a wanderer

To calm the buzzing in your chest, to hold you together, to make sure you reached that faraway place safely instead of getting lost in it.

And that someone was Joel. 

'Daddy' you called him sometimes, voice tiny and unsure, even though you weren't supposed to. Your glassy eyes always found him first. Your hands always fisted his shirt. Your thighs always around his waist while he rocked and rocked you to sleep. 

'Little babygirl' he'd answer, even though he wasn't supposed to. A stern face guiding you, big hands holding you and that strong frame of his making you feel safe as if it was his only mission in life. 

Tonight, Joel is deep asleep. Breathing slow, steady, calm. Exactly that quiet rhythm you know by heart.

And you're standing there in the doorway, small and overwhelmed, staring at the only place that had ever felt like shelter.

Little you is drifting. 

The edges of your vision are soft, your thoughts wrapped in that familiar, thick cotton of subspace. You don't want to think; you just want to be held.

Carefully, you peel back the heavy blanket and slide into the heat of his bed. You press your front against his back, your small frame curling into the curve of his body. You let out a tiny, broken whimper, the sound vibrating against his skin, and bury your face between his shoulder blades. 

Oh, how warm he is. 

And Joel stirs. 

A slow awakening—a gradual return to consciousness that starts with the feeling of something soft and trembling pressed against him. And even though he freezes just for a heartbeat, your daddy recognises you immediately. 

But he can't. He shouldn't turn around and wrap his arms around your little frame until all those bad thoughts drifted far away. He shouldn't. 

"No," he murmurs, his voice thick with sleep. He doesn't turn around yet, but his muscles tense. "No...we said we weren't doing this again. You can't just...you can't just slip in here, babygirl."

He tries to sound stern, tries to maintain the boundary you both agreed upon, but you only press closer. You cling to him, your fingers bunching the fabric of his shirt, a sob catching in your throat.

"You can't always just crawl into my bed," he says, voice firm. "I mean it."

He didn't mean it. 

He knows what this state of yours means.

He knows exactly where it's heading, knows exactly how it's gonna end. He knows so well.

"Go to your room," he says again, sharper this time. "You hear me? You can't be doin' this. We said we weren't…we weren't gonna let this happen again."

And oh how it stings your small, tender heart when Daddy's voice turns stern like that.

He exhales hard. "Sweetheart, don't make me say it again."

You can't help but let a hot tear escape, soaking into his shirt. The sound of your quiet weeping is the breaking point for him. 

Joel closes his eyes, a pained flicker crossing his face as his resolve finally cracks. He can't leave you drifting out there alone. Can't leave his little babygirl all by herself. 

With a heavy, quiet exhale, he shifts, rolling over and letting one steady arm find your waist, guiding you upwards and into the safe space of his lap—the place that's always only meant for you. 

He settles you there, your legs draped over his thighs, and begins to stroke your back in long, grounding sweeps. You immediately bury your face into the warmth of his neck. 

"You're slipping away, huh?" he asks softly, his voice losing its edge and turning into that nurturing, honeyed tone that always makes you feel safe. "All gone in the head? Just a little babygirl who can't handle the world today?"

You nod, nuzzling into his shirt, breathing him in, and a tiny whimper escapes you; a sound so small and pitiful it's barely a breath. Your hand fists in his shirt, and you mumble against his chest, your voice thick and slurry, like you're talking through a mouthful of cotton.

"Want your cock, Daddy."

He releases a breath, your words making his mind spin. His grip on your hip tightens, his fingers digging slightly into your soft flesh. You respond by grinding your aching center against his thigh, a soft, desperate moan escaping your lips.

"No, babygirl." His voice is soft, gentle but firm. "We've talked about this, didn't we?"

You feel the frown pull at your brow, and you lift your head, your eyes hazy and unfocused, struggling to find his face in the dim light. 

"But I need it," you whine, the sound dragging out. "Please, Daddy. Please. I need it so bad."

He cups your cheek, his thumb stroking over your cheekbone, his skin rough and warm. "Sweet girl. You're so far under I can see it in those pretty eyes. You ain't in a place to think straight right now."

"I can—" you start, but he shushes you with a soft click of his tongue.

"I know you think you can, honey. But I'm your Daddy, and it's my job to know what's best for you." 

Your mind drifts, foggy and unfocused, to all the times he told you he couldn't be your daddy—that you shouldn't call him by that name, that it wasn't right, that it wasn't allowed. But now…in this confused, hazy state, you don't question a single word he says. You just accept it, soft and small, because everything feels too far away to fight.

He adjusts you on his lap, and he feels it then: the wet heat of you against his thigh, the slick slide of your bare cunt leaving a glistening trail on his pants. 

You'd taken your panties off hours ago, wanting to feel the chill on your skin. And now his breath hitches, just a little, and his hand drifts down to rest on the curve of your hip.

You're leaking. 

You can feel it, a slow, steady drip that soaks into the fabric, and you squirm, rubbing yourself against him just a little, chasing that friction. 

He groans low in his throat. "None of that, babygirl."

"Just the tip, Daddy." The words tumble out in a rush, desperate and breathless. "Please. Just the tip. I'll be good. I promise I'll be so good."

He sighs, long and heavy, and you can see the war in his eyes—the stern, responsible daddy who wants to tuck you into bed and keep you safe, and the daddy who aches to give you exactly what you're begging for. 

"No, honey. We had just the tip last time, and you didn't behave." 

You remember. You remember the way you'd bucked against him, trying to take more, the way he'd had to pull out mid-thrust and hold you down until you calmed down. But this time it's different, you swear.This time you're so soft, so pliant, so utterly lost in the haze that you know you'd be good. 

You'd be so so good for him.

"I'll be good, Daddy. I swear on my heart. I'll be so still and quiet. I just need to feel you—just a little. Please, Daddy. Please, please, please." Your eyes find his, limpid and pleading, tears pricking at the corners. "I'm so empty. I feel so empty without you."

He stares at you for a long, long moment, his thumb still tracing lazy patterns on your hip. His gaze is tired, heavy, searching, and you hold your breath, your whole body trembling with the effort of staying still for him. 

"Alright," he murmurs, and the word is like a key turning in a lock. Your heart stutters. "Alright. But you gotta promise me, babygirl. You let Daddy control it. You let me take care of you."

"I promise, Daddy. I promise I'll be good. I'll be your good girl."

He shifts you off of his lap, laying you down gently on his bed, your head sinking into the blanket. 

The mattress then dips as he moves, positioning himself between your thighs, his weight settling over you. 

You look up at him, all hazy in adoration, and spread your legs wider in invitation.

"I ain't hard, baby. But it'll work." He mutters under his breath, more to himself than to you. "We can make it work. You're tight anyway...it'll fit right in. Just a little bit, honey. Just enough to make you feel better."

You watch as he takes his cock out of his pants. 

It's soft, just as he said it would be, but even like this it's thick enough to make your mouth water. His tip the size of a small lime, flushed in a reddish undertone, and wet at the slit. He wraps his fingers around himself, giving himself a few lazy strokes, and you squeeze your thighs together instinctively.

"Please, Daddy," you peep, voice small.

He chuckles again, warm and fond. "I know, honey. Just a little babygirl, huh? My sweet, sweet girl."

But then he shifts, reaching for the nightstand, and a tiny, needy whine crawls out of your throat before you can stop it, fingers curling into his shirt, tugging him back.

"Hey…hey…shh." His voice drops like warm honey, slow and soothing. "Daddy's here. Just needed my glasses to see your pussy better, hon. Nothin' happened. M'here."

You blink up at him, and he's sliding those wire-framed glasses onto his face, the moonlight catching the lenses for a moment. 

He looks down at you, and through the glass his eyes are even softer, even more focused on his babygirl. 

"Desperate baby," He hums almost to himself, as his fingers find your folds and part them gently. 

You gasps at the touch, the cool air on your slick skin, and he lets out a breathy chuckle.

"Oh, you've been real needy, hm?" He hums. "Pretty little pussy, all soft and swollen for Daddy. Yeah, honey?"

You nod frantically, a little moan escaping you. 

He strokes through your wetness then, gathering it on his fingertips, and brings his hand to his cock. 

With a gentle squeeze, he guides his cockhead to your entrance and presses slowly in.

Even that single inch is a stretch, a slow, burning fullness that makes your eyes roll back in your head. Your mouth falls open, a breathy "oh" escaping you, and you feel every ridge, every vein as he sinks just barely inside. He stops there, his hips flush against yours, and you can feel him pulsing, feel the slight give of his flesh inside you.

Your head falls back, whimpering, hips twitching, trying to take him in. But he pulls back, just a fraction. 

"What did we say, hon? Behave."

You pout, bottom lip jutting out, and a fresh tear slips down your cheek. But you still, your body trembling with the effort, wanting to be good for your daddy.

"That's my good girl." Joel rewards you with a slow, gentle press of his soft tip further into your hole. 

You cry out, a high, keening sound, and he hushes you, his voice a low purr.

"Ain't even need to be hard, honey. Look how pretty you take me. Just the tip, babygirl. Just a little taste. You feel that? You feel Daddy's cock in your sweet little pussy?"

"Mhm—" you nod, glassy eyes watching as he plays with your cunt.

While he looks down at your cunt, his reading glasses slip to the bridge of his nose, hanging there stubbornly. Your hand rises without thinking, pushing them back up with a small, clumsy touch.

"Thank you, honey," he says gently. "Barely here, and you're still takin' care of me." Joel shakes his head, fond and tired.

"Always daddy..."

He breathes out a soft laugh, and strokes your cheek with a slow, careful touch.

Oh, how Joel's heart ached. Even while you were far away, those tiny words slipping out of you like instinct. God, how he wished that he didn't care this much. 

"I don't wanna hurt my little girl. You're too far gone for your own little good. You tell me if it's too much, yea, honey?" He asks gently.

"Yes, yes daddy," you babble, your words running together.

Then he starts to move, the shallowest of thrusts, just the thick head of his cock pressing in and sliding out of you with a pop, each pass catching on your rim. It's a tease, a tantalizing brush with something more, and your hands fly up to grip his shoulders, your nails digging into his shirt. 

Joel watches intensely how his tip gets covered in your juices. Every slow thrust makes your cunt react: growing wetter and wetter, entrance clenching and gripping his head like it wants to suck him deeper. 

"Daddy..." The word is a whimper, stretched out into a plea.

"I know, babygirl. I know." His voice is ragged, strained. "Just let daddy feel you. You're so tight. So perfect. So warm and wet for me."

His eyes move from your face down to your arms, noticing the goosebumps racing across your skin.

He halts his movements, frown on his face, murmuring a small: "Cold, honey?" He doesn't wait for an answer before he pulls his thick blanket carefully over your legs and tummy, tucking the edges so the warmth traps against you.

The sudden cocoon of heat makes you melt under him. Your muscles loosen, your breath evens, and the fuzzy, floaty feeling you've been chasing settles deeper. Joel watches your face soften, watches your lashes flutter, and a small, fond smile tugs at his mouth.

Then he starts with his thrusts. 

He rocks, rocks and rocks into you, slow, agonising, sweet while staying true to his promise: just the tip. 

Each tiny thrust is measured, patient, meant only to keep you drifting. His free hand slips under the blanket to rest over your belly, thumb rubbing soothing circles while he keeps the rest of you covered and safe.

His hand then slides lower where your bodies meet. His thumb finds your clit, circling that swollen nub with firm, steady pressure that matches the pace of his shallow thrusts. The dual sensation makes your breath hitch, your hips twitching towards him.

"Oh, my sweet babygirl," he whispers. "You're so close, aren't you." 

And you were. So so close.

His thumb presses harder, rubbing tight circles while his cockhead continues its lazy, teasing slide. You hiccup, the praise hitting you like a spark, heat flooding through your core as your muscles clench around him. 

Your orgasm builds fast, faster than you can realise—cresting without any warning. Your thighs tremble on either side of his hips, your back arching off of the bed as pleasure crashes over you. Soft, whiney whimpers spill from your lips: "daddydaddydaddy," while your walls pulse and squeeze around the tip still nestled just inside you.

"That's it. There you go, honey," Joel murmurs, his voice steady and encouraging. His thumb doesn't stop its relentless rubbing, drawing out every wave. "Squeeze it...yes, juuust like that. You're milking me without even having me inside. Such a good, needy little girl."

Your body responds to every word, clenching tighter around his head as the aftershocks ripple through you.

Joel keeps the slow, shallow movements going, letting you ride it out while his thumb gentles on your oversensitive clit. The warmth of his body surrounds you, his free hand stroking your hip in soothing circles as your breathing slowly evens out.

But then his hips start to tremble too, you can see the muscles in his forearms cord as he holds himself back, his knuckles white where they grip the bed on either side of your head. 

Your sweet daddy was getting hard...and he was trying his oh so best to not fill you up in one, quick thrust. 

With his now hard tip pressed inside you, his thumb leaves your clit to hold into your hips. 

Joel groans low, his eyebrows furrowing together. 

The head of his cock feels hotter now, thicker, the veins along his shaft pulsing against your entrance as he gradually swells inside the tight ring of muscle.

You feel the change immediately—his tip stretching you wider, the pressure building deeper even though he still refuses to push past that first inch. 

A soft whimper slips out before you can stop it.

"Daddy...I'm gonna...again...I can't...please... please just fill me..."

Joel shakes his head gently, his free hand stroking your thigh in soothing circles.

"No, no. You stay right there," he murmurs, voice warm and steady. "Just feel it, babygirl. Feel how big Daddy's getting for you." 

His cock throbs harder inside your entrance, the flared head catching on every flutter of your walls as he rocks forwards again, teasing without giving you more.

Your impatience grows fast. 

Your legs kick lightly against the mattress, your hips rolling up to chase more of him, desperate to pull him deeper. 

Joel clicks his tongue softly and pulls out completely, his wet cock slapping against your mound. 

"Hey. Hey. Oh, honey. It's okay," he soothes, gathering you up into his arms before you can protest. "Didn't you promise me you'd behave tonight, hm?" 

He shifts back against the headboard and settles you into his lap, your thighs straddling his hips, your face pressed to his chest. 

"M'sorry, daddy...i'm tryin' but I need you..." you mumble into his chest, tears already falling from your eyes. 

"Shhh, easy now, it's okey." he whispers against your hair, one big hand rubbing slow circles on your back while the other reaches down to grip his cock again. 

He lines himself up beneath you and then—oh. 

He starts to lower you, inch by careful inch. 

The thick head parts your folds once more, but this time he sinks deeper, stretching your walls open around his full length. 

"There you go...easy." he whispers into your ear while he moves so so agonisingly slow that you feel every ridge, every pulse, every vein dragging along your sensitive insides until he's buried to the hilt inside you.

"Too much, daddy..." The words comes out muffled against his shirt as you bury your face further in his chest, overwhelmed by how completely he fills you. Your body trembles around him, adjusting to the deep stretch, your arms wrapping tight around his torso.

"I know, babygirl...I know. Big stretch." He murmurs into your hair. 

He holds you close, rocking his hips in tiny, shallow movements that keep him seated deep without thrusting hard. 

"Bet that feels real good now in your pussy, hm? All deep inside now." He murmurs. 

Your face comes up from his chest to look at him, cheeks flushed, mouth gaping open. A soft "mhm,"comes from your lips before your face goes into his chest again. 

With every gentle thrust your whimpers—those tiny, little broken sounds—grow louder and louder the longer he keeps that steady pace. 

Joel watches your face the whole time, eyes soft with that sweet mix of concern and affection. When another shaky whine slips out of you, he slows even more, one hand leaving your hip to brush your cheek.

"Open your mouth, babygirl," he murmurs. His fingers trace your lower lip, then nudge gently between your teeth. "Mhm. Open, there you go, that's it. Daddy knows what you need, honey." 

He slides two thick fingers past your lips, letting them rest on your tongue while his hips start to rock up into you in those same tender thrusts. 

The weight of his cock fills you completely with every slow push, and the fingers in your mouth give you something to suckle on, something to ground you while little you floats away. 

"That's my good girl," he whispers, eyes never leaving yours. "Just like that. Keep sucking on Daddy's fingers while he takes care of this pretty cunt." 

His thrusts stay soft and steady, the wet sound of your bodies meeting barely louder than your muffled whimpers around his fingers. 

Joel chuckles when he feels you biting down his fingers, kissing the top of your head. His hand strokes slow circles over your lower back, steadying you.

"So full of Daddy's cock. You want Daddy to cum in you, baby?" 

You nod hazily around his fingers, your walls fluttering around him. 

But Joel shakes his head with a soft, teasing pout. "We ain't using any protection, bug." His hand slides down to grip your hip, guiding your movements gently as he continues those slow, shallow rocks. 

Your mouth leaves his fingers and you pout too, all soft, all floaty, mumbling, "M'gonna cum, Daddy."

"Yeah, baby? You're gonna cum?" His voice stays gentle even as his hips pick up the pace just a little, small thrusts turning quicker.

Your whimpers grow louder, turning into broken little whines as pleasure coils tight in your belly. 

"C'mon then, show your Daddy how good you can cum, bun," Joel sweetly encourages, thrusting steadily until your walls clamp down around him again, creaming and pulsing along his length. 

Your soft moans and cries stay muffled against his chest, your body shaking in his arms as the pleasure rolls through you in long, sweet waves.

Each squeeze sending warmth around his cock, each clench sucking him deeper and milking him until Joel couldn't take it anymore. 

He pulls out quickly once you're spent, stroking himself fast until hot ropes and ropes of cum paint across your tummy and thighs. You look down hazily, still overstimulated from your orgasm, wrapped up in a blanket of clouds. 

He keeps you tucked against him, one hand stroking your hair while the other rubs slow circles on your back. You're already soft and heavy in his arms, eyes fluttering closed as sleep pulls at you. 

"You did so well, babygirl." Joel presses a kiss to the top of your head, holding you close. "All worn out now, aren't you, honey?"

The last thing you hear is his voice, low and sweet, humming a lullaby you don't recognize, and the steady, strong beat of his heart beneath your ear.

Tomorrow will come with its own heaviness.

You both know that. The guilt will settle in quietly, embarrassment will whisper untrue thoughts, and neither of you will quite know what to do with it. You'll avoid each other's eyes, speak in short, careful sentences, pretend the night didn't happen the way it did.

But that's tomorrow.

Right now, wrapped in his arms, the world feels small and warm and so so gentle. Right now, his heartbeat is steady under your cheek, and your breathing finally matches his.

For this one quiet moment, you let yourself rest.

And your daddy, with his old, tired ache in his chest, lets himself hold you just a little closer, wishing he could have this forever. 

Phewwwww. I don't really know if i like this or not my brain is such a mush bc of this heat and stress so excuse my lack of proofreading!

author's note: read the tags before starting this fic! I will put specific tags each time i upload. Also keep in mind this fic will be very very smutty I went crazy while writing it. I have like 28 chapters ready and I'm gonna post here on tumblr too. it will take time though. this is the first time i use tumblr sooo I'm sorry if something is weird!!

Chapter One. ⋆.˚ ☾⭒.˚ Your new professor.

The subway was packed, noise coming from every side, conversations bleeding into each other, the low hum of the train underneath it all. It was a busy morning, you’d grabbed a coffee on the way to not risk being late to your first lecture of the day.

It was your second semester in college, which meant you’d finally settled in, you knew the place and the people, you even made friends. The first courses hadn’t done much for you, the usual introductory stuff felt more like obligation than education you actually enjoyed. Now that the new semester started it looked like they would be different, or more interesting at least. The thought of finally sitting in something that actually interested you was enough to make the day ahead feel lighter. 

You got on as the train arrived, every seat was taken, so you just found a spot to stand up and hold on, sipping on your coffee before it went cold, running in your mind through everything you needed to do after the class. You needed to go to the library and borrow some new books, hoping the professor had chosen something worth reading and not the usual boring slop they tended to hand students like it was a punishment.

You zoned out somewhere between one stop and the next, thoughts drifting. Everything was noisy, but noisy places can be quiet in their own way, and that gives room for your brain to go somewhere else entirely. Then the subway screeched to a sudden halt, throwing the passengers into each other, and it happened. You lost grip on your cup and the coffee spilled onto the man’s book and shirt that was sitting before you. You were so shocked your hand flew to your mouth.

“Fuck!”, the man cursed, glancing up at you instinctively.

“I’m so sorry” you blurted out, feeling your face go red. You were so flustered you just leaned over him, plucking the cup and lid from his lap. “I’m really sorry someone pushed me…” 

“It’s alright” he muttered, looking at you, his voice already less angry, like he’d realized it was just an accident.

“I can pay you back for your book”,you were still babbling, as you fumbled for tissues, and before he could say anything you were frantically wiping at his shirt, like you’d completely forgotten that touching a stranger like that was not something you just do like this.

Personal space was a concept you'd never encountered, he must’ve thought.

“Hey.” He caught your wrist to stop you. “I said it’s alright, I just cursed because it was sudden.” He looked at you.

You realized you hadn’t even looked at his face while all of this was happening. Wow. Your face was now red for two reasons, the embarrassment, and the fact that the man in front of you was probably the most handsome man you’d ever seen.

You would rather die than keep talking. Maybe what you needed right now was a natural disaster. Yes, something that would erase the last three minutes entirely. You just wished the ground would swallow you whole.

His eyes were brown, that kind of brown that makes you feel welcomed, hugged. His voice was low and warm. His grey hair looked so soft. You glanced at his hand still on your wrist. 

Fuck, what is your problem?

“Are you okay?” He said, with a gentle but confused expression, pulling you out of whatever that was.

“Yes. I’m sorry” You whispered, yielding to his grip for just a moment before slowly pulling yourself up. The subway had started moving again. You just hoped your stop would come as fast as possible to free yourself from this situation. 

“Well, the damage is done isn’t it? But it was not your fault. ” He smiled a little, dabbing at the pages of his book. “Don’t be embarrassed,” he laughed softly. “Think of it as a literature or movie cliché. It’ll make you feel better”

You looked at him and smiled a little. He was hot as fuck. If this was a movie cliché he better be in your bed soon because what the hell. The fuck are you thinking? He looked old, like - twice your age maybe. But his voice was making you weak, you could tell he was from the south.

“What’s your stop? Please, let me go to a bookstore and buy you a new copy. Whichever you prefer. I feel so bad.” Where the hell did this confidence come from? You were just blubbering a minute ago. 

“It’s the next one actually.” He stood up, making you instinctively step back, watching him sling his satchel over his shoulder. “You don’t need to do that. It’s all fine.” 

You tilted your head up to look at him. He was tall. Broad. Fuck. 

“I need to pass”, he said, and laughed. 

“Oh, uhm.” You stepped back to give him space, only then realizing it was your stop too. “It’s my stop too anyway” You said, looking at him.

“What a strange coincidence” He smiled, as you both moved towards the exit. When the doors opened you both got off the subway. “It was a pleasure, I need to go or I’ll be late to work” He said politely. 

“Yeah, pleasure for me too. Have a nice day.” You raised your voice slightly because of the noise around you.

He turned and walked fast towards the exit. You felt like you couldn’t move; like you were struck by lightning, and just stood there watching him go, something strange settling in your stomach. A mix of anxiety and excitement wound together. You’d probably never see him again, you thought.

You then decided to finally move and go throw away the cup of coffee, turning the whole thing over in your head. You sighed. When you emerged from the station the sun hit your face and it felt almost shocking, like waking up from a dream. That was exactly it. Now back to reality.

The moment you arrive at college you start searching for the classroom, finding your place to sit. None of your friends picked this course and that made you a little sad, your friend would’ve loved your stupid little encounter at the subway. You checked your phone while waiting for the professor to come in. 

The chattering in the room quietly stopped as the door opened. 

What the actual fuck. 

“‘Morning everyone, sorry for being late, had a little incident while coming” he put his satchel on his desk. “I’m Joel Miller” he said, “I will be your comparative literature professor this semester.”

You looked at him as if you’d seen a ghost, you wanted to die. You hoped he wouldn’t recognize you between all the students, then maybe, one day, he’d forget your face.

“I need your e-mails later, so I can send you the course syllabus.” He started explaining about how he’d be teaching the course, but you really couldn’t pay attention. When the embarrassment faded, your eyes started wandering…over his shoulders, his hands, the way he moved. He changed his shirt.

Did he keep a spare in his office? The thought arrived without warning. Him unbuttoning his shirt, his hands on the buttons, his bare chest, the pace. He seemed like that kind of man, calm, insanely calm, the type that takes his time with everything he does. His voice echoed through the room but you caught none of the words.

“Well, I wanted to read you some passages about this chapter of the book but I got coffee spilled over and now I can't really read anything.” he muttered, searching for some readable pages. “This might do.” He put on his glasses and starts reading a paragraph. 

You actually started listening, unable to stop looking at his face. Why was everything he did so attractive? The way he put on his glasses, the way he stormed through the pages, the way he talked to himself while deciding what to do next.

“I think this is a good starting point.” He looked out at the room. “See, I wanted to read you this part to let you get used to his writing. This book can be disorienting at first.” He continued, looking out the window now. “The protagonist wakes up one day and he’s under arrest. No explanation or crime he could name. Men stormed into his home, his apartment, and a process has already begun…” He talked slowly, not in a way that would make you annoyed and impatient, but in a way that would make you wonder what his next words might be.

He was genuinely good at making you care about whatever he was saying.

Throughout the lecture the room was quiet. You could barely hear anything but his voice, low and steady, filling every corner. It felt like everyone slipped into a kind of trance, you'd never seen anything like it. Usually people did anything but listen to the professor, aside from maybe two or three people. But he was different. He made it sound interesting, and that made him interesting to your eyes. 

“...so Kafka has an interesting way to tell us this story. The protagonist finds himself in a confusing position, he doesn’t really know what to do, he’s already in the middle of it before it even had a starting point. The author has this mesmerizing way to put it into words, some processes - and remember this word as it can have a double meaning - once started, you don’t get to decide when they end.” He said, almost talking to himself. “Read the trial parts again for the next time. Try to analyze the parts where K. almost understands what’s happening to him. ” He set the book down. “Kafka never lets him get there. Ask yourself why.”

He glanced at the clock on his wrist, then, for just a moment, his eyes stopped somewhere in the middle rows and you felt your cheeks burning. Did he look at you? No, it was just for a second, that’s not possible. He then moved on, “That’s all for today.” He said, taking off his glasses as he began gathering his things.

You stood up, unsure of what to do, too full of conflicting emotions to think straight. You couldn't bear the thought of him recognizing you in the crowd of students filing out, so you tried to pack your bag as fast as possible. More than half the room had already emptied when you reached the door. Then you heard his voice.

“What a strange coincidence. Again...”

You had your back turned on him but you knew he was talking to you. It felt like your back was burning under his stare. Now you had to talk to him. You turned, laughing a little. “Haha, yes. Again. I’m really sorry about what happened this morning.” 

“Mh.” He looked at you in a way that felt like he was studying you and that made you go crazy for a moment. 

Not only you liked him so much you couldn’t bear to talk to him without your stomach turning inside out, on top of that you felt mortified at your thoughts from moments before.The way he looked at you made you feel like he could read every single one of them

“See you next time.” He said, both his responses a little distant. It was strange, the way he he shifted from that morning. He was gentle, he smiled, his voice was soft. 

Why is he so cold now? Maybe because you’re his student and he knows it now, idiot. 

"Yes, see you next week, professor Miller." You turned and walked out, leaving behind that room that had felt like it was slowly running out of air for that one endless minute you'd spent talking to him. You rushed out of the building and stopped only when you felt far enough away. The cold air hit you all at once, you needed that.

You'd never felt that way before, and it unsettled you. You kept thinking about how distant he'd been when he spoke to you. Why did that make you sad? You didn't even know this man. And he was your professor, you'd never had a problem with professional distance before. Whatever was happening inside your mind and your body, you didn't like it, at all.

How were you supposed to survive a whole semester like this? Twice a week. For six months.

The questions kept coming until you were too exhausted to do anything with them. You had other classes that afternoon, you knew you did, but you couldn't make yourself go. You just sat there, your mind too full of him to be useful for anything else. The library could wait. Everything could wait. Right now all you wanted was to lie down in your room and let the ceiling stare back at you. When you finally felt something close to calm, you got up from the bench and took the subway home.

Once you arrived, you were relieved to find none of your roommates were home. You really didn't feel like talking to anyone. Today had been draining in a way you hadn't experienced in a long time, that many emotions in that short span of time.

As soon as you slipped into bed, he came back. Not all at once, it was the details, the ones your brain hadn't had time to process while you were actually near him. The things you'd half-noticed and filed away without meaning to, were finally still.

The memory of his scent came back at you again, it wasn’t overwhelming, something woody and warm, you had to be close to notice. His hand around your wrist, the warmth of his grip. His mouth. You'd been so close to it earlier, you noticed how soft it looked, how kissable. The way he had looked up at you. Fuck.

You remembered the way he would lick his lips when taking a break from talking. You were so close to him you could feel his presence there now in this moment, so much that desire settled low in your stomach. The need to touch yourself felt stronger with each thought that was passing through your mind and before you could even realize it you’d let your hand slide down, following the warmth that settled there.

You thought of his voice first, it was low, calm, it filled the room without trying. You imagined his voice close, quieter, just for you. His hand around your wrist again, but this time not to stop you but to guide you. He would know exactly what you needed before you did. Your hips moved against your own hand, you already stopped thinking about whether or not you should think about him that way. It didn’t matter anymore.

Your breath came faster while you were gripping the sheet with your free hand, and you let yourself imagine that your hands were his, the warmth was his. You were something he had decided to take apart slowly, carefully and completely. That thought alone made you come, forcing you to press your face into the pillow, muffling something while trying to catch your breath.

And you stayed like that for a while, breathing into the cotton of your pillow until your heartbeat settled. Everything felt far away now, and that's exactly what you needed. You felt emptied in the best way possible, sleep catching up to you quietly.

Somewhere across the city he was probably reading, or sleeping, or doing something completely ordinary, totally unaware that you just used the thought of his voice and his body like that.

The thought almost mortified you. Almost.

What did he say that morning? Some processes, once started, you don’t get to decide when they end. Well, he was probably right. 

“Close them!” You shouted, still trying to hide your head from him by keeping it tucked between your knees.

With a reluctant sigh, Joel closed his eyes, the lines around them drawing tight. He’d been with you long enough to have a relative idea of what this was about. It was one of two things—your makeup wasn’t finished or you were going through another hair war.

And by the way you flipped it over to hide it, he had a good feeling it was the latter.

Joel knew his girl better than he knew himself and he was very proud of that fact.

You sat up just a little bit, glancing over at him to see one of his big hands covering his eyes. For a moment you waited to see if he’d lift one of his fingers, nothing but Lana Del Rey’s voice occupying the air between you two in her high, breathy tone.

“Sweetheart, you’re awfully quiet.”

You tilted your head slightly. “Are you gonna peek?”

His lips twitched in a suppressed grin. “I will if ya take any longer.”

A huff escaped your glossy lips as you turned back to look in the vanity mirror. Reflecting back at you was your face—glassy with skin care, a frustrated furrow between your brows—and the unruly mass of your curls. They were still damp from your shower, cool against your lotioned skin. For the last ten minutes you’d been trying to twist them around your finger, working styling product through it, scrunching it with a towel then your hands.

But the more it dried, the more you grew frustrated.

While the curls were there, they were frizzy. They were more defined on top, more wavy underneath. No matter what you did, the strands just wouldn’t turn into ringlets like the top portion would.

You felt stuck.

“Fine,” you sighed, resting your elbows on the white painted wood and covering your face with your hands. “You can look.”

Joel let his hand drop, eyes opening as he found you still sitting at the vanity he built you. He’d done it from scratch—had measured out the proportions of each wood panel, cut it, sanded it, made sure each drawer was deep enough for all the makeup and skincare he bought you. The large oval mirror had a white rim, attached to the table part. It was his most beloved piece he’d ever done.

Mostly because it had brought you so much joy.

But now, you looked like you were seconds away from crying.

His wide gait brought him over to you until he was standing behind you, looking at both of your reflections in the mirror. He looked out of place in his flannel and worn jeans compared to the softness of your nightie. While sometimes it scared him, he didn’t want it any other way.

He tilted his head down so that he was staring at the top of your head.

“What’s wrong, sweet girl?” He asked lowly in his rough timbre as his hands landed on your shoulders.

You dramatically dropped your hands to your lap, eyeing him through the glass. “Everything.”

He raised his brows. “Everything, huh?”

“Yes!” You exclaimed, exasperated. “Look at my hair, Joel! It’s not cooperating and I keep trying to work with it like you’re supposed to but it’s working against me!”

Instead of laughing, Joel moved his gaze to your curls. To him, they looked beautiful. Some ringlets were more defined than others, some strands holding a loose curl instead. He was obsessed with your hair. He loved playing with it, pulling at a strand just to watch it spring back.

Every time this happened, it hurt him a little bit. There was nothing he hated more than listening to you talk bad about yourself.

He spotted the beige bottle on the vanity. “You try that new product?”

“Yes,” you huffed, knocking the bottle over like it personally wronged you. “It did nothing but make it crunchy. The lady said that wouldn’t happen.”

“Can I feel it?”

You slumped back against him, a pout forming on your lips. “I don’t even care anymore.”

Knowing you were frustrated and annoyed, he didn’t get mad at your tone. This wasn’t the first time he’d seen you get discouraged over your curl pattern. You’d spent a lot of money on trying to find the right products and every time, they failed you.

Carefully, he pressed a curl between his fingers. It wasn’t soft like he was expecting.

It was, well… crunchy.

Since being with you, he had been taught many things about your hair type. Things like you didn’t brush it unless wet, don’t fight the curls, don’t touch it while drying. He’d quickly learned that last one in one of the first few weeks of dating you with how you had slapped his hand away.

While Joel had never really cared about his own appearance, he respected that you cared about yours.

And if it was causing you this much trouble, he would do anything he could to help.

Your bottom lip began to tremble and your eyes got glassy with the beginnings of tears. Not because you were sad. You were upset. For as long as you could remember, crying because you were frustrated had always been a part of you.

You didn’t want to and it just made you even more upset but you couldn’t help it.

It made his heart squeeze tight.

“Hey,” he said gently, carefully turning you on the bench so you’d stop staring at your hair. His joints popped and cracked as he crouched down in front of you, bringing a soothing hand to your cheek.

You sniffled, picking at a loose lace thread on the hem of your nightie.

“Hate seein’ my girl so upset over this,” he said gently. Not accusingly, just factual. “But we’ll fix it, okay? We’ll find somethin’ that works even if we have to go through a million bottles to get there.”

You shook your head slightly. “You’ve already spent so much money on that. It’s not fair. It’s not even for you.”

Joel cupped your face, making you look at the unwavering certainty in his eyes. “None’a that talk. I’m gonna spend my money on you and you’re gonna let me.”

Before you could argue, he stood back up and kissed your forehead. “For tonight I’ll help ya braid it. Will that make ya feel a bit better?”

Surprisingly, his offer actually did make you feel better. He wasn’t the best at braiding hair even though he’d braided his daughter’s all the time when she was younger. But it was the effort that he put into it that made up for it.

You gave a nod, wiping at your tears.

He pressed another kiss on the crown of your head. “Okay. Good. We’ll find somethin’, baby, I promise.”

On the weekend, Joel took you to Ulta. You held his hand the entire time, thinking about how grateful you were to have a boyfriend who cared this much about your satisfaction with your hair.

Even though, deep down, you knew it wasn’t just about your hair. He was doing this because he cared about your happiness.

There was nothing he wouldn’t do to make sure his girl was happy.

After talking with an associate and finding what was hopefully the right product, you went back home to try it out.

Joel was sitting on the bed when you got out of the shower, steam curling from the bathroom behind you. His full undivided attention turned to you, leaning forward on his elbows.

Soft music played from your phone as you lathered your body in lotion and dressed in a light pink nightie.

He was in awe. You, all soft looking and adorable, standing in your shared bedroom was a sight that made Joel feel like he was in a dream. One of dainty feminine touches that smelled of vanilla and sweet perfume decorated with soft pinks, lace, and bows.

One he hoped he’d never wake from.

After you sat at the vanity and rubbed moisturizer into your face, you grabbed the dusty rose colored bottle—the new curl product.

With a tired sigh and no expectations, you began to apply it to the wet curls.

Joel watched intently, almost like he half expected them to just bounce into place. But he knew that no matter the outcome, he’d still find you and your stubborn curls the most beautiful thing he’d ever laid eyes on.

When you were finished and reached for your lip moisturizer, he finally spoke.

“Well… did it work?”

You glanced over at him, coating your lips in a layer of gloss. His interest in this made your heart warm. He cared so much about you and it was obvious in every little thing he did to make sure you were loved and cared for.

It made you break out into a smile.

“It has to dry first,” you replied, standing up and going over to him.

Joel’s legs instinctively parted for you to stand between, his hands automatically finding your waist. You tilted your head down, his tipping up.

He gave a gentle squeeze. “Remember, if it doesn’t work—”

“We can always try another one,” you finished for him, brushing your fingers through his salt and pepper hair.

Some of the tension melted instantly from his shoulders at your soft touch. “I just hate seein’ you so sad. Your hair could be a tangled mess and I’d still think you’re gorgeous.”

Despite the absurdity of his words, you smiled anyway, heat rising to your cheeks. “Yeah, right. As if I’d ever let you see me like that.”

Joel just shook his head, pulling you into his lap so abruptly it made a yelp escape your mouth.

He nuzzled his face in your neck, careful to not touch your drying curls. “You’re a pain in my ass, baby girl.”

You laughed softly, holding the back of his head. “You love me.”

“Yeah. I really do.” He mumbled, pressing a soft kiss against your throat. “Got me wrapped ‘round your little finger, baby.”

The two of you settled in, deciding on one of Joel’s old western movies to watch while you waited for your hair to dry.

And once it did, you finally felt satisfied.

You stared in the mirror, gently touching your curls as they lay in pretty ringlets over your shoulders. They were still a little frizzy but the definition was definitely there now.

Joel instantly saw the sparkle in your eye. The way you finally seemed pleased with the result.

And in his book, he’d succeeded.

At the store, he’d drilled it into the associates head of exactly what you were looking for.

Your happiness always came before his and he’d spend thousands just to see a smile on those pretty lips of yours.

You practically jumped on top of him, making him groan before you started to attack his face in kisses. Joel barely had time to react, his hands flying to your hips to steady you.

“Thank you thank you thank you,” you repeated between kisses before sealing it with a real kiss on his lips.

Joel instantly sighed into your mouth, one hand moving to cradle your jaw. He kissed you for a long moment before pulling back.

His thumb swept over your cheek. “For what, pretty girl?”

“For being so patient with me. For spending all that money on products that failed,” you listed, running your eyes all over his weathered face.

“Don’t gotta thank me.” Joel leaned forward to press a kiss on your nose. “Anything to see you smile.”

His hand slid into your curls, careful not to disturb them. They were soft, incredibly pretty and delicate. You were so precious to him, every inch of you.

“They look beautiful, sweetheart,” he said in a lower tone—his most sincere one and usually reserved only for you.

Your stomach fluttered with butterflies and you smiled, unable to resist kissing him again. “Thank you, Joel. Really. I love you so much.”

The rarest of smiles made his lips curve up, brushing a curl out of your face. “I love you more, sweet girl.”

Your mind hadn't stopped circling those words for the past week—a constant, agonising reminder that echoed in your mind, your belly, your cunt, and even deep in your thighs.

The desire was as stubborn as the man himself; it refused to leave you. But then again...maybe you didn't want it to leave.

"Hell, you should bring her over to Uncle Joel sometime. I'll give her somethin' that satisfies her proper."

You could still remember standing there, just inside the screen door, heart hammering against your ribs and thighs pressing tight together as every filthy word Joel uttered sank straight between your legs.

The heat had pooled low in your gut, your cunt throbbing with every perverted suggestion Joel tossed out oh so casually—completely ignoring the fact that your boyfriend, Tommy, had simply asked him for tips on how to handle your high libido.

You couldn't even bring yourself to care once Joel started talking.

It started with, "Jesus, Tommy. You complainin' about good pussy?" before spiraling into explicit instructions on how to break a woman. "Well, sounds to me like you got yourself a girl who knows what she wants. Ain't nothin' wrong with that. You gotta treat that pretty little thing right, boy. Show her who's in charge. You gotta work that pussy like it's the last one on earth. Fingers, tongue, cock—whatever it takes. And when she starts shakin', don't stop. Push her right over the edge till she's squirting all over your hand, your face, your sheets. That'll settle her down proper."

Heck, you knew he was a pervert.

It was no secret. Even Tommy called him an old, perverted bastard.

But that didn't change the fact that he was older, bolder, and possessed large, rough hands that gestured emphatically as he spoke. Those were the same hands you'd watched grip tools and beer bottles—and the same hands that had, once or twice, brushed against your waist a little too long.

His eyes always lingered on your tits and your ass, looking at you as if he was already imagining exactly what he'd do to you if his pissy little brother didn't exist.

Since that night on the porch, your hand hadn't stopped wandering down to your cunt. Your fingers wouldn't stop rubbing that twitching nub until you came all over yourself, shivering with the forbidden thoughts of your boyfriend's brother—or as you desperately wanted to call him:

Uncle Joel.

And now, three days later, you stand at his door, pie in your hands warm, the heat seeping through the dish into your palms, grounding you, reminding you why you're here—you baked it, you told yourself, because you're a good neighbor, a good sister-in-law, because it's what a good woman does, brings pie to her man's brother, a gesture of kindness, of family, of nothing more than that.

But that lie tasted like bitter ash on your tongue, so you swallow it down, and you knock...

When the door opens, the world already narrows to the shape of him. Big. Board. Frame like a wall of stone, chest rising and falling beneath that old flannel shirt, the buttons straining across his big belly and smelling like musk or something unwashed in the best way. 

It makes your nostrils flare and your thighs press together of their own accord, a slow, wet shift of muscle and fabric that you can't control, that you don't want to actually control.

A slow, crooked smile spreads across his lips.

"Well, well, well," he says, and his voice is exactly as you remember it from that night on the porch, from the endless, aching hours when you pressed your fingers into yourself and imagined this moment, this exact moment, here, now, with him looking at you like you're something to eat, something to savor, something to devour slowly, filthy, until there's nothing left but the memory of pleasure. "Look what the cat dragged in."

He leans against the door, arms crossing over his broad chest, letting his gaze wander down your body and back up again, taking his sweet time; savoring every inch of you, from the curve of your hip to the swell of your breasts to the flush on your cheeks. You feel naked under that gaze, stripped bare, even though you're wearing a dress, a simple cotton thing, light blue, that falls just above your knees. Chosen unintentionally, or not? 

"Hello there, honey," he says. "Did my brother treat ya so bad you come to uncle Joel?"

Uncle Joel...uncle Joel...

He says it like a joke, a teasing jab, but the word uncle hits you square in the chest, soaks into your belly, and your thighs press together involuntarily. And oh, you know he sees it.  

You know he sees everything, because his eyes flick down to your hips, to your thighs, and his smile widens, deepens. 

You clutch the pie tighter. 

"I...I made pie," you say, and your voice comes out smaller than you intended. "Apple. I thought you might like some."

His grin widens, and he pushes off of the doorframe, stepping aside with a sweep of his arm, a gesture that makes the flannel stretch across his shoulders, and you catch a glimpse of that hair on his chest, thick, dark and curling, and you want to press your face into it, to breathe him in, to taste the salt on his skin.

Jesus Christ, what was wrong with you?

"Apple pie?" he says, voice full of amusement. "Lord, girl, you know the way to a man's heart. C'mon in, c'mon. Don't stand there like a stranger."

You step past him, and the door closes behind you with a soft click. There's no going back now, no pretending you came here for pie, no pretending you're anything but what you are: a hungry woman, a desperate woman, a needy, shameless woman who has come to her man's brother to be filled, to be claimed, to be taken the way she's always wanted to be taken. 

A worn sofa the color of dried blood sits against the far wall, the cushions sagging in the middle, shaped by the weight of his body.

He gestures for you to sit, and you do, sinking into the cushions, the pie still warm in your lap.

Joel disappears into his tiny kitchen, and you hear the clatter of plates, the running of water, the soft hum of a man moving through his space. He returns with two plates, two forks, a knife, setting them on the table with a soft clink.

Then he drops onto the sofa besides you.

He doesn't sit far away, doesn't leave a polite distance between you, nah, he sits close, his thigh brushing yours through the fabric of your dress. 

"Alright, alright," he says, reaching for the pie. "Let's see what we got here."

He cuts three generous slices, the knife sliding through the crust with a soft crunch, and he slides one slice onto your plate, two onto his, then picks up his fork and digs in like a starving man.

"Oh, fuck me," he groans, closing his eyes, and the sound is raw, almost sexual. He chews, swallows, shakes his head slowly, his eyes still closed, his jaw working, and you watch the muscles in his throat move, watch the way his Adam's apple bobs.

"That's..." he says, opening his eyes. "That's real good, sweetheart. Real good. You got a gift."

You flush, the heat rising up your neck, spreading across your cheeks so you look down at your plate.

"Thank you," you say, your voice is small. 

He takes another bite, and another, and you watch him eat, watch the way his lips close around the fork, the way his tongue flicks out to catch a crumb, moaning around the taste. 

He sets his fork down and leans back, one arm stretching across the back of the sofa behind you, his fingers brushing your shoulder, tracing the line of your collarbone through the thin cotton of your dress, a featherlight touch that sends shivers down your spine, that makes your breath catch in your throat.

"C'mon," he says, and his voice is lower now, a purr that vibrates in his chest. "Tell me what's botherin' ya. You don't usually come over alone. Not without Tommy."

You look down your plate, pushing a crumb around with your fork.

"Nothing," you say, and the lie is thin. "Just...wanted to bring you something. That's all."

His fingers trail down your arm, featherlight, tracing the curve of your elbow.

"You ain't the type to make a pie and show up for no reason," he says, and his voice is patient, knowing. "I know ya, girl. I've seen you grow into a woman. I've seen the way you look at things." He pauses, and his fingers still, resting on your wrist, his thumb pressing against your pulse point, feeling the rapid beat of your heart. "The way you look at me."

Your heart hammers against your ribs, and before you can even process what he says, you're already trying to escape the situation. 

"I should go," you say and you start to rise, but his hand lands on your knee, firm; squeezing once. 

With that, magically, your muscles relax, your hips sink back into the cushion, your thighs open slightly, just slightly, an invitation maybe.

"Sit down, honey," he says, and his voice is gentle, but a command wrapped in silk behind it. 

So you sit. 

He leans in closer, and his breath is warm against your ear, smelling of apple and cinnamon. 

"Is it Tommy?" he asks. "He can't take care of you?"

You loved Tommy. God, you loved him. 

You shake your head, a tiny, jerky movement, "No. That's not—" your throat tight, your mouth dry, your heart pounding so hard you can hear it in your god damn ears. 

"Because he told me something the other night," he says, and his voice drops lower. "Complainin' about how much you need it. How he can't keep up. How he's exhausted. And I gotta say, I felt sorry for you."

You swallow. 

"A woman with that kind of hunger," he continues, his thumb tracing slow, deliberate circles on your knee. "All alone in her bed, touchin' herself while her man sleeps. Thinkin' about what she could have. What she deserves."

He pauses, and the silence stretches.

Until—

"Thinkin' about me?"

You can't answer. Your mouth is full of cotton and want, your tongue is tied, your throat is closed, and all you can do is just sit there, trembling, your thighs pressed together, your hands clenched in your lap, your eyes wide and wet and desperate.

"You wanna show uncle Joel?" 

A whine bubbles from your throat. You immediately feel yourself nodding like a desperate little puppy excited to get treats, making him chuckle.

"Words," he says, and his voice is patient. "I need words, babygirl."

"Yes," you whisper. "Please."

"Please what?"

"Please...uncle Joel."

He chuckles again, and the sound vibrates through you, settling in your bones, in your blood, in your cunt, and you feel yourself clench. 

"That's a good girl," he says. "Now stand up for uncle Joel. Right in front of me. Let me see you."

You rise with shaky legs, thighs trembling, and you stand before him, your hands at your sides, your heart in your throat, your cunt aching wet and ready.

He stays seated, looking up at you, his dark eyes hooded and patient, like a wolf watching a deer wander into the clearing...like a predator who knows his prey is already caught.

"Now pull that dress up," he says, and his voice is soft—a gentle command. "Slow. Let me see what my brother's been wastin'."

Your fingers tremble as you gather the hem of your dress, lifting it inch by slow inch, the fabric sliding up your thighs, revealing the skin of your legs, the soft curve of your hips, and then the oh so wet, slick fabric of your panties. The cotton clinges to your folds, almost translucent with arousal, a dark stain spreading across the pale blue.

Joel exhales slowly, a long, low breath that seems to come from somewhere deep down his chest. 

"There you go," he coos. "Keep goin'. Let me see that pretty pussy."

You pull the dress up to your waist, exposing your ruined panties, the glistening outline of your cunt hidden behind the soaked cloth. 

He reaches out immediately, hooks his fingers in the waistband, tugs them down, and the fabric slides over your hips, past your thighs, down your legs, and you step out of them, standing before him completely bare from the waist down.

"Well, would you look at that," he murmurs. "Ain't that the prettiest thing I've ever seen. All wet and ready for me. And Tommy, that dumbass, he can't even handle it."

You whimper, the sound escaping your throat before you can stop it. He starts spreading your labia with his thumbs, gentle; exposing your slick, pink flesh, the small nub of your clit, the opening that clenches and releases with your breath.

"Would ya look at that, honey." his voice barely above a whisper, and he leans in, closer, closer, until his breath is warm against your cunt. "Glistening like a goddamn jewel. You're so fuckin' sweet, baby. You know that? You know how fuckin' perfect you look right now?"

He leans in and presses a soft kiss to your inner thigh, just above your knee, then another kiss, higher, on the sensitive skin of your inner thigh, and another, higher still, his beard scraping against your skin.

Your fingers find his hair, tangling in the salt and pepper strands, gripping him, holding him, wanting to feel his mouth on your cunt, but he doesn't go there, he just keeps kissing your thighs, your hips, the soft skin of your belly, until you're trembling, shaking, your knees weak, your breath coming in short, desperate gasps.

"Please," you breathe. "Please, Joel."

"That's uncle Joel to you," he corrects, his voice a gentle growl against your thigh as he looks up at you. 

"Now c'mere, sweet pea..." he says, and he pulls you down onto his lap. "That's it, right where this old man wants ya."

You straddle his thighs, your bare cunt pressing against the rough denim of his jeans, without much thinking you grind against him, a slow, desperate movement, a plea of want.

His hands slide up your sides, under your dress, palming your breasts through the lace of your bra. He finds the clasp, unhooks it with practiced ease, pulls the straps down your arms, and the bra falls away—your breasts spill free, full and heavy, your nipples peaked and aching. 

He cups them quicky, his thumbs circling your nipples, sending sparks of pleasure down your cunt. 

A whine escapes from your throat. 

"Oh, I know," he murmurs, his mouth against your neck, his lips brushing your skin, his teeth grazing your pulse point. "You're my good girl."

He kisses your neck, your collarbone, the hollow of your throat. You arch into him, pressing your breasts against his chest, grinding your cunt against his thigh.

Then his hand slides down, down your belly, down through the soft nest of hair between your legs. His fingers find your cunt, and he doesn't tease, doesn't play, doesn't dance around the edges—he plunges two fingers deep inside you, making your hips grind at him and your back arch. 

"God damn," he groans against your throat. "This pussy's so hot and slick, clenchin' every time I push in deeper."

He pumps his fingers in and out, a steady, rhythmic rhythm.

You hear it: the wet, sucking sound of your own arousal, a rhythmic schlick schlick that fills the quiet room, that echoes off the walls. 

"Tommy don't know what he's got," Joel murmurs, curling his fingers, hitting that spot inside you, that spot that makes stars burst behind your eyes, and you feel the pressure building, the heat rising, the pleasure coiling in your belly ready to snap. "He don't know how to take care of a woman like you. But I do. Uncle Joel knows."

He kisses you then, his tongue sliding into your mouth, tasting of apple and cinnamon, and you moan into his mouth, your hips rocking against his hand, your breath coming in short, desperate gasps.

"Christ, you're suckin' 'em in like you don't ever wanna let go. Keep those hips still, baby girl, or I'll have to hold you down while I work 'em deeper." he says, pulling back, his forehead against yours, his breath hot on your lips. 

His thumb finds your clit then, circles it, presses down, gently at first, then harder.

"I'm gonna—" you gasp, your nails digging into his shoulders, your legs trembling, your cunt clenching around his fingers, "Joel, I'm gonna—"

"Mhm, let go for me, honey." he commands, soft but firm. "Cum on uncle Joel's fingers. Show me how good I make you feel."

And you do.

You shatter. A cry tears from your throat as your climax rips through you, waves of pleasure crashing through your pelvis, your thighs clamping around his hand, your cunt clenching and fluttering around his fingers, the release slowly going through your body as he works you through it, slowing his rhythm, gentling his touch, murmuring praise after praise.

"There we go," he says, his voice soft, tender. "That's a good girl…let it happen. You're making such a mess on uncle Joel's hand." 

You slump against him, boneless, panting, your forehead resting against his. You can feel his smile, feel the satisfaction in his chest.

But before you can catch your breath, before the aftershocks have even faded, he's lifting you, shifting you, laying you back on the sofa, and your head hits a cushion, your legs hang over the edge.

He unbuckles his belt, and unzips his jeans, the sound of the zipper a slow, deliberate rasp, a sound that makes your cunt clench hard around nothing.

He pulls his cock free, and your breath catches in your throat.

It's thick, hard, the head glistening with a bead of pre-cum already, a vein running along the shaft like a river on a map. It's bigger than Tommy's; thicker, fuller.

"Look at that," he says, stroking himself slowly, his hand a rhythmic pump, and you watch his hand move, watch the way his fingers wrap around his shaft, the way his thumb swipes over the head, spreading the pre-cum. 

"Cunt clenching around nothing. You hungry, sweetheart? This pussy hungry?" he asks. "You want uncle Joel inside you?"

You spread your legs wider, your pussy still clenching, still dripping, still hungry for more, and you look up at him, your eyes wide, your voice a whisper. "Inside. Please. Please, uncle Joel."

He positions himself at your entrance, and you feel the head of his cock pressing against your slick folds. You hold your breath, waiting until he pushes in, and when he does you gasp at the stretch, the fullness, the way he opens you up. 

He is so much bigger than Tommy, thicker, fuller that you feel a moment of panic; can I take this? Can I really take this? 

But then he's soothing you, voice soft and gentle.

"Shh, shh, easy now," he says, and his voice is a balm. "Breathe for me. That's it. You can take it. You can take all of uncle Joel. Let it in nice and deep." 

He pushes deeper, inch by agonising inch, a slow, but huge invasion, and you feel every ridge, every vein, every inch of him sliding into you, stretching you, filling you in a way you've never been filled before. 

"Feel that?" he whispers. "Feel how good we fit together? Tommy never made you feel like this, did he?"

You shake your head, tears sliding down your cheeks, and you can't speak, can't find the words, can't do anything but feel, feel, feel.

"No," you whisper, and your voice is broken, cracked, raw. "No, never."

"Because he's a fool," Joel says, and his voice is tender, loving, even as he pushes deeper, even as he fills you completely, even as he buries himself to the hilt. "A fool who don't know how to handle the treasure he's got. But I ain't a fool. I know a good thing when I see it. I know a hungry woman when I see her."

He is buried to the hilt now, letting you adjust to his grit, letting you feel the weight of him inside you, the stretch, the ache, the pleasure, and you feel your cunt clenching around him, trying to pull him deeper.

"Atta girl…there it is. I'm allll the way in. Gonna keep you pinned nice and deep, grindin' slow so you feel every throb, every pulse." He says softly. 

Tears start to prickle in your eyes when he starts to thrust. Slow at first, deep, each thrust a drag against your walls, a wet slide that makes you moan, and his hips meet yours with a soft, wet slap.

"Listen to those messy sounds—Christ, you're drippin' down your thighs already." He murmurs, making a sob erupt from your throat. "Oh, I know, that's my girl. Takin' me so good, aren't you? So fuckin' tight. You like being filled by your uncle, hm?"

"Yes," you moan, your nails digging into his shoulders, the pressure rising, the coil winding tighter, ready to snap again. "Yes, yes, yes."

"Say it again, honey." he demands softly. But his pace quickens, his thrusts becoming harder, deeper, more urgent, and you feel the couch creak beneath you.

"Uncle Joel," you gasp. "Please. Please fuck me."

He groans, his head dropping to your shoulder, teeth grazing your skin, and his pace quickens, his thrusts become harder, deeper, more urgent, and you feel the pleasure building; rising, the coil winding tighter and tighter, ready to snap. 

"Goddamn," he grits out. "you're perfect. You're gonna make me cum, sweet pea. You gonna cum with me? Cum with uncle Joel?"

"I don't know—" you gasp, your vision blurring. "I'm close—it's too much—"

"It ain't too much," he says, and his voice is firm. "You can take it. You're a strong girl. A hungry girl. Let go for me. Let me feel you break."

He drives into you harder, faster, and you feel the coil snap, the pleasure explodes and you shatter again. A broken cry tears from your throat as you cum, your inner walls clenching around him, fluttering, pulsing, milking every last drop from him. 

A guttural groan leaves his lips and he follows a moment later, spilling inside you in hot, thick drops—filling you up with a warmth that spreads through your belly. 

Your cunt still works around him as he collapses on top of you, his breath hot against neck. 

After a long moment, he stirs, lifts his head and presses a soft, tender kiss to your lips.

"You did so well, sweet pea," he murmurs. "Took everything right into that cunt of yours." 

He pulls out slowly, and you whimper at the loss, the sudden emptiness a hollow ache. 

He fetches a damp cloth from the kitchen and cleans you up with gentle hands, wiping between your thighs, pressing soft kisses to your forehead, whispering: "We made some cream pie, didn't we?" and you feel like crying, like laughing, like giggling. 

"You gotta go home soon," he says. "Tommy'll be back in an hour."

You nod as you sit up, and reach for your panties, but he stops you, his hand on your wrist, his eyes dark and possessive.

"Leave 'em," he says, and his voice is a firm command. 

"What?@

"The panties, hon." he says. "Leave 'em here. I want to know you're walkin' around without 'em. Thinkin' about me. Feel my cum drippin' down your thigh."

You blush, a deep, burning flush that spreads across your cheeks, but you don't argue. You pull your dress on over your bare skin, leaving your soaked panties crumpled on his coffee table like a trophy. 

He walks you to the door, and as you step out into the fading light, he calls after you.

"Come back tomorrow," he says, soft. "I'll have the pie warmed up."

You smile, and your thighs are still slick with his spend, and your cunt is still sore and full, and you know, with a certainty that settles into your bones like honey, like syrup, like warm apple pie, that you will.

You will.

Poor Tommy lmfaooooo😭😭

“Hellooo?”

Joel flinches and looks up at Tommy, who’s sitting in front of him at the bar table. For the last few minutes his younger brother’s been complaining about their pain in the ass client and Joel’s mind wandered off. Or at least that's what Joel thinks he’s been saying.

“Yeah. Sorry.” Joel takes a sip of his beer, hiding his eyes from Tommy’s piercing stare.

“You ok, man?” Tommy asks, leaning slightly forward as if trying to read the older man’s expression in the dimly lit bar. “Been quiet all night.”

“Yeah. Jus’ tired.”

“‘K,” Tommy gives Joel a little smile and takes a swig of his whiskey.

****

Joel isn’t lying. Well, not completely lying. He’s been sleeping badly for a few weeks now, tossing and turning, fantasising about you and jerking off till early morning hours then driving to work completely exhausted.

It’s gotten even worse now because every time his head hits the pillow, you’re staring at him with those ‘fuck-me eyes’ of yours. The ones he saw in the car the last time he drove you to college. Their fiery glint was calling for action, demanding it, luring him in. Joel had never been that horny in his damn life. A shudder still runs through his body as he remembers how hard he came in that parking lot, desperately moaning your name in his car like a perv. What if he got caught? Cold sweat covers his forehead at the thought. His career, his reputation, his life — they’d be ruined.

But what else was he supposed to do with all that desire? Fuck you in his truck right outside your school? Leave his cum not on his fist but deep in your sweet pussy? Hnggg just a thought of having you makes Joel’s hand slither down to his already-tight boxer briefs as he’s lying wide awake in his bed. Every goddamn night is the same.

A squirt of lotion on his palm.

Heavy breathing.

Joel’s fist pumping his hard cock.

A needy moan.

Frustrated huffs and puffs as Joel’s wiping his cum off.

Now he keeps a pack of wet wipes and a bottle of lotion on his nightstand just for that. It’s like he’s 18 years old again, judging by the amount of loads he’s squirted all over his bedsheets. The longing is getting out of hand but what can he do with this obsession that has your name? Joel has no clue.

****

Tommy gets another glass of whiskey while Joel’s nursing the same bottle in his hand. He’d love to go stronger, maybe he’d fall asleep without thinking of you, but the possibility of alcohol loosening his tongue and him yapping about you in front of his brother scares Joel to death.

Besides, he didn't come to get drunk. He has a plan and he needs a sober mind to carry it out.

“So… How’s Maria like her new car?” Joel asks, inching closer to the topic he wants to talk about.

Tommy’s face lights up.

“She loves it! Benji, too. We installed his chair yesterday.” Tommy makes big eyes and huffs, “Damnn, it nearly cost me a marriage. Those things are created to break up families.”

He chuckles gleefully and Joel nods with a strained smile. He clears his throat and as nonchalantly as possible tests the ground.

“Whatcha ya gonna do with the Toyota?”

Tommy raises his brows, surprised by the question about Maria’s old car, and then shrugs.

“Hmm… Sell it I guess.” Tommy frowns. “Don’t wanna think about all that yet. Already know it’s gonna be a pain.”

“Yeah,” Joel hums, his eyes darting between the bottle and his brother’s face. “What if I take it off your hands?”

“What d’you mean?”

“Sell it to me.”

Tommy stares at Joel for a few seconds as if expecting him to be joking.

“You have a car. Sarah, too,” he says. “Why’d you…?”

“S’for a friend,” Joel interrupts his brother, impatient to get it over with.

“A friend…” Tommy repeats slowly, his head tilted to the side. Joel takes a sip of beer and drops his eyes to the table, suddenly scared that Tommy will find you there, in his thoughts.

“Does that friend have a female name by any chance?”

Fucker!

Joel grunts and glares at the sibling, his lips pressed in a tight line. Tommy smirks, watching Joel’s reaction. It’s too strong not to mean anything and they both know it.

“Does it matter?” Joel asks with defiance, taking the question head on, not denying anything.

Tommy watches his brother, not blinking for a few moments, and then says in a calm tone, a smile dancing on his lips,

“Yeah, I’d say it matters.”

Joel keeps his eyes on the beer bottle, hoping that Tommy will drop the interrogation.

Yeah, right!

“Did you meet her during one of your club outings?”

Joel’s heart does a somersault in his stomach and he lifts his widened eyes at the younger man who’s sitting there with a sly smile on his face.

Oh how much Joel regrets that time he got shitfaced and told Tommy about his ‘hobby’ as you call it. He wanted to boast how easy it was for him to pick up girls there and Tommy didn’t judge him that time, just laughed and asked a few questions. Joel struggles to remember which ones. They both had never mentioned it ever again and Joel hoped that the memories of that conversation evaporated from Tommy’s intoxicated mind. Apparently they didn’t.

“Tommy….” Joel gruffs with warning in his tone, his hand gripping the bottle tighter. The younger man raises his hands and chuckles,

“Hey, s’not my business. You’re a big boy, Joel. You know what you’re doing. I just don’t want you to get in trouble.” He shrugs and finishes his drink in one gulp.

“I won’t,” Joel mumbles and quickly changes the subject, the night taking its usual course.

Only when they leave the bar and wait for an uber Joel asks Tommy when he can come to check the car out. The younger man smirks and offers the next day.

****

They meet after work and Joel shakes on the deal with Tommy. The car is a little worn out, but it’s in a very decent condition. Still Joel decides to take some extra time to change the oil or the tyres if necessary and to drive you to the college one last time. Maybe he’s stalling, maybe he hates the idea of not seeing you regularly, so checking the car is just an excuse but he’ll never admit to it. Even to himself.

As always in life plans can’t keep up with changes and one morning Joel sees your name pop up on his phone screen. He turns the tv off and frowns, nerves tightening his chest as he immediately assumes the worst. He quickly picks up.

"You sick?" Joel asks as soon as he hears your croaky "Hi".

"Yeah, how'd you know? Are you spying on me?"

"‘cause you sound like shit," Joel sighs and sits straight, ready to spring into action.

"Aw, thanks." Your tone is sarcastic and for a second Joel fears he's offended you but then your lovely laugh flows through the speaker until another coughing fit grips you. Fear for you makes his stomach churn and he decides to drive to your house right away but then realizes that he’s got no idea where you’re staying these days.

When you stop coughing, Joel asks,

"What d'you need? Text me your address, I'll be there."

You're silent for a few seconds and then you reply, your voice soft.

"Thank you, Joel. But I have everything, don't worry. I just... I called to say that I'm not going to classes tomorrow."

"Oh." Joel nods as if you can see him. He should be relieved — the temptation to pull you on his lap and fuck you senseless in his truck isn't going to entice him. Besides, he could work on the car and get it ready for you by the time you feel better.

But Joel doesn't need to search his soul too deeply to realize that a sudden heavy feeling weighing on his chest is sadness. He's upset that he won't be able to drive you one more time, spend time with you, talk to you, listen to your voice.

"Joel?" You call his name, interrupting his thoughts.

"Yeah, yeah, of course. You need rest. Stay in bed and tell me your address. Please, sweetheart."

"I am in bed and ... Sounds like you really wanna join me here,” you purr and Joel rolls his eyes — now it’s neither the time nor the place to flirt with him, yet his cock disagrees and twitches in his pants.

“You shouldn’t come, you’ll catch whatever I have.”

“Address,” Joel says shortly and you half-sigh half-moan in his ear.

“Mmm, love when you go all dom on me.”

You taunt Joel and he grips his phone, breathing heavily. He feels his cheeks burn, his muscles tense up, you evoke a usual reaction in him — like a tornado is lifting him off the ground.

Little minx keeps playing even sick, he thinks. Yeah, being friends with you is really not an option when every time you flirt with him, his whole being wants to pounce on you right then and there.

Finally you give him the address and Joel says he’ll be there in an hour or so.

He goes to the kitchen and gets to cooking.

****

An hour later he’s at your place. Or your friend’s place rather. He wonders if you talked about him, if they know about your trips, about the kiss… Girls tell everything to each other but maybe you’re embarrassed of him. Probably so.

Joel rings the bell and soon you open the door. His chest fills with warmth when he sees you but then his smile falls — you look really sick. He wants to grab you and get you to his place, so he could take care of you and tend to all your needs.

“Hey,” you croak, wrapping yourself tighter in a fuzzy robe.

Joel sighs,

“Damn…”

“Do I look that bad,” you smile weakly and hide the lower part of your face behind the collar.

You look like an angel. Always. Joel wants to say. “No, no. You.. look sick, s’all. Are you runnin’ a fever?”

“Nah, I don’t think so.” You shake your head and then cough again.

Joel furrows his brows.

“You think? Have you measured it?”

“No. M’not sure we have a thermometer.”

“What?” Joel’s brows shoot up as you shrug your shoulders, looking guilty under his disappointed stare. Joel feels bad — being told off is the last thing you need right now, so he decides to act.

“Ok, let’s take care of you.” Joel walks inside the house without an invitation, not caring about manners.

You gawk at him but the corners of your lips are turned up, your eyes are sparkling with glee.

“Come in, I guess,” you laugh and then gasp softly when Joel places his palm on your forehead. Your lips part as you’re staring up at him but don’t pull away.

Joel’s face stays serious, despite an ocean raging in his stomach at the sensation of your skin.

“Seems fine,” he declares after a few seconds and his big hand leaves your head.

Then he throws a quick look around and asks,

“Where’s the kitchen?”

You nod in the right direction and Joel throws his boots off and strides there.

“You can go to bed. I’ll bring you soup.”

“Soup?!” you gasp, padding after him.

“Yeah, it’ll get you on your feet in no time.”

Joel walks into the kitchen and puts a bag on the kitchen island. He pushes a box of Cheerios sitting on the surface out of the way and raises an eyebrow at you as you sit on a stool.

“‘S pure sugar. Don’t eat this shit.”

“They’re not mine,” you grumble, “Sam loves them.”

Joel shakes his head, mentally judging your housemate, and pulls the biggest container he could find in his house out of the bag.

“Oh my god, Joel! It’ll last me a week!”

“Nah, you’ll finish it quickly I promise you. Not to brag but .. S’really good.”

He searches for a bowl and a ladle in the cabinets and after finding them pours some soup.

You look down at the golden liquid in front of you, lean down to smell it and then hum.

“You’ve just made it? For me?” You ask, grabbing a spoon.

“Yeah. Doesn’t take long. Plus I cooked it a million times before. It’s my mother’s recipe,” Joel says with a soft smile. “She always made it for me and Tommy and then I treated Sarah with it when she’d get sick.”

Your lips spread into a smile as you’re listening to him then you start eating.

“Mmmm,” you gush. “It’s delicious, Joel. Thank you.”

You put one spoon of soup after another in your mouth and Joel watches you with a content smile, pride expanding his chest.

Joel’s mood lights up as he sees that you’re living in a nice house, much nicer than your dad’s, especially considering the fucker isn’t here to mistreat you. Despite being ill, you’re safe and Joel knows you’re going to get better soon.

“What was your mom like?” You ask, interrupting his thoughts, and push the empty bowl away.

“Another helping?” Joel asks and you shake your head.

“No, thanks. I’m full.”

“She was the kindest person I’d known,” Joel says without a trace of doubt. He grabs the bowl and walks to the sink to give it a wash.

“I’ll do it,” you offer hurriedly but Joel motions for you to get back on your seat.

He faces the sink and keeps talking,

“She loved me and Tommy very much. Our father… he was a handful but she always protected us. She tried to soften him when we’d fuck up. Didn’t always work but at least she tried.”

Joel chuckles bitterly and then he hears your deep sigh.

“Sometimes I’m glad that my mom didn’t see what happened to our family after she…” you clear your throat and add, “it’s better she never knew.”

Joel returns the bowl to the cabinet and comes back, only the kitchen island dividing you two. He wants to give you a hug but feels he’d be overstepping.

Your tone gets colder as you say,

“He called. Two days ago.”

‘The asshole?!’ Joel wants to growl but instead asks, “Your father?” You nod and Joel grips the counter with his fingers, anger burning his chest with hot iron.

“He feels bad, he says. For throwing me out. Wants me to move back home.”

Joel clenches his jaw, the knuckles of his hands whiten. You can’t go back, he thinks. He won’t let you. Not after the scene he witnessed. He wouldn’t find peace knowing that you live with that man again.

To Joel’s relief you sigh and mutter,

“I said no. I’m finally free,” your tired eyes are glossy as you lift them up to Joel’s face. “Yeah, it’s harder… so much harder. I depended on him a lot as it turned out… but I can breathe with my whole chest now.”

Joel’s face softens and leans down, placing his forearms on the surface.

“How d’he react?” He asks and sees a veil of sadness pass over your face. Staring down at your hands you reply,

“He wasn’t happy.” You sigh again and your voice trembles as you murmur, “Whatever.”

You seem to be on the verge of tears and Joel walks around the island and comes up to you.

“You did the right thing,” he says, placing his hand on your shoulder and giving it a little squeeze. “I doubt he’ll ever change, sweetheart.”

“No, he won’t,” you croak, staring ahead. “But I can’t make myself hate him, you know.”

For a few seconds you both are silent until you ask, “Your dad… he was like mine, yeah?”

Joel remembers the beating his father called up-bringing and nods, his brows furrowed.

“Yeah.”

You look up at Joel, your teary eyes searching for answers.

“Then tell me… does the voice ever go away?”

“What voice?” Joel mumbles, slowly drowning in your beautiful and sad eyes.

“The one telling me that I deserved all of that.”

Joel’s chest tightens, compassion for you overtaking him, and wishing nothing else but to comfort you right now, he pulls you into a hug. You slide off the stool and push your face into his flannel-covered chest. Joel’s heart breaks as you’re sobbing quietly in his arms, clenching his shirt with your fingers. Painful memories of his own past sting his soul and he presses his cheek to your head, trying to alleviate the ache.

“It does go away, darlin’,” Joel lies, rubbing your back with his palms. “It will.”

When you stop crying and pull away, Joel looks into your reddened sleepy eyes and offers,

“Let’s get you to bed.”

You rasp something like “yeah, wouldn’t you want that,” and pad to your room.

Your bedroom looks like a standard guest room except for your things scattered around here and there. Joel smiles when his eyes land on the wooden cat on your nightstand.

“You takin’ good care of him?” He jokes, nodding at the figurine he carved for you.

“It’s a she,” you glare at him with a fake offence and then give him a wide smile. “I pet it every time before I go to sleep. And I think of you.”

Your gaze is soft but he notices a flush of fire behind your eyes.

“Tuck me in,” you purr, getting in bed.

Joel rolls his eyes but still walks up and tucks your blanket for you. The way you’re staring up at him, lying under the covers, makes his whole body vibrate. You look warm and sleepy, soft and sweet, he craves to touch you, hold you, kiss you…

“Joel,” you say his name quietly, so sensually it sends shivers down his spine. “Can I ask you something?”

Joel narrows his eyes at you, fully aware of how provocative your questions can be.

“You can… can’t promise I’ll answer.”

He gives you a lopsided smile, standing over you with his hands on his hips, hoping that you’ll spare him this time. You react with a weak giggle.

“Ok. Tell me…do you still go to Paradise?”

Joel drops his eyes at the mention of the club and shifts on his feet

“No,” he gruffs, shaking his head. Your lips twitch and it seems that you like his answer yet you don’t drop the topic.

“Why not?”

Joel’s eyes involuntarily travel down your body covered by the blanket as he lies,

“Have no time. Too much work.”

You hum, not tearing your curious gaze off the man over you, and then murmur,

“Was I the last girl you picked up there?”

Joel stares at you, fully aware what you’re getting at, and after a long sigh he says,

“Yeah, guess so.”

“Huh,” you hum, turning on your side, quickly covering the lower part of your face with the blanket but Joel still notices the apples of your cheeks rise, he sees a smile in your eyes.

“Ok, m’gonna go. Get some sleep.”

You throw a cheeky glance at him and then say,

“Yes, sir.”

Joel feels his neck and cheeks burn, his heart starts beating faster, and scared that he’ll pop a boner, he walks to the door.

“The soup’s still hot. Have some more when you’re up.”

You mewl a quiet “ok, thanks” and flutter your eyes closed.

Joel returns to the kitchen, tidies up the counters as quietly as possible, trying not to wake you up. Then he walks to the fridge and looks at the photos on the door.

Hmm Joel places his hands on his hips and shakes his head. It’s mostly party pics. Laughing young men and women in their twenties, drinking, dancing, making silly faces. He notices you in some of them, looking tipsy and hot as hell.

There is one particular pic that grabs his attention- a family at the beach. Parents and two kids. The girl, your friend apparently, looks your age. She’s smiling at the camera, a volleyball tucked under her arm. She seems sweet. Joel hopes that she’s a good friend to you. The girl’s brother is standing next to her, flexing his arm muscles for the pic. Joel chuckles. He looks younger, sixteen or so. They both look happy.

Joel remembers the picture of your family he saw in your house. How sad you got when he stopped to look at it. Maybe your friends can be a better family for you? Maybe he can be someone who protects you, helps you, gives you some kind of support? No, it seems crazy. His feelings would surely get in the way and sooner or later your flirting would make him cross the line. He takes a deep sigh and goes to get his bag.

Joel checks on you one more time, peeking through your bedroom door. You’re sleeping peacefully on your side, your breathing a bit loud because of your stuffy nose, but you seem fine otherwise. He contemplates watching you sleep for some time but immediately realizes how creepy it’d be, so he imagines pressing a kiss to your beautiful lips and then leaves.

Thank you for reading! Please comment and reblog if you enjoyed the chapter! Let me know if you want to be tagged in the future parts♥️

Series Masterlist | MASTERLIST

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That's what attracted you to Joel in the first place when he came to fix your leaky sink in the house you just moved into after joining Jackson’s community. He ended up going around your entire kitchen, fixing everything that was loose, even though you didn’t know each other, only met in Jackson a couple times.

It also didn’t hurt that he was extremely handsome — your jaw almost dropped the first time you saw him.

Now you didn't live in that house anymore, because neither you nor Joel wanted to be separated. You loved having him close to you at night. He loved seeing you walk down the stairs in the morning, wearing only one of his shirts.

Everything was perfect, except for those patrols that stressed you out.

So you always asked him to stay, hoping to buy yourself some time. You would cuddle him in bed, one leg wrapped around his, when you knew it was time for him to go. You would lick his lips and wrap your hand around his length, feeling him get hard instantly.

“Sweetheart, you know I gotta go,” he’d say against your lips, and you’d roll him onto his back before straddling him and grinding against his bulge.

“Come on, Tommy’s waiting for me. I can’t be late.”

“I don’t care about Tommy,” you’d smile before pushing him inside you.

But this morning, Joel woke up before you. When you opened your eyes you heard the shower being turned off. You hastily threw the comforter aside and pulled your t-shirt up and over your breasts, cupping them. Then you slipped your hand inside your panties, scooped up Joel’s cum from the night before and brushed your sensitive clit. He made you come twice on his tongue, once on his cock. You bit your lip at the memory. 

You didn't stop when the bathroom door opened and Joel froze in the doorway, his hand on the handle.

You were looking at him playfully as his widened eyes were growing dark, his Adam's apple bobbing.

"What are you... Why... Jesus, you're such a menace," Joel mumbled as he walked toward you, taking off his t-shirt and unzipping his jeans.

He settled between your thighs and pulled down his pants mid-thigh, before easily sliding into your wet cunt.

“You’re ready to do anything to keep me from going on patrol, aren’t you?” he said, a little smile on his lips.

“Yeah,” you replied. “Don’t go. Fuck me all day, and all night.”

“Jesus. Sweetheart…” he said, rolling his hips into you. “You know I’d love to, but I gotta go.”

“No, you don’t. They have enough people, you can skip one. Please?” you asked, squeezing him so tightly he was afraid he’d come right away.

You cupped his cheek to kiss him, your tongue sliding between his lips to play with his, as Joel was thrusting in, rubbing that spongy spot in a way that could make you come easily. You wrapped your legs around his hips, pulling him deeper, his heavy balls brushing against your ass with every thrust.

“Please,” you begged against his lips. “I miss you so much when you’re not here.”

“I… fuck… I miss you too…”

“Yeah? Prove it. Stay.”

His lips crashed against yours as he gripped your hips, using them as leverage to fuck into you harder.

“Rail me… all day,” you panted, his balls now slapping against your skin.

“Fuck… don’t say things like this…I’m gonna come way too soon.”

“Oh I don’t want that…” you replied mischievously. “You know what I’d like?” you asked, making him growl, fully aware that you were testing him, playing with him, and he loved it way too much.

“Tell me…”

“I think I’d like you to fuck me… in all parts of me that can be fucked.”

He stopped moving, his length fully buried in you, his piercing gaze devouring you.

It only took him a swift movement to manhandle you to your hands and knees, spread your cheeks with his large hands, his eyes fixed on your ass and glistening pussy clenching on nothing, desperate for him.

“Baby,” he said, sliding his tip between your folds, his thumb brushing your tight ring. “Are you testing me?”

“Maybe,” you murmured, turning your head to look at him over your shoulder.

“Jesus, you’re so fucking hot,” he said, thrusting in and bottoming out in one go, keeping your buttocks wide open to stare at your ass.

You clutched the pillow with your fists when his thumb brushed against your ring with more pressure. He was the best lay you'd ever had in your life, by far.

“Fuck me. Hard. Then stay with me and take everything you want from me.”

“Yes ma'am," he grunted, one hand gripping your hip tightly as he kept his thumb pressed against your tight hole.

You stroked your clit, letting him fuck you the way he needed, chasing his climax.

“This is what you want, sweetheart? Want me to fuck this tiny hole? You think you can take it?” he growled, fucking you rough and deep, his balls slapping harder than ever against your cunt.

“Yes,” you whined, clenching around his cock, thinking about the moment he would thrust inside you there, the moment he would leave you breathless as he pushed in. You came with a cry and he followed you, sending hot spurs of cum inside your core.

Joel collapsed onto the bed and pulled you against him, wrapping his arms around your shoulders.

“Guess I’m not going on patrol today.”

“Guess not,” you smiled, and kissed his chest.

Joel masterlist

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You wanted a car. Joel needed to cum.

It wasn’t the arrangement a girl your age should’ve made, but what could you do? Your dad drank half of your college funds away, and your mom was long gone.

The next best thing was Mr. Miller, your father’s boss. He’d understood better than anyone what money could buy. What it might do. For him, it was pleasure. For you, it was a future—or what little remained after bills and loans and exorbitantly-priced car repairs bled you dry.

You took the job at the firm on a whim. You didn’t want to be a lawyer anymore, though your dad and Joel were. You didn’t want to be done with law school, though 3L had already long since ended, and that dreaded so-called ‘minimum competency’ test was drawing close on the horizon. In short, you couldn’t afford to pay for bar prep.

With Joel, you could.

It was true that tax law paid pretty well, but a part-time job would never really be enough when your family was treading water at all times. Your dad liked to gamble and drink, and your brothers got all of their brains from him.

You got the short end of the stick, plus the receiving end of another. Lucky for you, Joel’s felt pretty good going in.

Today you were somewhere south of Austin. Your truck wouldn’t start last week, so you’d agreed to come along on this business trip knowing full well what you planned on asking your boss as soon as you had a moment alone.

“CDP hearing at…9:45.” You checked the itinerary twice.

“Alright.” Joel nodded.

“Lunch with Javier, Ezra, and Dave at twelve.”

“Mhmm.”

“Phone call with Revenue Officer Acacius at 3:30.”

“For the…?”

“Martells.”

“Okay.”

“I finished Lucien Flores’ Form 433-F for your review and left notes—” You stopped to tap your finger on a short white pile of papers between you and Joel on the desk, “—in the margins. Still need bank statements from him.”

“Lovely.”

Joel eyed the stack at first, but his gaze strayed a little.

“You should probably plan to talk strategy with my dad before Mayor Garcia’s audit tomorrow, too. Looks like a couple non-cash contributions are being disputed now.”

For a second, your eyes flitted up to him, too. It was brief.

“Sure. When’s your daddy free?” he said.

You blinked, then scanned the schedule.

“Looks like five…or six, maybe. He’s got a consult with—”

“I wasn’t talking about your father.”

You looked back up. Joel was smirking, of course. His hand had drifted a comfortable, innocent distance past the papers and across the table, to you. The pair of you happened to be in one of the glass-paneled conference rooms nearest the hotel lobby, so he had to be discreet.

He never let his fingers stray too long on yours in public. Presently, his thumb grazed your knuckles extra slow.

Posing a question, maybe.

You didn’t have the time to be tactful now, unfortunately.

“I need $2,700.”

Joel, your boss, your daddy, whatever, had to pause at that. He didn’t move his hand immediately, but he did stare harder. Longer. He searched your face for the joke.

“$2,700?” he repeated.

“Yes sir,” you answered out of habit, wincing only a little, “My truck stopped running last week, and it’s just…a lot.”

The cost. For Joel, it wasn’t even a drop in the bucket, but in your world, it was a make-or-break, fuck-your-whole-budget-for-the-next-six-months kind of bad. Suddenly, your cheeks felt warmer than they did before, and you forced yourself to look away. Peering out across the wide and gently rolling terrain of San Antonio and trying to pretend there was something thrilling to see. You’d almost forgotten how much you hated asking this.

“I can make the deposit tonight—” Joel started.

“No,” you interrupted. You wanted to turn but couldn’t. You just shook your head and kept staring out there, “Not now, I mean…I need to earn it over time, I just…”

You stumbled over the words. It was like your lips, your tongue, and your teeth were all suffering from the same sort of embarrassment pervading the brain, and you couldn’t bring your mouth to form the sentences right.

I’m not asking for a handout. I need to earn the money.

However ‘earning’ may have been grossly misconstrued in the context, it was a labor all the same. You didn’t love it, but you didn’t hate him, either. Joel was nice, albeit old enough to be your father, and it didn’t seem that he was nearly as predatory or perverse as he could’ve been. You’d been working for him for two months now, and the idea had been your own when the cash had gotten tight.

Back in April, you’d explained to him, calmly, that you couldn’t take the bar exam unless you got some extra money quick. That you wouldn’t accept his charity, but you’d pay him back in other ways. Joel had been against it at first—you were the daughter of his best friend, after all—but eventually, his carnal needs won out over his sense, as every other man would’ve done, you guessed.

At first, you’d started slow, but that hadn’t lasted very long. You fucked him regularly now, though never had you asked for an amount of cash this big out of nowhere.

Joel blinked and put a hand on his hip, like he always did when he wasn’t sure what to say. The silver in his soft, dark locks shone more in this light. He’d lost the smirk.

“You’ve done…plenty.” Now sounding sheepish.

You tried to protest again; Joel stopped you.

“I mean it. Hey, look at me,” he said next.

You did, hesitatingly. You turned from the window, and out of instinct, folded your arms over your chest. Joel paced closer to you and then he was watching. Pausing.

Brushing your arm with his and glancing once over your shoulder to make sure no one else was around to see.

He leaned in and pressed a quick kiss to your temple.

When he pulled away, your skin was practically ablaze.

“Mr. Miller—”

“Joel,” he corrected, quiet, “And you’ve done enough. Let me cover the car just this once, okay? Sweetheart?”

You didn’t realize you were pivoting again. That your gut was doing somersaults and your heart was ready to climb up and out of your throat. Your neck was burning.

It wasn’t even anger you sensed was simmering under the skin until you turned back to him, and your eyes flashed with ire before the words were even spoken.

“I don’t need your pity, Mr. Miller. I said I want to pay.”

“It’s Joel. And I said you’ve done enough, so—”

Ire morphed to something more in a blink.

You didn’t mean to say it, but you did.

“Fine,” you huffed, suddenly exasperated, “If you’re so fucking opposed to me paying my way for this one simple thing, I’ll get another guy. Forget I asked.”

It was a low blow, for sure. Joel knew how badly you’d wanted this to stay between just you and him—and he would never dream of seeing you ‘earning your keep’ with anyone else. His expression said as much as soon as he’d heard your words; his whole face hardened at once.

But then you’d turned to leave. You didn’t care what he wanted to tell you, and if you did, you certainly weren’t brave enough to stick around to hear Joel say it then.

So you left. He had a full, busy day ahead of him anyway.

You woke up wet.

In an effort to avoid your boss, you’d run errands all day. Buried your nose in a sea of Civil Procedure notes as soon as you got a second alone, almost vomited seeing the Erie Doctrine, and went back to your hotel room to try and study there. Once you had, you napped instead.

Now your clothes stuck to your skin; the sheets around you were soaked. You peered over the big white duvet holding your body interred and saw smoke overhead.

Or steam.

Yes, definitely steam. It was drifting from the bathroom, where the door was thrown open. You shifted up to sit.

“Tess!” you yelled, “Shut the goddamn door, I’m boiling.”

As a law clerk, you weren’t afforded the luxury of a suite to yourself, so you shared it with the other new grads on work trips like these. Tess Servopoulos loved long, hot showers and never closed the fucking door. You groaned.

And, feeling depleted of all energy from your studies and the stress and the steam searing every inch of your skin, you flopped back in the bed. You kicked the covers off your legs. You’d just lifted a hand to wipe the sweat from your forehead, when an awful, fresh realization dawned.

You glanced at the clock—3:37.

“Fucking hell,” you hissed.

You were supposed to meet your dad at two to get some paperwork signed. You needed to have that filed with the court by four. He was probably engaged somewhere else by now, whether it be a client, a conference, or a couple white lines in the bathroom of a partners-only club downtown, and you wouldn’t have a hope of reaching him here. You rubbed your face and groaned again.

You’d set an alarm for 1:30—you knew you had.

Where the hell was your phone? Why was it so warm? What if he’d called? Aw fuck, he’s probably blown that thing up to hell and back by now. Maybe he was drunk. He had to be. Where was Tess? Where were your pants?

You’d made it up to your feet, clumsily, and faced a full-length mirror. Your bottoms were gone. You closed your eyes and screamed inside, remembering why they were.

“Glad you’re getting some use out of this.”

The second you heard it, your lids flew open. You turned.

And, standing in the warm yellow glow of the bathroom light—holding the culprit, your vibrator, like a prize—was Joel. Naked as the day he was born, save for one thin towel around his hips, and grinning. Moisture glistened on his chest and pooled about his feet, and his hair was smooth, tamed, and combed back neatly from his face.

He waved your silicone toy in the air, and immediately, you regretted giving him your room key the other day.

“I thought we agreed you’d wait for me—”

“What the hell are you doing here?”

Your voice was thick with sleep. Joel’s own was slow, dulcet, and kind as it always was, even when teasing. When you grit your teeth, he just set the toy aside.

“I’m sorry. Bad timing. I saw your—”

“No.” You threw up both hands at once, suddenly out of breath and fucks to give, “You know what? I don’t care. You need to go. I have to be down at the courthouse—”

In twenty minutes. You cut yourself short and hurried off to find shoes. You could wear other pants. Ask another attorney to sign the forms if you couldn’t reach your dad. Forget that his boss and yours had just caught you with the vibrator he’d bought you last month and try not to feel too humiliated knowing he knew what you’d been doing. It didn’t matter—Joel didn’t matter. You slid on a mismatched pair of slacks and set off toward the door.

Then you had to stop. Joel beat you there, quick as ever.

“Listen. Hey.”

“Will you stop?!”

You pushed at his big and wet, stupidly broad chest. You felt the small grey hairs on his pecs tickle your palms, and for a second, you thought you heard a chuckle.

“You’re gonna make me late—”

“Hey, hey,” Joel said again. Of course it sounded fatherly, “I already signed the POA for Morales, hon, you’re good.”

You’re good.

“You what?” You stared at him in disbelief. How did he even know you needed Frankie’s power of attorney signed in the first place? You figured your dad would’ve mentioned it, but still, it wasn’t really Joel’s form to sign.

“The case is mine now,” he clarified, reading that look, “Wasn’t my first pick, but it is what it is. And your dad—”

Your dad was probably lagging wildly behind on his own caseload, so he’d pushed one off on his friend. Again.

“You can’t keep picking up his slack,” you gritted out, “One of these days it’s gonna bite you both in the ass. You know he shouldn’t be forcing these jobs on you.”

“I offered.”

“You caved.”

“He’s my best friend, what do you expect me to do?”

“Not let him use you! He’s making you feel bad for him.”

“And what if I did? What if I did pity the bastard?”

You scoffed. Then winced, inwardly.

I don’t need your pity, Mr. Miller.

From the look on Joel’s face, he seemed to be remembering the same. He shook his head.

“That’s not…” he trailed off. He rubbed his jaw with his hand and started to move from the door, deflating some.

His other arm extended to you, wordlessly, and already anticipated what was sure to follow. You swatted him off, then walked to the bed. You considered sitting but didn’t. Instead, you crossed your arms like you always did and turned away, facing the window with a cool, flat affect.

By now, Joel knew better than to take that for what it seemed. He crossed the room to you, treading softly.

His voice turned gentle again, like an apology: “Honey…”

But your gaze was already fixed outside. You frowned.

“Darlin’,” Joel continued, undeterred, “Come on.”

And you didn’t need to see his face to hear the rest: ‘Look at me, please,’ with eyes all comfort and warmth.

“Don’t you have a phone call with an R.O. or something?” Briefly, you recalled Acacius and a stream of other items from the checklist you’d covered that morning, and you had to stop yourself then from straying too far. You blinked once, just as Joel was approaching from behind.

“I cancelled,” he said.

You sighed, “Mr. Miller…”

You knew he hated doing that.

“Joel,” he pressed. Adding, “Something came up.”

You wouldn’t even ask. You shouldn’t care. You felt him standing there, fanning hot breaths across the nape of your neck, and you really couldn’t have taken that worse. You visibly tensed, hands balling into fists at your sides, and—hell, he wouldn’t quit moving now, would he?—Joel bent down. He hesitated, as if gauging your reaction in time, then descended further. He kissed your shoulder.

You cracked; it never took much from him.

For all your inane, ancillary plays at feigning indifference, one movement of Joel’s mouth and your resolve was lost. You clung to words, weakly, but all the rest fell away.

“We don’t…want your charity. Me or my dad. Alright?”

“I know.”

Joel kissed your skin again, then pulled at the strap of your blouse. It fell limply away, and his lips reattached.

Exactly when he’d walked you back to the bed, you couldn’t be sure. By the third or fourth kiss, your stomach was tight, knees weak, and your eyes drawing closed; it didn’t matter to you or to him what had passed before. Your bodies found the bed and blended together.

Tangling, in a way. Tearing blindly at clothes and not saying too much apart from Joel’s soft, sweet words:

“That’s it.”

“I know.”

“Good girl.”

Good girl when he kissed you. Good girl when he stripped you bare. Good girl when his hands roamed the broad, naked expanse of your body and let your own do the same to him. Good girl when your fingers hooked the outline of the towel and tugged it away, your vision filled with a sight you’d come to like more and more each day.

“That’s my girl,” Joel murmured. He cradled your head while you gripped his base, “‘S’yours, baby. All yours.”

Yours. Mine. You weren’t sure you had the sense or self-possession to even know what that meant, especially here. Joel wasn’t a boyfriend. He wasn’t a lover, at least not in the traditional sense. He wore dark wool suits like your father and worked from dawn until dusk every day, practicing law for longer than you’d been alive. Still, the smile above you was sweet. It coaxed you gently as you slid your hand up and down his length, like he sensed this was more like a lesson for you. Learning experience.

“Remember, spit a little first,” he instructed. Then, to demonstrate this point, he brought his fingers to his mouth and wet them quickly. He slipped his touch down to yours and met your gaze while he joined you there.

He rubbed and slicked himself up and he did it with ease. You followed his lead and watched his face contort—crow’s feet pinching even tighter at the sides of his eyes as pleasure began to pool in his gut. He looked pretty. You’d never thought to tell him this, but Joel really had an unparalleled face. It was an old and beautiful thing. For this reason, you couldn’t bring yourself to tear your gaze away, maybe to wet your own fingers. Instead, you slipped your hand between your legs, where his hips had come to rest. You worked a slow, light touch against your folds; you were drenched, and it didn’t take long for your fingers to be, too. You moved them back to Joel’s cock.

“Like this?” you ventured.

The man answered with a grunt, at first. Then a grin.

“Yeah. Yeah,” Joel nodded, quiet but emphatic. Trying not to smile too big as he let your touch take over for his, “Just like that, sweet pea. Get it nice an’ wet for daddy.”

You wanted to whimper at that. Something must’ve flashed in your eyes at the intonation of the last word, and the look must’ve suffused your whole expression, because the next thing you knew, Joel was lowering his body to yours. Petting your hair, letting you rub on his shaft as fast as your soft, lithe hands could manage.

“Feel that, baby? Feel how much daddy missed you?”

You did.

Your brow pinched, and you wanted more of that. More from him: those tender, edifying words of praise being mumbled your way while your touch worked him over. Maybe you could’ve helped it, but then again, in this state, maybe you couldn’t—you whimpered for him.

Wriggling your hips against the bed to get your warmth pressed flush with his own, and squeezing him tighter:

“In me, daddy. Please.”

You angled his cock in your trembling grip to plead as much. You knew he liked being the one to push in the first time, so you didn’t move too far with that push, but you begged him with your gaze. You felt him tense a bit.

And just when you sensed he might let you have your way, he moved off. Down. Sliding his torso away from your own, to go lower on the bed, and smirking again.

“I think she needs my tongue first, doesn’t she?”

You wanted to nod. Instead, you flinched. You crawled away from his hold before it could secure itself firmly on either one of your legs, and you had to snag your bottom lip between your teeth to contain that blossoming need. It almost spilled from your mouth in a moan before Joel’s could reach your lower half. Then you scrambled to sit up

“No,” you choked out.

This wasn’t new. While you shook your head, Joel lifted a brow and stood from the bed. He reached behind him.

The night stand.

You closed your eyes.

“This isn’t…supposed to be for me.” you sighed.

In a second, Joel was back where he started, and you didn’t have to steal a glance through your lids to know what he was holding. Slotting himself gently into place.

“Don’t,” he started, sharp, “—say that. I mean it.”

You knew he meant it, but you also knew better than to accept at face value what he said, moving down on you.

This wasn’t part of the deal. Joel’s money was meant to serve his pleasure, not yours. Letting him take you any other way seemed to blur the lines between transaction and affection, and though you’d done this before, it still didn’t feel right. You couldn’t bear having his focus here.

Evidently, though, he could. He’d snatched your vibrator from the night table and lowered his torso to your legs, lips twitching the tiniest bit. ‘Open up. Let me see her.’

Joel was on his stomach, eyes glowing with intrigue.

“Let me see how much she’s missed me, baby.”

The grey matter in your brain might’ve trickled through your ears—the whole thing went to mush at his words. You pushed at his hands, then the top of his head, but clearly, your will was weak. You wanted this. Needed it.

“That’s a good girl. Let daddy have it,” Joel drawled.

You wanted to cry. Or maybe hide. His index and middle fingers prodded at your folds, pulling them apart, and for a moment, you could’ve sworn you’d stopped breathing. Joel kissed the slope of your mound with a quiet kind of reverence. The salt-and-pepper stubble on his chin brushed your clit, and your back arched reflexively. Then, remembering why you’d come to this arrangement in the first place, you felt a wave of guilt supplant that pleasure.

You clawed at his head and shook your own, weakly.

“No. W-wanna make you feel good,” you choked out.

Not me.

Not here.

Just let it—

“Fuck,” you keened through your teeth. Joel’s lips made contact with your slick, drooling cunt and, in a second, sucked your nub in between them. He flicked his tongue.

Joel groaned, then pulled away to meet your gaze.

“Feels plenty good f’me,” he assured you in a murmur. Eyes glossy, “She’s so fuckin’ sweet, honey. So pretty.”

Then, as if to punctuate his point, he slid his tongue down the whole wet mess of your slit, and he moaned. He curled the muscle and invaded your sticky, sensitive, precious warm flesh with vigor and force—maybe a little desperation—and you whined at the feeling. Your toes curled tight. It was doubtlessly a sight to see: Joel’s old and weathered head against your young and supple skin, the wiry greys of his chin rubbing your cunt like no man’s his age should’ve been. He took you gently. Forked his fingers over your folds to hold you open for him and then, over and over and over again, just licking stripes. Squelching noises only seemed to goad him on while he buried his nose and savored your taste without reserve. Your stomach clenched with that pleasure, then swelled.

“That’s my girl—so good for me,” Joel said, as though reminding you, gently, it was okay to relish the feeling.

Once more, he suckled your clit in his mouth, rubbing the tip of his tongue in a quick back-and-forth motion, and the next sensation hit without a breath of warning.

Your belly twisted again, then flushed with hot pleasure.

“My— fuck,” you cried, shuddering with a climax you didn’t know was coming. You held his head and whined.

Joel’s tongue didn’t stop. Your vision blurred. Whatever reprieve you might’ve hoped to find came in the form of his lips drawing back, momentarily, only to sponge little kisses on your still-pulsing heat. Your body jolted back.

“I c— I’m done. I’m done,” you blurted out.

Joel nodded against you. Humming through his kisses:

“I know. Keep going.”

Keep going.

So simple.

Still, you couldn’t breathe. Your sight was inundated with stars. You felt Joel’s stubble on your slit again, only this time, the pleasure was tripled. Your legs trembled, and your hands made fists in his hair. Joel kept on kissing.

And kissed again, again, and again, until your fingers in his locks pulled taut to the roots and your hips were bucking up in his face: ‘Too much, t—oh fuckfuckfuck.’

Then came a buzz. Skirting your legs in a blink, before diving to meet Joel’s mouth on your clit. You shrieked.

“I know, I know,” Joel joined, as though soothing a wound while he maneuvered the vibrator. Lifting his head and then kissing your thigh, “I know. You’re alright.”

You wanted to sob; you felt ready to burst. You trusted Joel’s judgment but had never been subjected to this sort of pleasure. What if it was more than you could take?

“I’m here.”

Joel’s words were slow to crawl off his tongue, but their intent was clear. You writhed once more, and he was kissing your skin, rubbing your thighs, and taking the toy to your clit with a warm, devoted touch. He wasn’t cruel.

He had a glint in his gaze when you met it, like he knew you wouldn’t accept this feeling alone—but he wanted you to. He wanted the indulgence to be your own and an end in itself. There was care in his touch, tender praise with every caress, and you guessed this was intentional. Joel needed you to know this was more than only his.

You felt more naked than you’d ever been: soaking the sheets with your last release, fresh arousal trickling out, Joel’s spit mixing with your nectar and sweat and pressing you down in the bed. And nudging you, gently.

“‘S’okay, baby. You’re alright. That feels nice, doesn’t i—”

“Kiss me.”

It came out faster than you could even try and stop it. You weren’t sure why you said it. The words were acerbic on your tongue—you hated ever sounding needy—but then your mind and your mouth and your worries were all silenced at once when Joel came clambering up for you.

His lips were wet and grinning as he kissed you. He held the vibrator hostage between your legs while his body pressed tight against yours. His movements slowed.

Then, as if he’d crawled in your head and read your mind:

“It’s okay to need me, baby. It’s okay to want this.”

His hips made that assurance even clearer. Joel reached down and took the vibrator again, increasing the friction between your groin and his while he pressed the buzzing toy to your clit. You whined into his mouth at the feeling.

Your eyes rolled back, and the pleasure soared. This morning, you might’ve bristled at the words he’d just spoken, but here, in this bed, it felt okay. It felt safe.

Joel felt safe, for once, and you weren’t sure how to keep that idea from sticking—how to reconcile the notion of swapping sex for cash with a man for months on end, and then this. Your stomach churned. He held your face and kissed you more, and your clit throbbed and ached. Before you could ponder your thoughts a second longer, a white-hot pleasure washed over, and you came again.

“Good girl,” Joel cooed.

Throbbing even more this time.

“That’s a sweet girl. That’s my baby.”

All but aching with desire. Feeling it double.

“Cum for daddy, that’s it. Keep going.”

Feeling it trickle down your legs.

“She’s feelin’ real good, huh?”

You could barely breathe.

You whined. Felt something splinter between your thighs and then more of it, more of you and that slick, oozing pleasure and Joel’s groans, overjoyed—‘Making a fucking mess’a daddy, isn’t she? She feel that good?’—and by ‘that good’ you guessed it was more than normal.

This was more warmth than usual. Somewhere in the midst of your own mind-numbing pleasure, you’d let out a spurt, sticky and wet. It now coated the hairs on Joel’s tummy, and while his skin shone, his eyes were brighter. He flitted a look to you, gaze flaring, and slid down. Low.

Back to where he was before. Moving the buzzing pink bullet aside and letting his mouth assume its place.

Of course, you yelped.

“Joel!”

You winced, both from saying his name and feeling so raw. Joel grinned at the sound and suckled your clit.

It was drenched. You and Joel, too, were doused all over and practically gleaming under the rays of late afternoon sun then pouring through the window. For a second, you cast a look outside like you had before, but it was only to brace your body for the bliss at hand. You stared and felt a crude, carnal shockwave seize you head to toe. It traveled fast and made you release, again, or else just continue the same flow as before—and this time, into Joel’s waiting mouth. He lapped at you feverishly now.

He squeezed your legs and licked you dry. He worked in merciless circles, like his life might have depended on making you stay at this peak. All the while, you were tearing at his hair. Riding his face as your body fell apart.

That was alright. This pleasure was yours for now, but there was still time yet to make it worth his while, you reasoned in a half-intoxicated state. Your legs vibrated as you started to crawl—limp—back up in the bed and, numb with elation and a desperate need to please, you stretched your arm toward the night stand. You huffed.

You reached blindly but got it. The box. Weak fingers found the first plastic strip and tore yourself a square. Then, lifting it to Joel, you ignored the last stabs of pleasure between your legs. This was fun, but still his.

“Go on,” you told him, breathless, “Fuck me.”

Joel quirked a brow. He took the condom, still panting himself. He brought the latex to his tip out of habit, then:

“Yeah? Are you sure?”

“Uh-huh.”

Your head was swimming. Somewhere entrenched in the furthest recesses of your brain you could feel it, that dizzying, self-centered pleasure. You pushed it back.

You suffocated it, and you spread your legs wide for him. You let him lay you down and tug the rubber over his cock, then nudge at your hips to situate himself in just the right way. How he liked it. He seemed to be content, and your heart swelled. In this airy, buoyant state, you felt more at ease to speak, sure that he’d understand.

“This should cover some of it, right?” you panted out.

Joel slowed.

“What?”

You sucked your bottom lip between your teeth, eager to keep going. But you steeled yourself, just barely, then.

“Sex. Now,” you said, “It’ll cover some of my car repairs.”

Instead of nodding like you’d expected, Joel only blinked. Then you opened your mouth to speak again, and his body stopped you cold. He planted a hand beside your head on the pillow and raised his hips; you felt his heat leave with it. You reached for his backside immediately, to try and pull him back into that pre-missionary position he’d held, when Joel brushed you off. His face was hard.

“Money?” he quipped.

“Yeah,” you started, then remembered how you talked outside of the bedroom, when he seemed more serious, “We’ll go again. All week. You can even put it in my—”

Joel balked, like you’d just slapped him across the face.

“No,” he said, sharp.

“No,” he repeated, more to himself this second time. Almost as though he couldn’t believe what you were suggesting—and making him guilty by association.

Joel clenched your pillow like a vice and shook his head.

“You’re not getting paid for this,” he finished, and when your gaze penetrated his, confused, he squeezed harder.

“Thought you wanted it.” Joel added, almost shamefully.

“I do! I do…I just—” you sputtered.

“What? Think you need to offer up a week and a half of fucking to make it worth my time? Is that what this is?”

Well, in a way, maybe.

You weren’t sure what to say. Former dizzying bliss was dwindling fast, and now you were facing him cold. Sober.

Increasingly irritated, again.

“I just need money, Mr. Miller—”

“It’s Joel, hon,” he bit back, for the fourth time that day. His eyes flared with something more, maybe annoyance, but then he was tempering it just as fast. He ran a hand through his damp grey hair and shook his head, pausing, “It’s Joel. I know you need the money, baby, but it’s—”

“It’s what we agreed,” you protested, “What I need—”

“Well it’s not what I want!” Joel barked.

Anger surged again, and this time, evidently, the feeling was harder to keep at bay. He was scarcely able to rein in his features, settling on a grave little scowl instead of a frown, and he sucked in shorter, shallower breaths through his nose. You felt him let your pillow go.

“Forget it—the cash.” Joel grit his teeth even tighter, “Forget these payments and the goddamn allowance I’ve had you on. I can’t do that anymore. It’s not right.”

Your heart sank.

You didn’t know what to say.

Luckily, Joel’s voice resumed on its own.

“Whatever you want, whatever you need, sweetheart…”

He stopped. Silence followed, then stretched on for one full, terrible minute. In that interim, you could see his chest rise and fall fast. He was trying to slow it down.

“Whatever you need paid off, I’ll do it. Anything. You don’t have to touch me again. It was wrong of me to allow that in the first place,” he rejoined, tone cooling.

Sounding guilty, too.

Above you, Joel didn’t seem keen on holding your gaze, so he fixed his stare someplace on the headboard instead. Then he moved off your body, slowly.

In spite of the distance he attempted to give, he was still crowding your space. Looming large and bare and weary as you’d ever seen him, knees shuffling back awkwardly through a mass of cotton sheets while his eyes shifted low. Away. The rest of him filled your lungs with a heady cologne scent and your stomach with a thousand tiny blades—you were hurt that he wasn’t sticking to his end of the bargain. You were mad that he was trying to claim the moral high ground now, after everything you’d done.

Mostly, though, you were just upset that you felt like you were losing someone close. That Joel Miller was more of a confidant, friend, and father figure than your own dad had ever been, and that got all fucked up over money. Your lips pursed, and something stung behind your eyes when you reached for him again. Your throat stung, too.

“The reason I agreed to do this,” Joel went on, and the ache in your head worsened when he winced from your touch, “was ‘cause I didn’t want you getting ‘help’ from anyone else. I was selfish. And that’s not an excuse…”

He started to move off, hand dropping from yours.

“…but it’s the truth. I’m sorry.”

At length, Joel found your gaze, and the eyes said it all over again: I’m sorry. You might’ve believed them, too.

But you were you, and you couldn’t help but press:

“Why?”

Your voice was small. Joel was trying to stand from the bed, but you grabbed at his hand again and made him meet your eyes. Confusion was painted across his own.

Kneeling in front of him, curious, you tried to clarify.

“Why’d it have to be you?”

Judging from Joel’s expression as soon as you did, you got the sense that this question made him feel dumb. He frowned, but he held your stare and answered anyway.

“Because I wanted you first,” he replied, “Before all this.”

Your stomach twisted. He did?

You didn’t need to ask twice to know what that meant. What he’d said, in words and with a look, was enough. Still, it was always in you to know more, to be sure, so you crept a little closer. You let your hands roam up and—

“No,” Joel said, as soon as your fingers reached his side.

You’d just wanted to feel him, maybe prod him further on what he’d just said through acts that didn’t require verbal articulation, but he refused. He backed up in bed.

“This isn’t about—” he started, low.

“Sex. I know,” you answered for him. Then your touch grazed his thigh, and you were dying to have more. To be told in a way you both knew and understood. To touch, “You want me to believe you really…liked me before?”

“More than you know.”

There was that blunt, open pragmatism in the Joel you’d always known. Perhaps guided by natural inclinations, or else your hand on his leg, drawing higher. Moving closer.

Showing skepticism through your eyes and the hint of a playful, disbelieving smile starting to curl at your lips.

“When you met me?” you teased.

You’d known of Joel for years, and had met him a couple times as a teenager at various firm holiday functions. You probably hadn’t exchanged more than ten words altogether before starting law school a few years back.

“Hell no,” Joel answered, fast, “When you started work.”

His gaze was timid again. It was fixed on his thigh where you’d started to slide your index up the warm, muscled expanse of his skin, and though you could tell he was more than hesitant, you wanted to know. Wanted to feel.

It wasn’t so easy convincing a man you’d been working for—and fucking, largely without feeling—to pay bills that you wanted him here and now. But you needed to try.

That maybe, somewhere along the way, you’d come to want him, too. That cash wasn’t the only thing at stake.

You crawled between his legs, then straddled his hips.

Your lips smiling still as you did: “How much?”

Joel blinked back. Dazed.

“What do you m—”

“How much did you like me? When did it start?”

Joel sighed when your heat rubbed his. He tried grabbing ahold of your hips, when you glanced down and saw he’d already discarded the last condom. You couldn’t have that if you wanted to continue this talk.

You reached back and grabbed another.

“Darlin’,” Joel said, strained, “We shouldn’t…”

“Says who?”

You’d already worked the rubber halfway down his length when his heavy-lidded gaze locked with yours. You saw lust there, mixed with worry. Curiosity. You kept going.

“Says your dad, if he ever finds out what I’ve done to his little girl,” Joel replied, closing his eyes at the feeling.

You had the latex worked down to the base of him when you smiled. Felt him seize your hips, lids fluttering open to find you in their soft, glossy stare, and you felt better. Like clockwork, you went together and joined, at last. You felt Joel squeeze your backside and groan when you first sank down to take him whole. You shuddered, too.

But you tried to steady your voice as you spoke.

“Semantics, Miller,” you told him, only faltering a little, “Things you are ‘doing’ to his little girl. Not just ‘done.’”

There, you had a point. Surely your father would have had some choice words for his business partner and best friend if he knew how far Joel’s cock was currently stuffed inside your tight, wet cunt. It might even piss him off, if he weren’t too drunk to receive the news himself.

Joel blinked hard, signaling that he knew this too, and presently watched your body swallow all eight inches at once, after you’d raised yourself up to just the tip and sank back. Your ass fell to his groin with an obscene sort of squelch, and your walls involuntarily clenched. You both let out sounds of pleasure, and held on tighter.

Your hands on his chest for stability, while one of his own held your hip and the other fumbled around for your clit, gliding through the sheen of your arousal on his front. You rocked your hips and felt how much it really was—how you’d drenched his whole abdomen with your last release. You smiled at this and stared, pleased with the pretty, sticky display you’d laid bare all over Joel’s belly.

When Joel wasn’t watching you ride, he stared there too.

“Not so ‘little’ anymore,” he mused quietly. Then he looked up to find your eyes, seeing them as glazed as his, “And I ‘like’ you, hon. Present tense. Not just…‘liked.’”

Alright.

“How much?”

You wanted to say it with some confidence. Nonchalance. Then Joel’s cock nicked a particularly sensitive ridge inside your walls, and that thought was gone as quick as it had come. You gripped the flesh of his upper chest and rolled your hips harder. Let out your breaths in little fractured whimpers while you rode him more. Another sweet feeling twisted low in your gut.

With just a glimpse of that, Joel moved his hand from your heat up past your hips and waist, to squeeze one of your breasts. His fingers were wet. You could feel them, equal parts warmth and wanton yearning as the pads pinched your nipple and gave it a firm tug. He grunted.

Clearly, there was more to it than just the touching and feeling for him—Joel’s eyes drank in the sight of your skin as it glistened with the arousal he’d just smeared. He thumbed at the wet, stiff peak and swallowed. And, just as you were about to adjust the rhythm of your hips bouncing on him, his free hand joined the first and pulled you down. You cried feeling his cock wedge deep; your hands fell to either side of his body when he yanked your face down to his. He fucked up into you from underneath

You squealed, soft, “Joel!”

He kissed your open mouth. Made you lay flat overtop him while he fucked your dripping hole. You whimpered.

“Joel—” Again.

“I like you so much, sweetheart,” he said, in answer to your last question, lips close, “Does she like me too?”

As if to save him the trouble of a swift reply in words, your body told him instead. You squeezed around his cock, and with another desperate cry, bit his shoulder. He hammered your poor, aching pussy with a groan of his own, and he held your body down to his. Grinning.

Kissing the side of your head while he pounded away. Stroking your hair, “Is that a ‘yes’? She like her daddy?”

Drool was bound to slip out of your mouth any second. Your lips were locked in a permanent ‘o’ while he drilled from under you on the bed. Still, you managed to nod.

“Uh-huh—oh, fuck, fuck, da-ddy. Yes, daddy.”

You squeezed your eyes shut as another blistering wave seared your insides. Joel was relentless with his thrusts now, driving himself in and out without stopping or slowing. He must’ve known you were close. He was too, judging by the sounds of his grunts and hushed tone.

“Let daddy take care of her then, baby. All of her. OK?”

His words trickled through your ear as sweet as honey. His cock was less kind, but that was okay—you liked it.

You loved him here. Taking care of you. Her. Everything.

And, in this half-coherent state of fuckdrunk pleasure, you were tempted to give in to whatever he begged.

It would be so easy. Joel cradled your face in his hand, practically beaming with pride while he fucked you over and over, and your legs were spread, walls were stretched, eyes practically rolling back, and you felt more secure than you’d been in ages. Joel could care for you.

He rubbed his thumb over your cheek and hummed.

“Daddy’s got you,” he said, voice all warm assurance.

Nudging you closer and closer to your peak—and perhaps some other form of surrender. Release.

Submission?

Joel wouldn’t be so bad for that.

He could fuck you well and leave you content. Make you forget what it meant to be strapped for cash and saddled with guilt and worry over bills every month. Joel could provide, for now. His eyes said as much; his fingers threaded through your hair and rubbed your scalp. He cupped your face, all fifty-six years in his own looking as handsome as they’d ever been. He felt good. He felt safe.

You were hot. Your legs trembled and ached.

“Is that something you’d want?” he pressed.

And, still holding Joel’s gaze with a heavy-lidded, fucked out look of your own, you surprised yourself by nodding, slowly. Your body was spent, but the curve on your lips, then his, was sincere; Joel nodded back as he grinned.

“Yeah? You mean it, sweetheart?”

He flipped you both over and got on top, never breaking apart. You wound your legs around his back and let him cup your cheeks again, and from this angle, you felt it. You wouldn’t try and fight it now; you just kissed him.

Then you came for a third time, walls clenching and squeezing and gushing again, smearing Joel’s front as he fucked you right through it. His groans were a little more subdued than yours, but in their timbre, you could hear his desperation. He emptied himself inside you, in the condom, and kept holding your face all the while.

You felt a low pulse between your legs. Then another. And another. And another. Joel’s hips began to still, his hefty greying belly bumping lightly against your skin while he drained what was left in his balls, and you swore that his bones might’ve creaked from the sheer force of those final thrusts. He seemed exhausted. Somehow, though, the man looked even better in this state—haggard and worn as he was, the face above your own was soft. Smiling, faintly, and kissing you constantly.

You couldn’t pretend you didn’t enjoy it; you were far too tired and fucked out of your mind to protest right now.

Joel trailed a path with his lips from your chin to your ear. He kissed the hinge of your jaw and sank himself deeper.

“Mr.—” But you caught yourself, shortly, “…Joel.”

He lifted his head, not apologetic in the least.

“Maybe just one more—” he started.

“No,” you finished for him, sharp.

Still smiling, but with your eyes on him in a thinly veiled threat. Joel accepted that and kept his dick where it was.

What followed was gradual but natural enough. A little awkward as you broached that uncharted territory of remaining in the other’s presence after the deed was done, but Joel didn’t seem like he wanted to leave the bed, and you had nowhere else to go until dinner with your dad at eight. There was a moment you wanted to separate your body from Joel’s, if only to slip off to the bathroom by yourself, but the man just held you closer.

“You think your old man will mind if I joined tonight?”

Here the fuck we go.

“He’ll kill you.”

You pushed hard against his hold without getting so much as an inch of give. Joel had to fight back a chuckle.

“Oh, yeah? Why?”

“Because,” you began in a huff. Wriggling with very little success in his arms, while you were pinned in missionary, “I smell like you. You smell like me. My dad’s a drunk, but he can sniff stuff like that out in a heartbeat. Too risky.”

You punctuated those words with a still more serious look, but before you could nudge at his chest again or say something more, you were forced to swallow a scream. Joel’s grip tightened even more, and he moved to stand up from the bed—with you still in his arms and impaled on his cock. He started to walk to the bathroom.

“Great. Shower’s got plenty of room for the two of us.”

“Joel!”

“Glad I don’t have to keep reminding you of my name.”

His voice was smug. Your gaze was hard. Joel was still hard himself, amazingly, and you almost groaned when you felt the head of his cock bump somewhere soft and sensitive inside. He toted you into the big, bright room.

“If not tonight, how ‘bout tomorrow? Just you and me.”

He would never stop this shit. He reached for the faucet.

“Still too dangerous. You know that,” you chided. Your resolve only wavered a little when you felt the hot water start to pelt at your back. Joel closed the glass door, “Besides…I need to focus on figuring my shit out right now. Work and bills and getting myself a rental car soon.”

Joel paused. He turned, still holding you.

Then, just as swiftly as he’d stepped inside, he carried you right back out of the shower. You whined in protest.

He took you over to the bed and set you down. He left to find his wallet and keys. You might’ve been tempted to voice your displeasure in some other way—namely, by marching back to the bathroom, locking the door, and bathing alone—but before you could speak a word, Joel was back. He looked down at you and held out his fist.

“What’s—”

“Your dad and me’ll be up to our eyeballs in bullshit working the Garcia audit tomorrow—and I know you don’t want him seeing us leave together anywhere—so we can meet at Bohanan’s at six. How does that sound?”

You blinked.

“I don’t…have a car.”

Joel opened his hand. Keys dropped out.

In a single glance, you could see they weren’t his.

Joel drove a garish Super Duty F-450, not an Audi. The cogs were quick to turn in your head, but clearly not fast enough, because Joel was closing your fingers over the keys before you could breathe so much as a syllable to him. When you did, it came out more like a stutter. Palpably mad but far too rattled to get much out:

“Joel, I-I can’t—”

“I’ve been meaning to buy one anyw—”

“You’re insane,” you started to push the keys back, and for some reason, your heart was thudding extra hard as you did. You went on, unblinking, “You don’t…need to.”

“I want to.”

Joel’s hands were warm when he pressed both of his palms to secure yours between them. He could probably feel the way it shook a little, but he didn’t seem to care. His gaze was too busy trying to find, and hold, your own while you swallowed and stared and racked your numb brain for any words of defiance. At length, nothing came.

All you could do was meet that look. In the soft brown irises above, you could see it all—the need to comfort, and care, and provide where he could, offer better than the hand you’d been dealt and maybe, interspersed with those feelings somewhere, a simpler need in him to give.

For once, you wanted to believe it.

Fun fact: This fic was inspired by true events‼️💯 My life 😫🤪😤😈 Like reader, my truck is also busted as SHIT and needs $2,700 in repairs!!!! Unlike reader, I will not be sucking and fucking Joel Miller to recoup my losses (not asking for donations, just wanted to give y’all a giggle at my misfortune LOL)