding's slowing. That's good. The book said…"

"The book."

He laughs. "I know."

"I love that you read the book." You pause. "Tell me about outside."

"Outside is what looks like half forest, half swamp. The canopy is fifty meters up and we’re in a kind of bowl with soft undergrowth which saved us. The trees took the worst of the entry and the undergrowth took the worst of the impact. The wreck’s carved a furrow about sixty meters long through the canopy and the underbrush. Anyone flying over will see that furrow. Anyone flying over with eyes will see it from orbit. So, we’re visible from the air and there’s nothing I can do about that tonight."

"Okay.”

"The stream is, I think, about three hundred meters that way." He gestures with his chin toward what you’ve been calling the daylight side. "I haven't been to it yet. The terrain between is rocky and broken and there’s good cover. There’s a ridge on the other side, maybe about a klick from here. I couldn't see past it from where I was. If there's a settlement or a road near, it’s probably past that ridge. I’ll scout at first light tomorrow.”

"Wildlife?"

"I don't know yet. I heard birds and something larger move once at about two hundred meters out, in the brush, and then it stopped. It could have been anything, but I’ll set tripwires before nightfall. If something comes close enough to trip one, I’ll know."

"And if it's people?"

His jaw works.

"Then I’ll know that too," he says, "and I’ll deal with it."

You look at him a long moment and see that the tiredness in him is enormous. It’s starting, now, to show – the small grey under his eyes, the small tremor at the corner of his mouth, the way his hand on his knee isn’t entirely steady. He’s been on his feet, or on his knee, or hauling himself on his elbows, for the better part of an hour without rest, with a torn leg, having just delivered his first child in a wreck and you know he’s going to drop if he doesn't sit down soon.

"Din."

"Mm."

"Come here."

"Mesh'la, I have to…"

"Come here. Five minutes, I’m ordering you as your wife, the mother of your child and as your patient. As the woman who just gave birth on this deck-plate. Come here for five minutes, put your head down and breathe before you go anywhere else."

He looks at you. You watch the resistance gather and you watch it lose. He drags himself the half metre to your side, careful of the leg, eases down into the blanket-nest beside you, and lets his head fall, very slowly, onto your shoulder, on the side that’s not occupied by the baby.

He sighs a real, whole sigh. The kind a body makes when, for the first time in an hour, it’s allowed to admit that it’s tired. His arm comes across your middle, his hand finding the small of the baby's back and rests there, gently, his forehead pressing into the side of your neck.

You stroke his hair and realise it’s thicker than you would’ve guessed, damp at the roots and slightly curling at the ends. You stroke it, slow, the way you’ve stroked the back of his neck through the underweave a thousand times, and he sighs again, deeper, his hand on the baby's back goes going heavier.

"Five minutes," you whisper.

"Five minutes."

"Then you can go set your tripwires, rig your tarp and be terrifyingly competent.”

He laughs, a small, wet laugh against your neck. "Deal."

"Din."

"Mm."

"We're going to be alright, aren’t we?"

He pauses and his arm tightens, very slightly, around your middle, his hand spreading across the baby’s back.

"Yes," he says softly in a voice you’re still learning. "Yes, mesh'la, we’re going to be alright."

You don't know if you believe it. You don't know if he believes it. It doesn't, in this moment, matter. The leaf-light moves across the wrecked deck, the coolant plinks, the birds sing and your daughter breathes against your chest. The man you love – the face of the man you love, the whole face, the dark hair and the dark eyes and the small scars and the curved nose and the threads of grey – rests against your shoulder and breathes with you.

The helmet sits on the blanket beside him, and somewhere out past the ridge there may be a settlement or there may be a road or there may be nothing, and somewhere overhead there may be eyes coming or there may not, and you have, in this moment, five minutes.

You both take them.

****

The five minutes become ten and you let them. He needs them and you need them and the baby on your chest needs the quiet, warm tucked-in space of both of you breathing around her, and when he finally lifts his head from your shoulder it’s slow and reluctant, the lift of a man pulling himself back into the work by force.

"Alright," he says, softly and he goes back to the work at hand of protecting his family. He rigs the tarp with more efficiency than you’ve given him credit for, then he checks the aft hold one more time before you begin the slow progress of shifting your position.

He takes the baby from you, giving you a moment to gather your strength and allow feeling to return to your limbs before gently pushing yourself up from the blanket nest and onto your feet. The ship sways around you for a moment, and he shoots out one hand to hold you steady.

“Cyar’ika…”

“I’m fine,” you reassure him as you start shuffling along the deck, a blanket carefully placed over you, clutching the pad between your legs because you’re not wearing any underwear.

The distance isn’t far, but it takes longer than you anticipated and by the time you reach the hold and sink down into a new blanket nest, you feel exhausted. He passes the baby back to you then surveys you from above, brows drawn together.

“I should stitch you now.”

“Very romantic,” you reply wryly, then grit your teeth as he drops down to the deck and goes about the work, lifting his eyes every so often to meet yours, checking that you’re okay. “I’ve heard rumours that, after witnessing childbirth, some men find it hard to go near their partners again."

“I find that hard to believe,” he replies when he's done, kissing the top of your head.

“It’s true.”

“It’s not true of this man.”

“I know,” you reply, then watch as he fits the helmet on again and ventures outside once more to place the tripwires. By the time he comes back, the baby is fussing again, and you latch her once more to your breast to feed. “There, there little one.”

He removes the helmet and lowers himself down beside you again, one hand on the back of her neck. “She needs a name.”

“She does,” you reply, then look at her, because every name you’ve ever considered somehow doesn’t seem right now that you’ve seen her.

"Mira'ika.”

You blink and look up at him. "Mira?"

He goes still, pulling back just enough to look at your face. His eyes have gone slightly wary – the look of a man who has, once again, made a private decision and is, only now, realising he made it without consulting you.

"I…I was thinking it when I was outside. I'm sorry, I should have asked. I just…I…”

"Mira."

"It means – in the old dialect – it means…"

"It means miracle, Din. I know what it means."

"...yes."

You look down at her as she snuffles against your chest, her dark eyes – still that newborn dark, the unfocused, universal dark – open under the dark wisps. You watch her watch nothing. You watch her exist. You watch her breathe in and out, in and out, the small relentless miracle of a thing that only a few hours ago was inside you and is now a person with a name.

"Mira," you say, trying it.

She blinks, slow and accidental, the way newborns do, the way that means nothing and feels like everything.

"Yes," you say, meeting his gaze. "Mira."

His face does a small fractional break-and-mend behind the eyes, his mouth presses to your hairline and the three of you stay like that for a long time.

****

“I have a question.”

Din turns from where he’s refitting the beskar he took off the previous evening so as to be able to curl in the blanket nest with you and Mira, his body warm around yours and heavy with sleep – so heavy that you had to nudge him sharply awake when you realised you needed a change of cloth diaper for her.

“What’s the question?”

“Is she Mira Djarin or Din Mira?”

He pauses as he slides on the second glove and looks from you to his sleeping daughter and then back again.

“I mean, if she’s Din Mira, does that mean I have to call both of you Din? Because that might get a little confusing.”

“Technically, following the naming convention of my family, she would be Din Mira,” he replies, “Din being the family name.”

“Wait…” you frown. “Are you telling me that Din is your family name, not your first name?”

“Yes.”

“But…all this time I thought…I’ve been calling you Din because…”

“As you should.”

“But…”

“I’ve always been Din, cyar’ika, for as long as I can remember,” he smiles. “Calling me anything else would seem strange. But we can call her Mira.”

You shake your head, thrown once more by aspects of Mandalorian culture of which you have little to no knowledge – not even your husband’s proper name.

“When we get back to Nevarro, you have to find me a book that I can read about all this.”

“I will, but not every Mandalorian names their offspring the same. In other tribes, the names could be the other way around.”

“Mmm…” you look back down at her. “Let’s stick with Mira.”

“Yes.” He lifts the helmet. "I'm going to go up the ridge and try to see what's past it. I need to know where we are, mesh'la. I can’t plan until I know where we are."

"How long will you be gone?"

"Two hours, maybe three. I'll move fast, be back as soon as I can and I’ll be careful with the leg, I promise."

"Take the carbine."

"I'm taking the carbine."

"Take water."

"I'm taking water."

"Take…"

"Cyar'ika..." he smiles eyes warm. "I have done this before."

"Not with us in the wreck of what used to be your ship."

The smile fades and he bends, kissing your lips quick and hard, the kiss of a man who’s leaving and doesn’t want to dwell on the leaving. Then he kisses Mira’s head and puts on the helmet.

The visor finds you, the modulator catching his breath.

"One, two, hold," he says.

"One, two, hold."

He nods and then he goes.

This time, you don’t count the birdcalls or the plinks. You hold Mira against your chest and let yourself simply be. You doze in long shallow drifts, surfacing again each time she fusses, changing her diaper or shifting her against the other breast then dozing again.

The smell is back.

You don't register it at first. It’s faint, layered under leaf-smell and damp-smell and the trace of coolant, and you’ve been dozing, being a new mother, and your brain has been full of other things.

But it registers now with a familiarity that you pushed away before, but now feel coming at you, head on.

You go very still and don’t move as Mira snuffles against your chest. You make yourself stroke her back, slow and automatic, the small, unconscious soothing you’ve been doing since Din left but the smell is unmistakable now – that fetid, stagnant, slimy smell that seems to invade every part of your body, clawing at the back of your throat.

That smell you remember so vividly.

You tell yourself no, that there must be a hundred planets in the galaxy that could have the same smell, that it’s generic and that you’re tired and frightened and post-partum and your brain is reaching for the worst place it knows.

The personal comm by your hip clicks twice and your blood goes cold.

You snatch it up and press it once in response. The cylinder clicks back, twice, and you realise that he’s coming back with news that you’re probably not going to like.

You wait, lying tense in the blanket-nest, listening, and then you hear him – beskar on undergrowth, the small, careful crunch of a man who’s moving fast and trying not to – and then the dragging step at the hatch, the visor coming around the bulkhead, and he’s there.

He stops just inside, the visor finding you and he’s breathing hard through the modulator. He reaches up, takes the helmet off and you can see his face is flushed, hair damp at the temples and his eyes find yours with something behind them you can’t, at first, read.

"I have to tell you something, cyar’ika and I want you to listen and not be frightened.”

"Tell me," you say, your voice shaking slightly.

"I made the ridge and I got up high enough to see down the other side. There's a road about four klicks away. It looks like a main road, but it’s completely surrounded by swamp land.”

You can't breathe.

“I looked as far as I could without being seen, but it looks as though the road leads to a palace.” He takes a breath. “I’ve seen it before – the palace – in holo images, and the swampland. I recognised it…”

“Nal Hutta."

He stops, eyes sharpening on your tone, then moves forward to kneel, awkwardly in front of you.

"Cyar'ika..."

"It's Nal Hutta, Din, isn’t it?"

"Yes.”

You make a small sound, a small, flat sound that isn’t not a word. Mira startles and squalls, and you press her tighter against you making yourself breathe. The smell is everywhere now, and you can’t believe you didn’t name it the moment the leaf-light came through the hull, can’t believe you let yourself doze in the smell of the place you swore you would die before you ever smelled again.

"I know…I understand it's frightening. But Jabba the Hutt is dead and…”

"Din…" Your voice comes out faint, high and reedy as your body starts to shake.

“I’ll protect you, you know I will…”

“No…”

"What is it?” he asks, his tone panicked at the sight of you. “Are you cold?” He pulls the blanket tighter around you. “Tell me, cyar'ika."

You look at him, his eyes wide, searching and full of the careful banked alarm of a man who’s watching the woman he loves start to fall apart.

“I’ve been on Nal Hutta before,” you whisper, “a long time ago, when I was younger. Before…before I was sent to Shakari.”

His mouth opens as though to say something, but words don’t come and he simply shakes his head.

“I was…I was brought here from my home planet when I was a child. We were…we were all taken from our homes – kidnapped – and brought here. Jabba…he ordered that we be kept here until we were considered of age to…”

You break off and close your eyes, your face dropping to press once more against Mira’s head.

“To what?” Din asks quietly, when you don’t continue.

“To be of service,” you reply finally. “When we were considered of age to be of service. That’s when we were all transported to Shakari and…and made to work. Din…” tears blur your vision, “I know I’ve never told you, about Shakari, about what life was like there before I managed to escape and climb aboard this ship. I’ve never told you…”

You pause and his eyes hold yours, his body completely still.

"You’ve never told me."

“Because I couldn’t,” you say, fighting down a sob. “I couldn’t tell you what I had to do there, what I was forced…” you swallow hard. “And you never asked. You never asked me, that day when you found me, what I was running from. I told you I needed to be taken off-world, and you took me and you never asked…”

“I assumed that one day, you’d tell me cyar’ika.” His gloved hand comes to your face, the leather brushing away the tears. “It’s your story, your…”

“It was my hell,” you gulp, “and I escaped it, and I got away and I have a life now with you and…and with her…” you look down at Mira, the whole horror of the situation gathering in your chest and making it tight. “I can’t… I can’t stay here, Din, and I can’t be sent back to Shakari, and I can’t let her go through that. I can’t let them take her. The twins, they could take her…”

“They won’t.”

"Din…"

"They won't." His hand moves to your jaw, holding you firmly, forcing you to look at him. “Look at me cyar’ika. You will not go near the palace. She will not go near the palace. The twins will not lay eyes on either of you, and neither will anyone else who might harm you. Do you hear me?”

"But my face, Din, they…"

"Do they know your face?"

"Yes. We were all scanned when we were brought here and when we left and then regularly on Shakari so that they could keep track of us. The fact that I escaped...I…they’ll know me if they see me, I know they will.”

"Alright."

He takes a breath, looks down at Mira and his face does the small fractional thing that you can now read as the deepest and oldest love he is capable of. Then he looks back up at you, and his expression is steely again.

"Alright, so we need to get out of here as quickly as we can. We don’t engage or negotiate or do anything to draw attention to ourselves. We move tonight if you can and we get the karking hell off this swamp, okay?"

"Okay…"

"But we can’t fly the Crest, so we have to find another way.”

“There’s…there’s a freighter that comes and goes once a day. It takes off at nightfall and returns in the morning. Or at least it used to, I don’t know if…” you take a deep breath to steady yourself into the logic of escape. “It moves back and forth between Nal Hutta and Nar Shaddaa. If we can somehow reach it, stow away on board and get to Nar Shaddaa, we’ll be able to catch a commercial ship from there back towards Nevarro. But…”

“We’d have to get on the freighter undetected,” he finishes.

“Yes, and I don't know if...I don't know if they check...”

"How far is the spaceport?"

"From the palace – north, around five klicks. I don't…I don't know from here.”

He’s already thinking and you can see it, visibly, in his face – the small flicker of the eyes, the small tightening at the jaw, his glove coming off, and his hand coming up to scrub across his mouth as he runs the geometry.

"Five klicks from the palace," he says, low. "From here…call it ten klicks north of us through forest and swamp. With you and her and me with this leg. We’ll have to avoid scouts and reach the port before the freighter goes up…” he nods. “This is doable.”

"Din…"

"This is doable. We will do this, do you hear me?"

"I hear you."

"Alright. I need you to rest now whilst I inventory the locker, pack what we need and only what we need and then we’re going to move, okay?”

You nod, because there’s nothing else to do.

He breathes out and bends his forehead down to yours, staying there a long second as his mouth brushes, soft, across your lips.

"I won’t let any of them near you, I swear it on every creed I have left, mesh'la. On the Way and on the Waters and on every name I have. On my very life. No-one will see your face. No-one will see her face. The Hutts will never know you were ever here and we will be safely on our way back to Nevarro before they ever find this ship. Believe me when I say this.”

“I believe you,” you whisper in return.

He straightens, picks the helmet up and slides it back on.

"Rest," he says through the modulator. "I'll be back as soon as I can once I have everything organised.”

You hold Mira against your chest as he goes about the work of preparing for escape and press your mouth into her head.

"We’re going to get out of here, sweetheart. We’re going to get out of here. Your buir is the best there is and he’s going to get us out of here and you are never going to know the smell of this planet again. I promise you. I promise you."

Mira sleeps on, oblivious, and you close your eyes, and make yourself rest, because he told you to, and because you're going to need every scrap of strength you possess to get out of this nightmare.

➰➰➰➰➰➰➰➰🚀➰➰➰➰➰➰➰➰

Taglist: @thelittlebats @sassythejedi @millercontracting @porganas @lovely-kitsune-exe @themilkhasjustexpired @dream-alittlebiggerdarling @seikamuzu

But imagining was dangerous. Soft edges got people killed. You reminded yourself of that as you adjusted the bipod and checked your sightlines.

Your position was perfect: high enough for distance, close enough for a clean escape across the rooftops. Three exit routes mapped and practiced - threads you could pull the moment the shot was fired.

The target was easy to find. Parties like these never hid their suns, drawing every orbiting guest close with gravity and heat. Through your scope, you found Lorenzo Vitale instantly: tall, lean, hair white as marble and combed back with the kind of intention meant to signal refinement instead of age. Midnight-blue suit, fitted like armor; his wife younger, in champagne silk, her laugh a practiced melody for people who mattered.

He was the kind of man who believed he owned the world he stepped on. People like you were paid to unmake him.

Your breathing stayed even, while your movements were slow and precise. Patience had kept you alive when better shooters ended up in shallow graves. It was why you'd taken this contract: one, clean, high-value payout. Enough to let you think - briefly, dangerously - that maybe you could stop after this one. Buy silence, something permanent, something that didn't leave you sleeping light, living like a ghost.

You didn't believe in forever. But sometimes, for a contract this good, long enough felt possible.

The rifle rested against your shoulder like an extension of yourself. You let your eye settle into the scope again, tracing angles, scanning for obstructions. One clean shot, that was all it would take. One squeeze, one breath, one heartbeat.

The party below was opulent but controlled. Strings played near the terrace, a singer's voice drifting faintly in Italian, warm as poured honey. Laughter rose and fell; champagne glasses chimed against fine crystal. Wealth on display, subtle, certain. You didn't care. Faces were data, targets were tasks, not lives.

Through your scope, you tracked the host and your target, greeting a guest, hand clasping hand, leaning in close. You adjusted with the smallest movement of your wrist. Crosshairs steady. Perfect.

For a flicker of a moment, you thought about how fragile it all was - how one breath, one bullet could erase decades of meticulous construction. Then you pushed the thought away. Thinking too hard invited hesitation. And hesitation killed.

Your earpiece was silent. Exactly how you liked it. No handler, no chatter. Tonight had been perfect.

Until -

A figure flickered at the edge of your scope, weaving through the crowd. Broad-shouldered, dark hair curling at the edges, posture loose but purposeful. And definitely not supposed to be there.

Your pulse hit a fraction faster. What the hell?

He held a glass of wine in his hand, like he belonged. Like he was just another guest. But something about him - too easy, too smooth - didn't fit. You adjusted your scope, recalibrating, following his movements across the terrace. Shifting weight, leaning, subtle steps - he moved with intent, but not like the host's guests. Every micro-motion said he wasn't just attending the party.

Then he turned, glanced toward the rooftops. In that instant, recognition sliced through your calm like a blade.

Jackal.

Your jaw tightened and your fingers flexed against the stock.

What the hell was he doing here?

For the first time tonight, you felt your control waver. He shouldn't be here. No one else should be here. Your meticulous evening, your perfect rhythm, had just fractured.

“What the fuck,” you muttered under your breath. The scope felt suddenly heavier in your hands and your evening felt a lot more complicated now.

Javier Peña didn't look like a man about to kill someone. That was the trick really - the thing that had kept him breathing long after men faster, stronger, and meaner were buried six feet under. He looked like he belonged anywhere: warm smile, half-lazy posture, gaze drifting over the room as if admiring the décor. A talent he hadn't been born with but honed, a con he wore like a second skin.

Tonight, in Tuscany, it looked effortless. Cream summer suit, top buttons undone, a glass of wine balanced in one hand. Each step unhurried, as if he were on vacation instead of hunting.

The courtyard smelled of jasmine and expensive perfume, night air wrapped in the hum of conversation and the soft lilt of a live quartet near the terrace. Candlelight flickered in tall glass lanterns, painting everything warmer, softer than it really was.

He smiled, utterly at ease, like he had nowhere better to be.

A waiter passed with a tray of canapés. He plucked one without breaking stride, flashing a grin that made the young server flush and mutter, “Prego, signore.” He popped it into his mouth casually, eyes scanning the room and mind already mapping: where the guards were stationed, which guests carried weight in their posture, where the host's eyes darted when he thought no one was watching.

His earpiece buzzed softly.

“You've got someone on the roof.”

Javier didn't change pace. Expression open, relaxed, one hand sliding into his pocket like the words were about the weather, not the first complication of the evening.

“Someone?” His voice was low and smooth, lazy drawl disguising interest as mild curiosity.

“Scoped. Professional. Judging by posture and gear… they're not here to people-watch,” came the reply. Darren, a freelancer he'd worked with before. Sharp-eyed, twitchy but reliable when it came to surprises.

Javier's gaze drifted toward the roofline, adjusting casually as he licked a crumb from his thumb. “Sniper?”

“Yeah. And… uh…” Darren hesitated, the edge of uncertainty creeping in. “It's a woman.”

Javier's brow lifted slightly. “That so?”

“Yeah… Moves like she's done this a thousand times,” He could hear Darren working his keyboard in the background, running a quick cross-reference with previous contracts and faces. “But… uh… wait a second. Just a sec - let me check the files… if this matches what I think…”

Javier tilted his head, taking a slow sip of wine as Darren worked. He watched the roofline, tracking the faint glint of a scope catching the last amber light.

Darren exhaled, a hint of awe creeping into his voice. “Okay… yeah. I think it's her. Sofia Renard. Goes by Nemesis.”

Javier let the words sink in, a slow smile tugging at his lips. The name whispered in backrooms and safehouses, carrying the chill of inevitability. A ghost, a rumor wrapped in precision. Most people didn't know what you looked like. He certainly didn't.

A quiet chuckle escaped him, more for himself than anyone else.

“Well, shit. This night just got interesting.”

The corners of his mouth curled into that effortless grin again, the one strangers trusted for no good reason. He moved forward, casual as a shadow, already considering what having you here might mean.

Through your scope, you caught the faintest shift of his head, subtle but unmistakable. He'd glanced up. Not enough to give himself away, but just enough to let you know he'd felt eyes on him.

Cocky bastard.

You narrowed one eye and recalculated your breathing, steadying the rifle against your shoulder. He couldn't know for certain you were here - not this fast. Not unless…

Your jaw tightened. Unless he had support.

You realigned the crosshairs on the host. One squeeze and this would be over, done, paid. You could disappear into the night and let the world keep spinning.

But the host shifted unexpectedly, body turning just as Javier Peña stepped into his orbit with a grin that could've sold prayers to atheists.

Your exhale turned sharp.

He wasn't there by accident. He was inserting himself - a charming, casual disruption. Javier moved like he owned the room, leaning in close to some assistant, a hand brushing an elbow, lips moving in an easy rhythm of banter. You couldn't hear it, but you could see it in the body language: the assistant leaning toward him, shifting the host slightly away from your shot.

Fine, you could modify. You shifted two degrees, adjusted your cheek weld.

The crosshairs touched the target's chest for half a second - and then Javier “accidentally” stepped between them, pausing to shake someone's hand, wine glass lifted as though he were making a toast to your inconvenience.

Your finger flexed uselessly against the trigger guard and you breathed out slowly. “Cute,” you muttered, voice low enough that no one but you would hear it.

A gap opened, and you shifted again, finding a line through the balcony rail. One squeeze -

but Javier moved again, steering the host into a conversation near the fountain, conveniently behind a trio of guests and a decorative marble column.

It became a rhythm: every time you adjusted, he moved. A shoulder shift here, a step into the host's path there, his body language fluid and loud, pulling eyes toward him and, in turn, the host along with it.

He was using his presence like a shield.

You tapped the stock with your finger, your jaw locked. You'd read the files on Jackal: adaptable, smooth, disarming. A man who made chaos look like choreography. This was what it looked like in real time, and it was infuriating.

You shifted again, scanning for a different angle - roofline to the east? Blocked by trees. A window reflection? Too unstable. You were running out of clean lines, and Javier was still talking, still laughing, still charming his way through your perfect setup like he was doing it for sport.

He thinks this is a game.

Your lips pressed into a thin line. For someone like you, jobs were clean. Efficient. A single line drawn from A to B, unbroken. But Javier Peña? He was the squiggle, the chaos factor you'd avoided your entire career.

You exhaled once more and made the decision before you even fully realized you were making it.

Long-range was dead tonight. You weren't going to sit up here, fighting for an angle he would ruin the second you found it. And you sure as hell weren't going to give up the payout.

But to do that, you'd have to adapt, too.

Fine.

If he wanted to play interference, then you'd shift the game entirely.

Close quarters.

Your eyes swept the villa once more as you knelt on the rooftop edge, studying guard rotations, service entrances, the slow turn of cameras. Javier had forced your hand, and for that alone you wanted to put a bullet near his feet when this was over, just to watch that damn grin falter.

But for now? For now, you needed to get inside and finish this job face-to-face.

Getting into the party wasn’t impossible; it was just inconvenient.

You crouched low on the roof’s edge, double-checked the latch on your conduit box, and slid your rifle inside, tucking it beneath a bundled canvas to muffle the metallic clink. You pulled the panel shut with a muted click, wiped a faint smear of dust off your gloves, and adjusted your jacket. The transition from sniper to infiltrator felt like shifting into a stranger’s skin - your rhythm changing from patient, slow-breath precision to the quick, deliberate pulse of improvisation.

You descended the fire escape silently, boots whispering against metal rungs. A warm breeze carried faint hints of lemon trees, cigars, and floral perfume clinging to the gathering. By the time your feet touched the ground, your mind was already several steps ahead, recalculating pathways and planning your new role.

The side entrance was guarded by two men in black suits, more posture than skill. They stood shoulder-to-shoulder near an arched gate, scanning casually, faces blank with the ease of those who’d never truly been tested. You adjusted the strap of your tablet bag - the universal symbol of invisibility: IT contractors, AV specialists, security consultants. People who went unnoticed unless they failed spectacularly.

One guard straightened slightly. His eyes flicked to the bag, to your professional-but-unassuming clothes.

“Badge?” he asked flatly.

You offered a neutral, corporate-friendly smile and pulled a slim pass from your pocket. The QR code gleamed under the light - a forgery crafted three days ago from schematics you’d lifted from an unsecured node.

The green light blinked once, and he handed it back. No follow-up, no eye check. People trusted tech more than instincts.

“Thanks,” you murmured, brushing past.

Inside, the villa was a different world. Warm light bounced off polished marble floors, chandeliers glinting like inverted constellations. Waiters floated through with trays of wine and delicate bites, each movement precise, rehearsed. Citrus and champagne mixed with perfume and the faint metallic scent of jewelry warmed against skin. Voices overlapped in a dozen languages, weaving the hum of power: people who owned, influenced, laughed as though the world bent naturally to their will.

You disliked crowds. They slowed exits, amplified noise, and introduced too many variables. But you moved through them like water, back straight, shoulders slightly forward, posture focused-but-harmless. Your eyes tracked cameras, mobile guards, and the soft clink of weapons beneath suit jackets.

Your brain filed everything fast: two choke points to the main hall, emergency exit behind the bar, balcony access left of the quartet. Peña’s last position - three o’clock, near the host.

The music shifted, a livelier rhythm resonating off the vaulted ceiling. Laughter burst nearby, sharp and bright. You suppressed a grimace. Wealth tried to pass as warmth, but it made your skin itch.

Near a high marble column, you pretended to scroll your tablet, mapping the quickest path to regain a line on the host without crossing Javier Peña. He was laughing at something the host said.

Your jaw ticked and you inhaled slowly, reset your pace, and walked deeper into the golden-lit crowd, every step deliberate, already plotting how to neutralize the human roadblock named Jackal.

Javier’s eyes caught you the moment you entered. Something about the way you moved, the calm authority in your posture, screamed professional.

Darren’s intel had been good, as usual - but Javier still needed to reconcile what he was seeing with the stories he’d heard.

Nemesis. A ghost, a rumor with teeth. And here you were, threading through the crowd like you were a shadow.

What he saw did not match up with the picture he had made up in his mind. Taller, broader, more imposing - an intimidating presence to match your reputation. Instead, you were lean lines and sharp angles, every movement precise and near to invisible. Tactical elegance wrapped in subtlety, understated but impossible to ignore once you noticed.

Your clothes reinforced the illusion: dark tailored jacket cropped to your form, simple trousers cut for freedom of movement, low boots that wouldn’t betray you if you ran. A soft gray shirt peeked beneath the jacket, collar neat, buttons done to the top. No jewelry except a slim watch.

Your hair, dark as polished walnut, was pulled into a sleek, low knot at your nape. Yet… there was something more.

You moved with certainty. Not the casual flow of someone at ease in a party, not the stiff caution of someone blending in. This was different - predatory. You threaded between guests without brushing a shoulder or drawing a glance, each step smooth, as if gliding through invisible gaps in the crowd.

Your eyes swept the room then moved on.

A slow, crooked grin tugged at Javier’s lips. Professional, he thought. The kind who walked into a nest of vipers with nothing but precision and expected to walk out alive.

He lifted his glass, sipping smoothly, eyes following you as you paused near a security checkpoint. Pulling a small tablet from your jacket, you swiped across it as if you were staff, running silent diagnostics. Nobody questioned you. Nobody even looked twice.

Except him.

“Darren,” he murmured, masking his interest behind the glass. “You’re sure?”

“Absolutely,” Darren replied, voice edged with awe. “Congratulations, Peña. You’re looking at the reason half of Europe’s top hitters quit. That woman’s a ghost. Nobody sees her coming, nobody sees her leave.”

Javier’s grin widened. He watched you again.

“Well,” he whispered, “she’s adorable.”

“Javi -” Darren started, but it was too late.

Javier shifted into his easy, open rhythm, already testing how far he could push before you reacted.

He liked beautiful things.

Beautiful things with teeth? Those were his favorites.

You felt him before you saw him - like static in the air, a pressure along the edges of your awareness. Some people disappeared in a crowd. Others made themselves felt by force of personality. He was different. He didn’t push; he pulled. People glanced at him not because he demanded it, but because he moved as if it were inevitable.

Your jaw tightened even before his voice came in a low and warm tone, edged with amusement.

“You look a little out of place,” he teased, eyes glinting. “Rooftop’s more your style, isn’t it?”

You turned, gaze sharp as glass. Up close, Javier Peña was exactly as the whispers had promised: relaxed, maddeningly confident, warm-eyed but sharp. Dangerous, not with weapons, but with presence.

“Get out of my way,” you said, deadpan.

Both brows went up. His grin deepened, as if he was more amused rather than insulted. “I’m just saying… tactical chic?” His gaze slid down unapologetically to your jacket and boots, then back to your face. “Little hard to blend in at this kind of event.”

“Then stop staring.”

“Can’t help it. Big fan of your work.” He tilted the glass, eyes glinting over the rim. “Although tonight? Kinda sloppy so far.”

Your mouth tilted - a twitch of disdain, not a smile. “Funny, coming from someone who treats a contract like a cocktail party.”

He chuckled, leaning just enough to make it feel like conversation. “Some of us like to multitask.”

“Some of us like to finish the job,” you said, brushing past.

He pivoted with you, letting his presence stick like static cling.

“Hostile,” he murmured. “I like it. Your reputation doesn’t do you justice.”

You stopped, attention pricked - not by the compliment, but by the assessment. He knew you.

You turned just enough to meet his eyes. Flat and unimpressed you spat back the next words.

“You’re in my way, Jackal.”

And god, the way you said his alias - like you’d been waiting to use it - hit something primal. You’d done your homework.

“You know me.” His voice dropped with intrigue. “I’m flattered.”

“Don’t be.”

They held each other’s gaze, two professionals who measured and assessed too quickly to be fooled. He tilted his head catlike. “You’re prettier than I expected.”

You didn’t blink. “You’re louder than I expected.”

Your energy, wound tight like a blade balanced on its point, met his effortless charm. He laughed quietly, because you’d met him head-on without flinching.

You stepped past again, shoulder brushing air near him. “Enjoy the party,” you said, dry, final and without giving him another look.

“Oh, I intend to.” His grin never faltered as he watched your retreating form. Into his comm he murmured, “Yep. That’s Nemesis. And she hates me already.”

Next Chapter

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And with that: welcome to our new adventure! I can tell you, this is so much fun to write. If you couldn't tell up until now, I am a sssssuuuuucker for enemies to lovers and Sofia hates Javier with all her heart 🔪

I am looking forward to your thoughts and hope, this action packed romance thriller will keep you entertained. If you liked to be added to the taglist and not miss a new chapter every sunday let me know!

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Chapter Sixteen ⋆.˚ ☾⭒.˚ Two kinds of jealousy.

The next few days were absolutely consumed by anxiety. You thought about Jake constantly, about what you were doing to him, about Joel’s stupid assistant, about him, about finals. You drowned yourself in books and essays until you were almost surprised that your brain still had enough room left to worry about all of it at once.

In a strange way, the exams anxiety numbed the other stuff, pushed it into the background just enough to breathe. But every single time you walked past his office and spotted that idiot Meg standing there, the walls around you seemed to close in, and the air turned thick and hard to swallow.

One day you went to one of his conferences,  because of course you did — because apparently you had no dignity left whatsoever, and you saw her again. She hovered around him during the breaks, brought him things, smiled at him in that easy, familiar way that made your stomach turn.

You didn't understand why it bothered you so much. You never actually witnessed anything strange between them, nothing you could point to and call wrong. But he never let anything slide with her that could point they had something — the problem was, he didn't with you either, so maybe this was making everything worse.

You thought about what happened in the lab a lot. In the rare moments when your brain broke free from narrative schemes and metaphors, you sat with the memory and felt the full weight of it settle over you. How close everything was. How intimate. You replayed certain scenes over and over again, turning them slowly in your mind like something fragile you were afraid to drop.

Honestly, you never got the chance to talk to Joel. He seemed busier than usual, and maybe completely unbothered because you let him do whatever he wanted with your body, as sad as that was. Being with Jake started to feel suffocating. You slowly came to terms with something you had been avoiding for a while: if you didn't need Jake to make Joel jealous, you genuinely didn't want to be around him. Sometimes his presence even annoyed you, and that made you feel disgusting.

Jake was fine. He was a good guy, he treated you well, he showed up, he cared. You knew you should have ended things already, but every time a moment felt right, something got in the way and you let it pass. Just wait for finals to be over, you told yourself. But then the thought of spending the entire summer with him, with Addie and Eric watching, made your stomach drop. Addie had already invited him, and you couldn't exactly say no without it becoming a whole thing.

Maybe after vacation, then. You kept pushing the line forward. What a coward.

You felt disgusting. He was there, kind, gifting you things, being the sweetest version of himself, and you sat beside him and quietly calculated the cleanest way out. You're so stupid, you thought. And then, even worse, the ugly little fear that without Jake in the picture, Joel might lose interest entirely, that maybe the whole thing was just a game to him, something that kept him entertained, nothing more.

It was probably true and it was unfair, to you, and to Jake.

The days passed almost as if one was too similar to the others, until one day completely shattered you. You came to class early, as usual. Joel stood at the front, writing something on the board, his back to the door. You sat at your usual seat, dropped your bag and pulled out your books like everything was normal. Then Meg walked in.

She came in with that annoying energy she always had around him, half pretending she had a reason to be there. She stopped beside his desk and waited for him to turn around, which he did after a moment.

"Meg." Half a smile from Joel.

"Did you read the paper? I published it." She smiled up at him, close enough that she had to tilt her head slightly.

"This morning." He picked it up from the desk and turned a page. "I loved it. It was enlightening, honestly. I never thought of that interpretation before." He looked at her then, directly, and his tone wasn't cold at all. "You did a good job."

It was the praising that made your heart stop. Not the words themselves but the way he said them, warm, like he meant every single one of them. He was never that warm with you. Not even when you got the 90%. Not even when you were alone on his sofa and he had his fingers inside you and you thought that meant something.

"I'm so happy you liked it." Meg's smile widened. "I couldn't have done it without your help." She found an excuse to lean slightly over the desk, pointing at something on the page, and closed the distance between them by another inch.

Joel left the lab, that afternoon, feeling relieved, at least on the surface. There was a part of him, though, that felt completely frustrated and aroused, more than he wanted to admit. He tried not to think about it the entire way home, kept his eyes on the road and his mind deliberately blank, it worked, mostly.

When he got back his wife wasn't there. That irritated him for a reason he didn't look at too closely, and then he decided it was probably for the best. He took a cold shower, changed, and by the time he checked the clock it was close enough to dinner that cooking gave him something to do with his hands. She texted that she'd be home soon.

Cooking didn't help, though. Every movement he made felt slightly off, like his body was still somewhere else.

He kept coming back to you, to the way you felt against him, the sound of your breathing, your smell, the way you tasted. Stop it. It irritated him, genuinely. The rule, his rule, the one that had always worked these past few months spent with you, was that once he walked through that door everything else ceased to exist. Two separate things, two separate lives, clean and manageable. He had never had trouble with it before — since he let himself being caught in this vortex with you. Not like this.

He was still lost in his own head when he heard the front door open and click shut a few seconds later. The sound of heels on the floor. His wife's voice on a call probably. Joel set down what he was holding, poured himself a glass of wine and drank it faster than he should have, enough to quiet whatever was still moving around in his chest. Then he walked out toward the entrance.

She smiled at him when she saw him, still on the phone, shrugging off her coat. She raised one hand in a small wave, mouthed hi, and kept talking. He leaned against the doorframe and watched her for a moment and then, before she could move, he took her by the hips. She made a small surprised sound against the phone as he started kissing her neck, walking her gently back against the wall. Gently, because he couldn't do it any other way, not with her. Not the way he did with you.

Oh. You again.

Maybe it was the exhaustion, maybe the wine, either way it didn't stop him long enough to think too hard about the fact that while his hands moved to unzip the side of her dress, while he touched her skin, he was thinking about yours. It all happened spontaneously, without him giving his mind permission to do it.

At some point she hung up the phone. "Joel, what's gotten into you?" Her breath came out slightly uneven, caught somewhere between a laugh and a question. "I was on a call, are you out of your mind?"

"Yes," he murmured against her skin. He hadn't stopped kissing her. Instead he took her hand and pressed it against his warmth, an intentional distraction for her — but mostly for himself. 

"Let's move," she breathed against his jaw, the phone still in her hand. "Let me just put this down —" He took the phone from her hand and dropped it on the floor without looking at it.

She made a small surprised sound but he swallowed it, his mouth finding hers properly, kissing her with a heat he thought he'd misplaced somewhere, or buried, or simply forgotten he still had. His mind moved faster than he could follow.

Your lips kept surfacing in his imagination, and Joel found himself wondering what it would feel like to kiss you like this, how you would taste. Her dress slipped to the floor at that point. His hands moved over her skin and his mind gave him yours instead, the softness of it, the way you reacted to being touched, that shiver that came after every contact with his hands. His wife pressed closer, her fingers working on removing his shirt, completely unaware that the person in the room with her was only partially there.

She pulled back just enough to breathe. "Joel—" Her voice came out shaky, barely above a whisper. "I need you."

He kissed her again instead of answering, his hand moving to her breast. His mind gave him you immediately, the lingerie you wore at the hotel, the way it looked against your soft skin, how it took everything he had to keep his hands to himself that night. His wife made a soft sound against his lips as he touched her and he held onto it — used it — let it pull him further away from where he actually was.

He thought about how difficult it has been. Every time he was close enough to you, every occasion that presented itself, the effort it has cost him not to undress you completely or how hard it was that day, to not fuck you against the hotel mattress and just stop pretending that he didn't want to.

The restraint of it. How much of his energy had gone into maintaining that distance from you. He moved from her lips to her neck, leaving slower kisses there. He felt her breathing shift against him, grow heavier, and his mind gave him you again, how well he knew that response, how you fell apart when his mouth found that spot just below your ear, the small shiver that ran through you every time.

The sounds you made. The visible effort it cost you to keep your hands to yourself while he talked to you. When his hand slid down between his wife's thighs he was somewhere else entirely. His fingers moved on her clit and he felt like his hands were on your pussy again. His wife's breath broke against his shoulder and he just used it, let it layer over the memory of yours, how different you sounded, how fucking hot your moans were.

He usually made you stay quiet. Joel liked that dynamic, you trying to hold yourself together, him deciding how much he let you fall apart. But in the lab that afternoon he didn't care. He let you make whatever sound you needed to make, and the thought of anyone outside that door hearing you never crossed his mind once. Or — in a little corner of his brain — made him want people to hear how good he was making you feel.

"Joel." Her voice broke on his name. "Just — fuck me please."

She moaned quietly against his shoulder, her fingers pressing into his back where she held him.

Joel. He thought about how you never called him that, how you always kept that line intact, how you knew without being told. But he imagined it anyway, for just a second. Your voice. Joel, fuck me.

He moved his hands under her thighs, lifting her against the wall in one clean motion. She wrapped her arms around his neck immediately, found his mouth again, and he felt how much she wanted it, the kind of desire that didn't leave room for patience or preparation.

You were her by this point, he was totally, completely worked up on the idea you were kissing him with that heat, your hands around his neck while you were begging for him to fuck you. He kissed her back with the same heat as before, adjusted his cock against her, and pushed in slowly while she was still pressed between him and the wall. 

Her breath caught sharply against his lips as a low groan left him. He thought about it a lot, how  your pussy would feel around him, how tight you probably were. Joel was definitely inside you in that moment, at least in his mind. He moved slowly at first, giving her time to adjust, his hands firm under her thighs. But some part of his mind drifted to you, how you wouldn't have waited.

How desperate you got, how you’d take his cock without giving yourself a moment to get used to it, like patience was something you simply didn't have when it came to him. Like you needed it too much to be careful about it, he was sure about it. His wife pulled her lips away from his, her head falling back against the wall, a soft moan escaping her as she felt the fullness of him.

He increased the pace, hearing her moan louder. He would think about the sound you would make when you’d feel his cock inside of you, it would be more of a cry, he thought, you would beg for more, you probably were as starved as him.

Deep down, Joel probably knew that whatever he was doing was terribly wrong. But he couldn't stop. He felt too frustrated, too wound up, had felt that way since he walked out of the lab. He couldn't silence the logical part of himself, not while he had his wife pressed against the wall. He needed to release everything you had made him feel over these weeks.

The anger. The irritation. The slow, relentless build of it. It was enough for him to get faster, pushing his cock deeper, she cried out his name, her arms pulling him closer, her body trying to match his rhythm.

"Fuck—" The word broke out of her. "Don't stop."

Her hand reached for his hair as he hit the angle she loved, and he felt her fingers curl against his scalp. He knew that angle. He knew exactly what it did to her. But he wasn't there with her, it was entirely you. In his mind it was your hands in his hair, he felt it that afternoon, pulling harder than you ever did when he was between your thighs, desperate to push him closer to you. A low groan left him. He moved faster, his forehead dropping briefly against her shoulder, and she took it as encouragement, pulled his hair harder, matched his pace. 

"God" he breathed against her skin. Then, quieter, almost swallowed, "You are —"

She made a soft sound, took it as a compliment, pulled him closer.

The way you moaned when his mouth was on you. The way you tried to press your legs together against him. His control slipped entirely. His fingers pressed harder into her thighs, too hard maybe, the way he used to do with you. His wife made a sharp sound, somewhere between surprise and pleasure, her nails dragging down his back. He didn't soften his grip, he couldn't bring himself to do that. 

His rhythm slowed but didn't soften. He was close, he could feel it, and his thrusts became something else entirely, less about speed and more about depth, each one slow and almost brutal in its precision. Every push pressed her harder into the wall.

She stopped making coherent sounds altogether, her breath breaking apart on every thrust, his name leaving her lips in a way that was more cry than word.

He felt you. Your warmth, your body responding to him, the way your hips moved against his mouth like you were trying to get more of it. One small rational part of his brain was still there, though, that part that held the violence back. Not because he wanted to, but because he knew it wasn't you. The things he wanted to do in that moment, the roughness he felt building at the base of his spine, he kept it down, consciously, because she wasn't you. She wouldn’t know how to take it.

Yes, professor.

The memory of you crying those two words, his fingers inside you, your legs shaking, it pushed him over the edge. He finished with heavy, unsteady breathing, his forehead dropping somewhere against her skin. Then, slowly, his mind started coming back to him. The noise cleared. The rational part of him slowly returned, like a light turning back on in an empty room.

She looked at him with that warm, slightly surprised expression he knew well, smoothing down her hair. "You cooked dinner and this?" A small laugh. "Is it my birthday and I didn't know?"

Joel smiled, pressing a soft kiss to her cheek and then set her down carefully. "Get changed. Dinner's almost ready."

She disappeared down the hallway and Joel reached for his clothes, dressing up, then moved to the kitchen, pulled out two plates and started setting the table. The familiar sound of drawers opening, cutlery against wood. He felt relieved, more than he did when he left the lab.

The next few days kept Joel busy enough not to think. Finals were approaching and the administrative deadlines piled up faster than he could clear them, emails, forms, grading schedules, department meetings that could have been emails. The only time he carved out for himself was in the evenings, reading, something he never denied himself no matter how crowded everything else got. It was the one thing that reliably emptied his head.

He hadn't seen much of you. You showed up to his classes, sat where you always sat, and he found himself — maybe unconsciously — making a point of not letting his eyes settle on you for too long. But he noticed one thing, almost against his will: your boyfriend hadn't been around you much lately.

No waiting by the door after class, no hand on your back in the corridor. Just you, alone, moving through the building with an expression he learned you had when you were somewhere else in your head. It gave Joel a feeling he couldn't quite name. Relief, maybe. Or something closer to satisfaction — a quiet satisfaction that came from knowing he had pushed you away from him. That whatever had been between the two of you had left a mark worth leaving.

He thought about what you had said to him, about Meg. It amused him, if he was honest. Your jealousy, the way you couldn't stop yourself from asking about her, circling back to her name like it was something that burned. It was almost endearing to him.

The truth was he didn't think about Meg outside of work. She was good at her job, genuinely good, and he was sincere when he told her so. But it was also obvious, had been for a while, that her dedication wasn't purely professional. She found reasons to be near him at every opportunity, laughed too loudly at things he said that weren't particularly funny, had apparently read every book he'd ever written.

He let it go because she was the best assistant he'd been able to find, and that mattered more than the inconvenience. But if he was being honest with himself, she annoyed him sometimes. She was too obvious about it, too eager, too transparent. It wasn't really the first time that a student flirted so much with him, but Joel always found the way to keep a professional distance from them. With someone who had to be physically present as often as Meg did, it was a little harder to maintain. 

As the end of the semester drew closer, Meg got worse. More present, like she sensed the year closing and wanted to use whatever time was left to close the distance between them. It grated on him in a way he couldn't quite suppress.

He could read people well enough to know what she wanted. Part of it was the crush, that much was obvious. But there was something else underneath it, the desire to have something to show for it. Something to bring back to her friends, her colleagues, whoever she talked to about her life. He could practically see the calculation behind the eagerness: keep the job, get closer, see how far it goes.

Whether it was more about actually wanting him or about the story she could tell afterward, he genuinely wasn't sure. Either way, it was frivolous, and to him that was the least attractive thing a person could be. She was a good writer, though. He could admit that much without any reservations. Her mind worked in interesting ways when it came to the actual work, she asked the right questions, pushed her arguments further than most. That was the only reason he kept her close enough for real conversations. 

That day Joel was writing on the board when Meg came in, and he was genuinely glad to see her, glad to talk about the paper, which turned out well, better than he expected. He had enjoyed working on it with her, the academic part of it, the back and forth of ideas. That much was true.

The room was starting to fill up around them, students filtering in with their bags and their coffee, and Meg took the opportunity to close whatever distance she could, brushing his hand at some point, finding reasons to lean slightly toward him. He barely registered it. His mind was already elsewhere, already running through the last class of the semester, what he needed to cover, what he could afford to leave out before finals. He talked to her for the last five minutes before class started, then she left.

He turned to face the room and that was when he noticed it, the third row, where you always sat, was empty. He was so sure you were there. He could have sworn he'd seen you when he walked in, settled in your usual spot with your books. But the seat was empty. Has it been empty, the whole time? 

No. It was Meg, he thought. It had to be.

And then, almost without meaning to, he found himself sitting with a realization he didn’t expect: your jealousy and his were not the same thing. Not even close.

His, the slow burn of seeing you with your boyfriend, that petty irritation that settled somewhere behind his ribs, was something closer to anger. The desire to reclaim something, to reassert a space he hadn't explicitly claimed but apparently considered his.

It was possessive — Joel never really thought about it too much. But he knew how to carry it, that’s for sure. He knew how to stand in a room and let nothing show, how to file it away somewhere quiet and get on with things. How to forget about it, mostly, once it had served its purpose.

Yours was different. Joel understood that now, after the lab, before he’d seen what happened when you were pushed past a certain point. Your jealousy didn't stay contained. It moved through you like something visceral and unmanageable, something you couldn't reason your way out of or hide behind the right expression. It made you fragile and it was almost difficult to witness.

His jealousy made him move toward you, yours had made you leave the room, it made you drift away.

All of this would be over anyway — this was the last class, and you left.

author's note: Hope you liked it! Joel is the one obsessed now huh... love hearing your reaction guys i really appreciate every comment ❤️