Bells🌚

“It’s your darling’s birthday,” she said enthusiastically, her teasing smile emphasizing the word ‘your’.

He loved how Sarah called you, using one of the pet names he gave you, adding a possessive touch to it. God, he really loved that, and he was grateful that you two got along so well.

“Birthday? Is it really?” he asked, frowning.

His daughter's smile dropped, her shoulders slumped. “Dad?! Tell me it’s a joke. It’s a joke, right? And please, tell me you didn’t forget the cake…”

It was impossible to continue the teasing, seeing  her crestfallen face and a pout, and Joel couldn't help but laugh.

“Of course I’m joking, baby girl. Ain’t gonna forget this special day. And yes, I got the cake. Bought it yesterday on my way back from work.”

“Her favorite cake?”

“Yes, her favorite cake,” he smiled, touched by Sarah’s thoughtfulness and attention. 

“Great. And I’m too old to be called a baby girl, by the way,” she said, flashing a smile at him before rushing downstairs. 

She was growing up way too fast for his liking.

Joel got up and glanced at his wrist, then remembered his watch was broken, left in the dresser drawer. He told himself he really needed to get it fixed when he'd get the time, but the thought made him sigh. Too many things to do in a day, and not enough time for all of them. His watch would wait.

“Dad!!! Breakfast’s ready!”

“Coming!”

They were finishing breakfast when Tommy arrived, patting his brother on the back.

“You’re late, no more pancakes,” Joel said as he glared at Tommy.

“It’s ok, already ate. And I thought you didn’t like them, by the way?”

“Your niece is torturing me, forcing me to eat them,” he said while taking one last bite, making Sarah giggle, and his heart melted. As much as he loved to play a grumpy dad, the way his daughter cared for him always moved his heart.

“So… big day, big brother, uh? What did you get your girlfriend this year?”

“A uh… a bracelet,” Joel replied, feeling himself blush, knowing too damn well that he looked like a teenager every time someone talked about you. 

It was a feeling forgotten a long time ago when he became a single father and threw himself headlong into Sarah's well-being while men his age were partying or doing sports. 

But not Joel. He loved to rock his daughter when she was little, her eyes fixed on him until she fell asleep, as if he were her anchor in this world, when in reality, she was the one who kept him afloat. Running to get her meds to help relieve whatever pain was affecting her. Watching her smile, two little teeth peeking, the same dimple he had printed on her cheek. Standing behind her during her first steps, ready to catch her each time she wavered. Teaching her to swim, ride a bike, fly a kite, skim stones and so many other things. Making sure she had everything she needed, even though he could never totally fill the void her mother had left. But he was committed to always trying his best, as long as he'd be able to.

He was so focused on Sarah that he didn’t notice women’s gazes fixed on him, at a grocery store or when he picked her up at school. Indifferent to them hitting on him shamelessly at his daughter’s soccer practices, where he only had eyes for Sarah. 

He went on a couple dates, but they didn’t go anywhere. He just wasn't into starting a relationship.

Until he met you, a woman who stirred up a tidal wave in his dormant heart. 

Things were so easy and natural, without a rush, without a demand from him to sacrifice his time dedicated to Sarah. Unlike you, other women had often asked Joel to leave his daughter with a babysitter for a night. But he didn't want to. He wanted to spend as much time as possible with her, until she grew up and became a teenager of 14 or 18 who’d prefer to hang out with her friends rather than with her dad. Of course, that would be her choice, it was a natural order of things. But until she needed him he wouldn’t make that decision. He’d already spent too much time working, building his own company, making more money for Sarah, for her education.

You made Joel’s heart come to life again, his feelings growing stronger for months, and now he was wrapped around your finger, his heart racing each time he saw you. Thought about you. 

Everything was going wonderfully with Sarah. You knew the movies she liked, often discussed them with her, while Joel had trouble even remembering the title of the newest movie she wanted to see. "Dawn of the Wolf!" you and Sarah would repeat in unison for the tenth time, laughing. You naturally came not only into his life but into his daughter’s too, and now he couldn't imagine living without you. He hated when you didn't stay over, yet kept his biggest wish a secret from Sarah for now — you moving in with them.

“A bracelet? Mmmm… no ring?” his brother chuckled, looking at Sarah.

“What? No, not a ring.”

“But you’re thinking about it, right?”

“They have to live together before he proposes to her, uncle Tommy,” Sarah said, making Joel choke on his pancake. “What are you waiting for, dad? She sleeps here more and more often, which is cool, because when she doesn’t, you're extra grumpy.”

“That’s my niece,” Tommy grinned.

Joel glared at him then lowered his gaze, twirling the fork between his fingers, then looking at his daughter.

“You uh… you wouldn’t mind? If she moved in here with us?”

“Of course not, she's cool. And you could watch Curtis and Viper with someone else and not me, all benefits!”

“What, you’re telling me you’re not into Curtis and Viper?” Tommy asked with a smirk, to which Sarah replied, “oh yeah, I am, top action movie,” making Tommy snicker. But Joel didn’t react to their banter because

a) he knew that she loved the movie as much as him and was only teasing him as usual, especially when Tommy was around. They both loved poking fun at him

b) he could only think about the prospect of you moving in.

“You’re sure? It's always just been the two of us. I don't want... I don't know, I don’t want you to be uncomfortable.

“Dad, I told you, she's cool. You’re happy with her, you love her. She should move in.”

“Not to mention that she’s really special, for loving a fucker like you,” Tommy added, making him and Sarah laugh again. 

“Jesus… Okay, if that’s alright with you, I’ll ask her.”

“Now let’s hope she won’t say no,” Tommy smirked before they heard a knock on the door.

“Behave,” Joel mouthed to his brother, his frown vanishing instantly when he opened the door and faced you. He pulled you into a hug, murmuring a soft “happy birthday, darlin’. I missed you last night,” in the shell of your ear.

“I missed you, too. Thank you, baby.”

You slid your hands down his back, pressing yourself to him, his broad shoulders and reassuring chest against your body, as you breathed in his scent, his cologne and shampoo. He pulled away after several seconds, cupped your cheeks in his large hands and kissed you. 

“You get more beautiful every day, how is it even possible?”

“I guess your eyesight is probably going every day, baby.” You gave him a smile that lit up his heart, like it’d always done.

He scoffed with a fake annoyance and invited you to come in. 

“Happy birthday, darlin’!” Tommy and Sarah cheered together, making you laugh when you noticed Joel’s face at their greeting. 

“Thank you, guys! Hey, sweetie,” you said, hugging Sarah. “How are you doing?”

“I’m good! Are you ready for your special day?”

“Of course, I’m so excited! Hey, Tommy.”

“Hey, sweetheart. It was about time you arrived, Joel is all grumpy this morning.”

“No, I’m not! But stop calling her darlin’,” he said, pointing his index finger at his brother, then grinned.

The three of you laughed and you pressed yourself against Joel, murmuring a soft “I’ll always be your darling,” that only he could hear. It filled his heart with a rush of heat. Then you all left the house, got in his truck and headed to the lake. 

During the ride, Joel’s large hand remained on your thigh, possessive and protective, squeezing it lightly when his fingers weren't brushing your inner thigh. Your eyes met again and again, and you smiled at each other, your hand placed on his. Your gaze always fell on his plushy lips, bringing your thoughts to him settling down between your legs, his broad shoulders spreading them before he’d go down on you, his lips on your cunt, his hands on your hips, as he would eat you out perfectly until you came on his tongue. 

Heat reached your cheeks when you felt his eyes on you, fully aware that he knew what you had in mind.

“Tonight,” he murmured, making you soak your panties even more than two seconds before.

You couldn't believe this perfect man was your man. He was sweet, protective and caring. So sensual and hot when you two were together. And gorgeous, as if his face and body were carved by a sculptor.

The lake was one of your favorite spots, with wildflowers along the water's edge and birds singing in the trees. 

You kissed Joel before going to the dock with Sarah, to skim stones in the water and try to make them bounce as many times as possible.

“You’re way better at this than me,” you said, watching her grab another one. She was beautiful, smart and sharp, a ray of sunshine, with a radiant and contagious smile. Your heart sank when you thought of Joel who had raised her alone, making sure she lacked nothing and surrounding her with love.

“Dad!” Sarah shouted. “You have to teach her your trick!” 

Joel and Tommy joined you, the game quickly turning into a competition between the two brothers while you and Sarah watched and cheered, then you all ate the picnic lunch you'd packed before you went to Joel and Sarah’s house in the morning, blew out your candles, and opened presents.

Tommy’s gift was a book that you were sure you'd only mentioned to Joel, so he had probably told his brother about it while Tommy was searching for an idea. You hugged the younger man to thank him, glanced at Joel and mouthed a ‘thank you’. He smiled, a grin so wide and beautiful that your heart exploded, overflowing with love you had for him.

"So, did I choose well?" Tommy asked with all the confidence and smugness a younger brother can possess, and you told him it was perfect, making him swoon without a hint of shame. He was always funny and warm, the best brother-in-law you could dream of.

Sarah's present was a framed print. The two of you talked about poetry and painting a few times, and a couple weeks earlier while you were in a shop in front of some reproductions of paintings, she asked if there were some favorites of yours. You weren’t surprised that her compassionate and generous nature led her to choose such a mindful gift. You hugged her and said, "thank you so much, sweetie, I love you." You felt Joel's soft and grateful gaze on the two of you. You didn’t look at him this time. You were too emotional.

Joel gently squeezed his daughter's shoulder, then handed you his package, a rectangular shape with dark-colored paper and a silver bow tied with two loops. You unwrapped it, revealing a velvet box which you delicately opened. It contained a silver bracelet, so pretty and perfect for your taste.

"Oh my god, Joel! It's so beautiful!" you exclaimed as he put it onto your wrist.

“You like it?” he asked.

“Are you kidding me? It’s perfect!” You kissed him and snuggled up to him, looking down at your wrist, your back against his chest, his arms around you. He was your happy place. You always felt safe around him, joyful and loved.

You took several pictures that day, Joel and Tommy drinking a beer, Sarah kissing her father on the cheek, his gaze fixed on you, the three Millers jumping from the deck. Then you put down your camera and joined them in the water where you all splashed each other, before it quickly turned into a girls’ team vs boys’ team. You laughed so hard that your jaw ached. 

When it started getting cold you all got out and dried off, Tommy made a fire and Joel took his guitar case out of the truck. He played several songs that you all sang together. It was a perfect day, surrounded by the people you loved most in the world.

When you came back to the Millers late afternoon, after dropping Tommy off, and Sarah went to her room to listen to music, Joel told you he had another present for you. You raised your eyebrows as he put something on the kitchen counter.

“Oh, Joel, you didn't have to…”

“Baby,” he said. “I want to wake up every day with you. Fall asleep with you. Watch TV with you. Shower with you. I’m not always easy, but…”

He slowly removed his hand, revealing a key, and your eyes widened.

“Joel, are you… asking me to move in with you? With you and Sarah?”

He nodded, then added, “I love having you here. In the morning in the kitchen, drinking coffee. At night. I want the bed to smell like you every day, for the rest of my life. I want to live with you, have you all by myself, every day and night. My work hours are shitty, but I wanna take care of you. Every week, every month, all my life.”

Hearing his confession, you felt like your heart was about to jump out of your rib cage. You were moved, but you thought about Sarah, and the implied changes in her life. Their lives.

“Is… is Sarah okay with this?”

“Yes, she is. I've been thinking about it for a while, but I didn't know how to tell her. It's always been just the two of us, you know? Even though I knew she adores you, I didn't know… and then this morning it came up in a conversation, she asked me what I was waiting for, so… Here's a duplicate key I made several weeks ago, if that's okay with you.”

“Of course, it is, oh my god, Joel,” you cried, throwing yourself into his arms.

He chuckled, hugging you tight.

“Welcome home, darlin'.”

That night, he sank between your legs, just like he'd promised in the truck. Eyes dark, full of desire and need, he lapped at your cunt until your thighs shook on his shoulders, your fingers grasping his curls. After he had crawled on top of you and kissed you, he brushed your wrists and the bracelet with his calloused fingers, as soft as velvet on your skin. "These wrists... are mine,” he murmured, gaze lowered towards you, full of self-confidence. The same one you discovered the first time he fucked you, watching the way your body was shivering, touching you the way you needed it, as if it was the hundredth time and not the first one. 

“What else is mine, sweetheart?"

“Me. All of me.”

“That’s right,” he said as he pushed in and kissed your neck, making you arch your back and bite your lip, brushing your g spot slowly, again and again, until you came on his cock, his eyes fixed on yours. He followed right after, groaning, his forehead against yours, sweat dripping down his curls.

Mornings with Joel were always special. Precious. From the very first one, then when you slept at his place once a week, then twice. They still were special, several months after moving in. Maybe more than ever. 

Sometimes you woke up first, the daylight bathing the room in an orange hue as the sun kissed the foot of the bed. Whether your back was to him or you were facing him, you would snuggle up to him, seeking the warmth of his body against yours. Pressing your back against his broad chest, settling into his arms like a cat in its favorite spot. You could hear him moan, half-awake, as his arms tightened around you. Often falling back asleep.

Sometimes he would wake up first and watch you sleep. As he looked at your hand resting on the pillow, he’d imagine a wedding ring around your finger. He wanted you to be Mrs Miller, to hear people call you this way. 

Then he would lean to you and kiss your cheek, or your forehead, or both, slowly and softly, until you’d wake up and bury your fingers in his hair, drawing your body towards his, throwing your leg around his thigh.

Sometimes you didn't really know who had woken up first. Your bodies finding each other, the warmth of one melting into the other, hands searching for fingers, lazy kisses on a patch of skin, before finally finding lips. He would lower his boxers, or you would, just enough to free his cock, and he’d push in after pulling your panties to the side. He would thrust gently, just to feel you, just to make you feel good, and be as close as possible, both of you only half awake.

His eyes barely open, he’d look at you, searching for you, as your fingers slid over his warm, tanned skin, letting him control the rhythm of his hips against you.

“Morning, sweetheart,” he always said, in his sleepy, hoarse and warm voice.

“Morning, baby,” you would reply between moans.

These were your mornings with Joel, before your day would start. And you loved every second of it.

Nights were just as special as mornings, your bodies needing to be one.

“You make me feel like I’m the only woman in the world,” you breathed, your forehead against Joel’s, who was kneeling on the bed, his cock buried inside you as you were seated on him. He was caressing your back, pressing you against him, your breasts against his chest, radiating heat, that was mingling with the burning sensation in your lower abdomen.

“That’s because you are,” he replied, pulling away to look at you in the moonlight. “You are, you hear me?” His soft eyes were locked with yours. “Most beautiful woman in the world.” He caressed your cheek, his fingers always so soft against your skin.

“Will you still love me in 20 years?”

“Oh, darlin’. You'll never get rid of me. Not in 5 years, not in 20 years, not in 50 years.” He lowered his gaze, then chuckled, “was that creepy?”

“It could be, but it’s not,” you laughed, brushing the curls at the back of his neck. 

“You're the love of my life, sweetheart.”

“And you’re mine.”

You felt his cock twitch inside you, and he slid his hands under your asscheeks, slowly moving you up and down his shaft.

“You make me feel so soft. I want to protect you, be there for you. Hold you in my arms, all my life,” his words and his cock made you moan, and you stammered weakly, “I’m madly in love with you, Joel Miller.”

“That’s good. ‘Cause I’m madly in love with you, too. And with these little moans, too. You always moan so prettily for me. Now, you’re gonna be good, sweetheart?”

You hummed, his cock filling you so perfectly, so slowly, spreading you apart in the most perfect way.

“Yeah? You’re gonna come on it, baby? I know you can do it,” he praised, circling your breast with his hand before taking your nipple in his mouth, sucking on it and making you shiver. 

“Come on it, baby, come on. Come on my cock. I can feel you flutter around me. Christ, it’s so good, you’re doing so good for me. Always do.”

You whined when you came, pulsing on his shaft and he followed you soon, holding you tight against him, breathing loudly in your ear.

Sundays were soccer game days, and you didn't want to miss a single one. Even if you didn't really like the jealous glances of other women while Joel was holding you against him. 

The day Sarah won her first cup you were so proud of her, you couldn’t hold back your tears when you took a picture of her and her dad, while she was holding her trophy, Joel looking at her proudly.

That day, just after you took that pic, Tommy smiled at you then said “you're good for him. For her too, and she’s everything to me. Thank you, sweetheart, for being here.”

“They’re good for me, too. I’m so lucky, Tommy.”

“I hope one day I’ll love someone like you two love each other, and have a family like yours.”

“I’m sure you will. You deserve it.”

One week before Joel’s birthday, just after breakfast while Joel was showering, Sarah looked at the calendar on the fridge where “September 26th” was covered with red hearts, purple stars and blue butterflies that she had drawn. She asked if you could take her to a store to get a birthday card. 

You went there in the afternoon and she chose one with a dinosaur on it. She loved them since she was 3 or 4, ever since her and Joel watched a cartoon together, with a t-rex so silly that it made her laugh a lot. For weeks, she imitated the dinosaur, trying to scare her father by making what she thought were scary screams while they just were cute. Of course, Joel played along and used to get jumpscared exaggeratedly, making her laugh so hard that she always ended up out of breath.

Once back home with the card, you watched her seated at the dining room table, carefully writing something for him.

“Dear dad, let’s see… You’re never around, you hate the music I’m into, you practically despise the movies I like, and yet somehow you still manage to be the best dad every year. How do you do that? :)  Happy birthday, papa! ❤️ Sarah”

“That’s very sweet and moving, sweetie! He’s so lucky to have you,” you said, after she let you read it. “He’s gonna love it.”

“I’m going to get his watch fixed, too,” she added, her beautiful eyes fixed on you, full of trust, sharing her secret with you. She wasn't your daughter but you loved her so much, was so grateful that she accepted you into their lives.

“Oh, that’s such a good idea! Do you want me to come with you?” 

“No, it's ok, I’ll go after school, it’s on my way. I got the money, too. Do you have any ideas for his birthday?”

“Yes, the other day we walked past a music shop, and he pointed out a guitar. I think he’d really like it.” Sarah’s smile lit up. “He’ll love it!”

On the night of September 24th, you were lying on the bed when Joel came out of the bathroom, his hair still wet and pulled back, towel tied loosely around his hips and a few raindrops beading on his shoulders. The view left you breathless. He was gorgeous, more than ever, maybe.

“Do you have any idea how handsome you are?” you said after a few seconds, once you managed to breathe again.

“Shut up,” he chuckled, deepening the dimple on his cheek.

“Oh my god you’re blushing!”

“ ‘course I’m blushing, I’m not used to being praised by a woman as pretty as you.”

“Nonsense, you’re just so cute, Mr Miller.”

“Really? Well, I don’t think I ever heard you calling me cute, when i’m fucking you deep into the matress, do I? Aw, who’s blushing now, sweetheart?” he smirked, dropping the towel to the floor, his hard cock springing free. He grabbed your ankle to pull you closer before climbing onto the bed.

“You’re not playing fair!” you giggled, letting him manhandle you on all fours.

“Mmmm, you're right. Do you want me to stop?” he smugged before spanking your ass lightly, making you push against his crotch.

“Could you stop?” you asked playfully, looking at him over your shoulder.

“Damn, who’s playin’ dirty, now, baby?” he breathed, mesmerized by your drooling cunt, and you let him enjoy the view a little more by leaning on your forearms.

“Jesus christ, sweetheart…”

“She’s waiting,” you teased, still looking at him, feeling yourself dripping.

One hand on your hip, he slid the tip of his cock along your folds, covering it with your wetness before nestling it at your entrance and slowly pushing in.

“Oh, shit,” you whined.

“That’s a lot of cock for this little pussy, isn’t it?”

You only managed to moan while he bottomed out, so slowly that you closed your eyes and squeezed the pillow. It was incredibly good to feel him so deep, like he was made for you, as you were made for him.

His other hand grasped your hip, and he started to fuck you at a slow pace, his moans lulling your ears before giving way to the praise he knew you adored.

“Damn, baby.”

“My perfect girl.”

“Taking me so good.”

“So tight for me.”

“Gonna make me come way too soon if you keep squeezing me like that.”

“You wanna come, baby? D’ya want me to make you come, darlin’?” spanking you again when he only heard moans in response.

“I didn't hear you,” he growled.

“Yes, please… please, make me come.”

He leaned towards you, his chest covering your back, and slid his hand to your clit, brushing it so perfectly, peppering kisses on your shoulder, whispering in your ear “you’re perfect, baby. Made for me and for this cock. Come on it, baby. Soak me.”

“Oh my god, Joel, I’m gonna… Oh fuck, I’m coming, I’m coming…”

He spanked you, making both of you whine. “Shit, yeah, just like that, squeezing the shit outta me. Doing so good for me. Oh fuck, baby… oh…”

His words turned into moans as he came, squeezing you tightly under his fingers, thrusting deep inside you, only releasing his grip when his spasms ceased. He rolled onto the bed and pulled you towards him, holding you in his arms.

“I love you. Do you have any idea how much I love you?”

“I love you, too, just as much, baby. I’m so happy, Joel. You’re making me so happy.”

You fell asleep against each other, his beard lightly rubbing against your hair.

The next day you were finishing packing your suitcase, just before Joel was going to drop you off at the airport. The idea of not being here for Joel's birthday breaking your heart, you tried to change the date of the seminar months before, then to find someone else in the company who could go there instead of you, but didn't succeed. 

Taking one last sad look at the bedroom, you noticed one of Joel's sweatshirts hanging behind the door.

"Can I take it?" you asked.

"What, this sweatshirt?"

"Yeah, It'll be like a security blanket, while I’ll be on the other side of the country for your birthday. Otherwise I feel like I'm gonna cry all day."

"Oh, sweetheart..." he said, taking you in his arms. "Remember what I told you. We'll have plenty of time to celebrate and you’ll be back soon, just in a few days, okay? And yeah, of course, you can take it. But don't you want a clean one? I wore it today…”

“No, I want your scent on it.”

“It’s kinda hot, you know that?”

You smiled at him, grabbed the sweatshirt, and you two headed to the airport.

On the morning of September 26th, you called Joel when you arrived in your hotel room, on the other side of the country, and wished him a happy birthday, trying not to show how upset you were, to not be there with him.

“Thank you, darlin’. And don't worry, really, I’m gonna be working late today. I don’t even know if Sarah will still be awake when I get home. We’ve got time, baby. All the time in the world.”

“Yeah, okay,” your pout disappearing quickly at the sound of his calm voice.

“So, tell me, darlin’. How’s Boston?”

*****

When you hung up you didn't know that you’d never return to Texas.

You didn't know you'd never see Sarah again.

Joel didn't know he'd never get the chance to give you the engagement ring he'd hidden in his nightstand, planning to give it to you when you got back from Boston.

And Joel didn’t know that Sarah had a birthday card for him in her bedroom, the card he’d never read.

part 2

Joel masterlist

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Joel doesn’t wait. He pushes the carriage door open and climbs down in a single fluid motion. Then he turns and reaches up for you, his hands closing around your waist, lifting you down out of the brougham with the careful, possessive thoroughness of a man who’s been counting the miles for half an hour and is no longer prepared to count any further.

He sets you down on your feet in the yard, his hands never leaving your waist, as Tomás appears from the barn, wiping the back of his neck with a flannel.

“Good to see you Patrón,” he says with a grin.

“And you,” Joel nods. “See to the driver, will you? He deserves some rest and a cold drink before he heads on back to town. Mrs Miller and I ain’t to be disturbed.”

“Consider it done,” Tomás replies, nodding at both of you in turn before moving over to the driver and extending his hand.

You don’t wait to witness the outcome of the exchange. Joel's hand moves from your waist to the small of your back as he gently guides you towards the porch steps. His palm presses warm and possessive through the fabric of your dress, the heavy boned stays and the thin torn linen of the chemise beneath, and you can feel the tremor in his fingers against your spine. Glancing at him, you understand that he’s holding himself on a tighter rein in the last twenty feet between the brougham and the front door than he’s held himself in the entire journey before.

Pushing open the door, he guides you across the threshold before closing and locking it behind you, the key turning smoothly. The decisive click of the bolt sliding home echoes in the quiet hallway, and the late afternoon sun falls through the side window in long warm bars across the floorboards. You stand in the dim, cool entry hall with your back to him and don’t turn around.

Behind you, you can feel the heavy heat of his body and the ragged drag of his breath at the back of your neck – the careful trembling restraint of a man who’s been holding himself on that rein and is now about to drop it entirely.

“We should go to bed,” he says calmly, his voice wavering slightly over the last word.

“Yes,” you reply breathlessly. “We should.”

But you don’t move, and neither does he, his breath hot at the back of your neck. The tremor in his fingers has spread into a visible trembling that you can feel through the warm pressure of his palm at the small of your back and the heat in your stomach, which has been simmering patiently, gives a patient, answering pulse.

You draw in a careful breath and finally turn around.

His eyes are inches from yours, and they’re not lazy or crooked or careful at all. The man looking down at you is a man exhausted by restraint. And yet, you can see he’s still trying – can see the clenching muscle at the hinge of his jaw beneath his beard, the ragged restraint of his breath, the visible trembling of the hand that’s left the small of your back and is now hovering, uncertain, between you, as though he doesn’t entirely trust himself to lay it back against you.

“Joel?” Reaching out, you place one hand gently on his chest and his entire body reverberates under it.

"Darlin’, please. If I touch you in this hallway, I ain’t gonna make it to our bed and I ain’t gonna take you for the first time on these damn floorboards. So, let me walk you to our room.”

You look up at him, well aware that the careful side of you, which was entirely absent from the brougham, would take her husband's offered arm and walk with him in careful, dignified silence down the hall to the bedroom.

The spinster, of thirty-four years, would expect it.

You ignore her and, reaching up with both hands, find the top brass button at the high collar of your dress that he so carefully fastened back into place in the brougham not ten minutes ago, and work it loose, followed closely by the second and the third.

Joel's eyes follow your fingers, his chest rising and falling rapidly.

"Darlin’…”

You undo the fourth button, and the dress falls open by half an inch revealing the scarlet flush again on the bare line of your collarbone. You turn slowly, your back to him, and begin to walk down the hallway, your fingers continuing to work the buttons free as you go.

You feel him follow, his hand catching your elbow after a few paces, and he turns you, his mouth on yours before you can draw the next breath.

The kiss is not slow or careful, rather it’s the kiss of a man whose restraint has cracked clean down the middle and his mouth opens against yours with a low, rough sound in the back of his throat that’s almost a growl. His tongue slides against yours with a demanding heat that takes the breath out of your chest, and his hands leaves your elbow and your waist, gather up the entire length of your dress and hold you hard against him.

You let the small brass buttons go, your hands flying up of their own accord and fisting in his shirt at the muscle of his shoulders as you kiss him back with a hunger you haven’t known you possess, the heat in your stomach now drawing tight in a single drowning heartbeat.

He walks you into the wall, your back hitting it hard, but with too little force to cause any damage. His fingers pull the folds of your dress higher, and you feel the cool air settle against the bare skin of your stocking-clad ankles, then your calves, then your knees.

"Joel…you said…"

"I know what I said."

His hand reaches the soft tender crease at the top of your thigh again, the pads of his fingers tracing the slick heat of you beneath the gathered fabric, the slow, patient pressure of his thumb settling once more against your clitoris. You let out a high, helpless sound against the rough scratch of his beard as his lips dance over the skin of your throat.

He stops, pulls back and presses his forehead hard against yours, and you feel the long, ragged shudder that runs the entire length of his body as he lets out a low, rough broken sound against your mouth.

"Darlin’…I’m tryin’ to get us to bed. I’ll get us there, I swear I will…”

"I know,” you pant.

"Help me."

You exhale against his mouth and press your hand flat against the heavy thud of his heart beneath his chest feeling the ragged drag of his breath and the visible trembling of every line of his body beneath your palm.

You understand that he refused you in the brougham not out of any lack of want but out of the deepest possible declaration of intent, the declaration is costing him every shred of restraint he has left, and he’s asking you, now, to help him hold the last of it.

Drawing his hand carefully out from beneath the gathered layers of your dress, you lace your fingers through his. Then you turn, and start walking once more towards the bedroom, pulling him gently after you.

He follows closely with his hand tight in yours and his beard scraping warm and slow against curve of your shoulder where the dress has fallen open from the loosened buttons. His other hand fists in the fabric at the small of your back to keep you pulled against him and you make it another three steps before he stops, swings you round to face him and kisses you again.

You slide your hand from his and work the next brass buttons of your dress loose against his chest.

Then the next and the next.

The dress falls open from the small notch at the base of your throat all the way down to the high boned edge of the stays, and the scarlet flush is now blooming all the way down across the soft unstructured curve of your breast above the boned edge. The torn chemise has given up the fight of staying tucked beneath the stays and now hangs loose and disordered around the climbing heat of your skin.

He draws back from your mouth just far enough to look down at the bloom of you in the warm gold light. “Darlin’…”

"Yes?”

"Take off the dress.”

"Joel, the bedroom is…"

"You ain’t makin’ it to the bedroom in this dress, darlin’ ‘cause I won’t let you. So, take it off here, now.”

The scarlet flush blooms warmer across the soft swell of your bare collarbone as you raise your arms, allowing him to draw the dress up over your head with a patient, possessive thoroughness. He catches it in his hand, folds it once and lays it neatly on the floor at your feet, then he reaches up behind your head and gently draws the pins from your hair, teasing it with his fingers until it loosens from its knot.

A smile finally pulls at the corner of his mouth. "There, darlin’, that’s better."

You stand in your heavy boned stays and your loosened torn chemise and your layered cotton petticoat and your stocking-clad legs with your hair falling around the scarlet bloom of your bare shoulders and let your husband admire you.

His eyes travel slowly from your hair to your collarbone to the swell of your skin above the stays to the chemise to the petticoat to the line of your white stocking-clad ankles and he draws in a shaky breath.

“We need to keep movin’.”

You laugh and it comes out small, breathless and slightly hysterical, and he laughs too, low and rough and entirely undone. Catching your hand in his, he turns and starts to walk backwards, taking you with him, growing closer and closer to the bedroom door.

You make it there, then he turns you against the wall outside, his mouth dropping to your bare collarbone above the stays. His fingers find the heavy laces at the back, and you understand with a small, dizzy heartbeat that the stays aren’t going to make it to the bedroom either.

He works the knot at the small of your back, his fingers not entirely steady. The knot resists and you hear the low frustrated breath through his teeth. Reaching back over your shoulder, his hand closes around your wrist and together you work the knot loose. The first lace gives, then the second, then a third, and a fourth, the heavy boned structure loosens against your ribs, and you draw in your first deep breath of the afternoon.

He draws the stays away from your body and lays them, with the same careful, reverent precision he gave your dress, on the floor outside the door.

The torn chemise falls soft and loose against the bare skin of your ribs, your unbound breasts and your waist, and the small dark peaks that he drew so thoroughly tight in the brougham are entirely visible through fabric, his eyes finding and focusing on them with a heated intent that makes your knees tremble.

He doesn’t speak as he raises his hand, his thumb tracing one, very slowly, through the torn linen, the heat in your stomach draws tight again, and you sag back against the wall behind you with a whimper.

"Joel… the bedroom…please…"

He gathers you up, one arm going behind your knees, the other behind your shoulders, and lifts you off your feet against the heavy, hot length of his body. You wind your arms around his neck and press your face into the warm, slick hollow of his throat as he kicks the door open with his boot and carries you across the threshold.

The bedroom is cool and dim, the curtains still drawn from the morning, the room lying in a soft amber half-light, the late afternoon glow filtering through the gaps in narrow gold seams across the floorboards and the foot of the bed.

He lays you down on it, the sheets cool against the heat of your skin through the chemise. Your loosened hair spills across the pillow in a wave and he stands beside the bed for a long moment looking down at you, his hands at his sides, the ragged drag of his breath visible in the heavy rise and fall of his chest beneath his shirt, the tremor in his hands at his sides now entirely visible.

"Darlin’ I…I need a moment.”

You raise yourself up onto your elbows, the chemise slipping down off the curve of one of your shoulders, one nipple becoming visible through the loose, disordered linen, and Joel's eyes squeeze briefly shut at the sight of it.

"Joel…you’ve seen me before, that night…”

“Not like this,” he says, his voice hoarse. “Not in this light. I haven’t…not like this.”

"Take your shirt off, my love," you encourage him, your voice lower and richer than you think you’ve ever heard it before.

His fingers go to the buttons at the front of the shirt and work them free. The trembling makes the work clumsy, the third button resists, and he makes a frustrated sound through his teeth and simply tears the rest of the row open with one hard, sharp pull. Buttons scatter across the floorboards, but he doesn’t look at them.

He shrugs the shirt off his shoulders, and it falls to the floor in a heap behind him, the soft light of the dim bedroom falling across the plane of his bare chest, the rise and fall of his ribs, the dark scattered hair at his sternum and the pale scars from a life lived hard.

His hands go to the buckle of his belt, working it free, followed by the row of buttons at the front of his trousers. They fall to the floor around his boots, which he toes off, and he steps out of them, now naked before your eyes.

You draw in a small breath as the heat in your stomach draws tight, your eyes falling to the thick, heavy, hardness between his legs. You’ve never seen one before, other than in pictures in a medical book at the mercantile, and no drawing could have prepared you for this.

Sitting up slowly, you reach for him with both hands, and he comes to you, his weight pressing the mattress down beside you with a heavy creak, his hands settling at the loose, disordered chemise.

"Take this off, darlin’,” he instructs softly and you raise your arms again, allowing him to draw the torn linen up over your breasts, over your collarbone, over the loose waves of your hair, whereupon he tosses it carelessly on the floor.

The layered cotton petticoat follows. He finds the tape at the waist, works it loose with fingers that no longer tremble but move instead with a hot, inexorable focus, and draws the petticoat slowly down the bare length of your hips and your thighs and your stocking-clad knees and your calves and over your boots. Then he sets the petticoat aside on the floor and sits back on his heels at the foot of the bed.

You’re bare beneath him now save for the boots and the white silk stockings held in place by the ribbon garters tied above your knees. He doesn’t speak as he bends his head and works the laces of your boots, one at a time, his fingers moving with a possessive thoroughness. The boots come off one after the other and drop quietly to the floor beside the bed. Then he works the ribbon garters at your knees, rolls the white silk stockings slowly down the length of your calves and over your ankles before drawing them off your bare feet and setting them aside.

He looks at you now, his eyes traveling the length of you with a rolling, devastated reverence. “Look at you."

"Joel, please,” you beg. “I can’t wait.”

His eyes return to yours, a smile curving his lips again. "I know, darlin’. I’ve made you wait too long and I’m gonna fix that now.”

He comes up the length of the bed, his bare body settling along yours, his chest pressing against your breasts, nipples dragging against the dark scattered hair of his chest. The thick, hard length of him settles against the slick, bare heat between your thighs without yet pressing in, and you let out a long, broken, shaking sound.

His hand comes up, thumb tracing your cheekbone, eyes locked on yours. “Don’t be scared, darlin’. I’m gonna be careful with you, I promise.”

"Joel…"

"I gotta be careful, darlin’. It’s your first time."

"Please,” you whimper, your hips involuntarily sliding against his. “I don’t need you to be careful.”

“Yes darlin’, you do. I gotta be careful with you this first time and then, once you’re warmed up to me, we can do things differently.” He drops a soft kiss on the end of your nose. “Do you trust me?”

“I trust you,” you whisper.

He presses his forehead against yours, the visible trembling of his body returning in a long, ragged shudder along the muscle of his back where your hands have wound. The ragged drag of his breath comes hot and uneven against your mouth, and you feel the slow, careful press of him slide once along the slick bare heat of you without entering, the patient drag of him learning the shape of what he’s about to do.

“Feels like you’re ready for me.”

“I am, please, I am.”

"I love you, darlin’," he says gently.

"I love you too,” you reply, tears pricking at the corners of your eyes.

"I’m gonna love you and protect you for the rest of my life, darlin’. Now take a breath and hold on to me."

You inhale sharply and he presses in slowly, so slowly, to the slick, stretched heat of you, an inch at a time, filling you in the amber light of the bedroom while his hand cradles the side of your face and his thumb strokes slow against the curve of your cheekbone. There’s a small pain partway in, a bright thin sting that makes you whimper, and your fingers tighten on his shoulders, and he stills instantly.

"Darlin’, if I’m hurtin’ you…"

"You’re not, I promise. It’s only... only new. Please, my love, don’t stop."

He keeps going, slow and patient, the sting easing into a deep, full, astonishing stretch as he settles the last of the way into you, the hot length of him coming to rest fully inside you. His hips press flush against the inside of your bare thighs, and the heavy thud of his heart drums against yours through the bare press of his chest. He doesn’t move. He holds himself perfectly, trembling still, his forehead pressed against yours, his breath hot against your mouth, his eyes burning down into yours from inches away.

The bedroom is utterly silent.

You can hear the slow tick of the clock and the distant sound of cattle outside the curtained window, the ragged drag of his breath against your mouth and the ragged drag of yours against his.

You feel the heavy press of him at the very heart of you, fuller and deeper than you’ve imagined a man can reach inside a woman, and the realisation settles through every limb at once that the spinster in you is, in this single, suspended moment, being entirely and finally replaced by something else, by the woman who will lie in this bed for the rest of her life beside the man who loves her.

"You feel…so good…” he murmurs. “So good darlin’. So warm and wet…”

The heat in your stomach answers the heavy hot press of him with a slow, patient pulse, and you shift experimentally beneath him, making the smallest movement of your hips against his, and the hot rolling wave of sensation that subsequently travels the length of your spine causes you to let out a moan against his mouth. His eyes squeeze shut and his hand at the side of your face tighten.

"Don’t move, darlin’, not yet. Just…just give me a moment."

"I can’t, Joel. Please, I need to feel it all…”

The careful patient husband who’s been promising you all afternoon that he’ll be careful makes one last valiant attempt to hold the line and loses.

“You’ll feel it darlin’,” he promises shakily. “You’ll feel all of it – every damn inch.”

The first slow withdrawal and the slow, heavy press back in take your breath away entirely. You arch against the bed, your hands gripping his shoulders, and a broken sound escapes your throat which he answers with a low, rough sound of his own against the side of your neck.

He finds a rhythm, slow at first with a heavy careful roll of his hips into yours, the broad heat of him filling you and withdrawing and filling you again, slowly, carefully learning how your body answers his. He braces himself on his forearms on either side of your head, his chest moving slick and warm against your breasts, his beard scraping slow against the curve of your jaw with every slow, heavy roll.

The rhythm builds and the heat in your stomach draws tight at the heavy claim of him with a speed that startles you. The flush blooms warmer across your collarbone and your hands slide down his shoulders to the broad line of his back, your fingertips finding the shifting muscle beneath the slick skin, your heels pressing into the back of his thighs to pull him deeper.

You’ve never felt like this before.

"Joel…more, please…more…”

He makes a rough, undone sound against your mouth, and the careful roll of his hips deepens, becoming harder. The bed beneath you begins to creak softly with the rhythm, the headboard rocking, just perceptibly, against the wall behind it. His hand at the side of your face slides down along your throat and your collarbone and settles at the curve of your breast, his thumb finding the peak that his mouth so thoroughly suckled in the brougham, and the pressure of his thumb against it sends fresh hot sparks down to feed the slow, tightening boil low in your stomach.

"Joel…I’m... already, my love, I can feel..."

"I know, darlin’."

"How can I be... already... how…?"

"You’ve been waitin’, so long, darlin’, we both have.”

The slow, careful patient man is nowhere now. What moves above you is something hotter and more focused, the heavy claim of a husband who’s finally been given the run of his own house, and the heat in your stomach draws to a crescendo.

"Joel…"

"Come apart for me,” he pants, “come apart for me in our bed."

"Joel…"

"Look at me.”

You look, his eyes burning, as the heavy roll of his hips doesn’t falter. His hand slides back down your body, in between where you’re joined, and once more finds your quivering clitoris, circling against it in counter-rhythm to the heavy press of him deep inside you, and you realise you’re going to break as a rolling wave gathers itself in every limb.

"Joel…” you gasp. “Joel, I’m…”

“Yes, let go for me darlin’, let go. Scream my name.”

"Joel…”

“Yes…”

“Joel…!”

The wave breaks and you arch up against him with a high-pitched cry that fills the bedroom and doesn’t need to be muffled. Your fingers grip tightly to the slick skin and the muscle of his back, your heels dig into the back of his thighs, and your body clenches helplessly around the hot full length of him deep inside you. The wave rolls through you and keeps rolling, and the heat of him, deep inside you, turns every wave of it incandescent, and you hear him swear low and rough and absolutely undone against your throat.

"Oh…darlin’…mine…my girl, my sweet girl…! I love you…I’m gonna give you everythin’…!”

His rhythm shatters, the roll of his hips becoming something harder, faster and entirely unrestrained. The bed creaks harder beneath you, the headboard knocking harder against the wall, and his hand leaves your slickness and slides up to the curve of your hip, pulling you open wider and gripping you there with a force that will leave fingerprint bruises by morning that you’ll carry like a benediction.

He drives deep and hard, pressing so tightly against you that you can barely draw a breath. Then a long, ragged shudder runs through his entire body, and you feel the hot pulse of his seed deep inside you, deep, full and astonishingly intimate. The broken sound he makes against the curve of your throat is nothing you’ve ever heard out of any man and something that you’ll carry in your bones for the rest of your life.

For a long, suspended, trembling moment he holds there, his hand still locked at the curve of your hip, his chest heaving against your breasts, the heavy drum of his heart beating hard and ragged against your sternum. His forehead drops to the hollow of your throat, his beard scraping wet and warm against the slick skin of your shoulder, his breath hot and uneven against your collarbone.

The headboard stops knocking against the wall.

The bed stops creaking.

The light pools warm and unchanged across the floorboards and the foot of the bed, and the cattle continue to low outside, entirely unconcerned with what’s just unfolded.

Joel doesn’t move for a long time.

His weight presses you down into the warm tangled linen, his hand at your hip slowly relaxing, his breath gradually evening out and the heavy drum of his heart gradually slowing. Eventually he raises his head, eyes soft now, the heavy claim of a moment ago entirely drowned in the warm aftermath.

“That was…you were so good, darlin’, so goddamn good…”

You can’t, in that moment, form a word. Every breath has been torn from your body by the very act of loving and being loved.

His hand comes up to trace your cheekbone with a careful tenderness that makes your eyes sting again. Then he brushes a loosened strand of hair back from the slick skin at your temple, bends his head and presses a long, slow, reverent kiss against the corner of your mouth.

"My wife."

"Yes…"

"Mrs Miller."

"Mr Miller," you echo, your voice catching slightly over the word as you regain your breath.

"Did you enjoy that?" he asks, nuzzling the tip of your nose with his own.

You laugh, small and watery, feeling absolutely, profoundly, gloriously undone in his arms. “Yes…yes I enjoyed it very much.”

“I’m glad,” he murmurs, kissing you again, “’cause we got forty-eight hours before I need to go back to jail.” Slowly, he withdraws from you, the resulting coolness making you gasp. Then he rolls over onto his back, his arm sliding beneath your shoulders, and he gathers you against the warmth of his chest. “And once ain’t gonna be enough for me darlin’.

“Me neither,” you reply.

“You were too damn good. I’m gonna need to love you again before sundown and beyond. Lord…” he squeezes you gently. “Never thought I’d get to feel this way ever again.”

You gently kiss the top of his chest, your hand sliding over the sweat of his stomach, fingers gently stroking the skin there before slowly slipping lower into the hair under his naval.

“Easy darlin’,” he murmurs against your hair. “You gotta give a man a minute to recover from an encounter like that.”

“Tick tock,” you giggle, as his free hand moves to your jaw and pulls you slightly upwards so that his mouth can meet yours again.

The amber light of the bedroom holds the two of you in the bed, and you can honestly and truly say that the careful spinster of thirty-four years is finally, and entirely, gone.

➰➰➰➰➰➰➰➰❤️➰➰➰➰➰➰➰➰

"Mind you, the guy was still trying to touch me, but I told him it costs extra and he got so pissed. I don't get what goes through their heads," Jane recounts, swiping on the cherry-scented lip balm that follows her into every room.

She fixes herself up in the mirror like she's got somewhere to be—fluffing up her hair, relining her lips, pouting to check that it's crisp enough.

"You listening?" she asks, catching your gaze in the reflection.

You are.

At least you were, but that was before you started counting.

"Yeah, 'course," you say, blinking away the daze. "Sorry. You were saying?"

You tell yourself you can do both—be a good friend and listen while also stressing about your finances. So, you start from the top, licking your thumb, take it slower this time while she speaks.

One hundred.

Two hundred.

Three hundred.

Four.

A five, and some ones.

Your nerves fray at the edges.

Rent's barely covered, not to mention gas, food, utilities, the phone bill—

"Babe," Jane calls, staring at you in concern. "You good?"

"I'm short," you blurt, brows pulled tight, swallowing thickly against the taste of bile rising in your throat. "At least two hundred."

"That much?"

You nod, looking at the money, hands shaking faintly.

"Well—hey, don't sweat it. Ricky's still here," she says, patting your arm comfortingly. "And I can spot you if you need—"

"No," you say firmly. "Absolutely not, Jane. I'll owe you a fucking kidney at this rate."

She sighs, pulling out a banged up box of Marlboros from her purse. She taps it against the dressing table to knock one free.

"Gonna go for a smoke. Want me to wait?"

"Please?" you ask, already headed for the stairs. "I'll be down in a few."

"Take your time, babe. Trevor's runnin' late," she says with a shrug. "Got held up."

She slips the cigarette between her lips and pushes through the door, leaving you alone with a lead weight in your gut.

Ricky's office is the third door on the left from the landing—a red bulb above it flickering ominously, yet to be fixed.

Okay, you tell yourself. He's a cheapskate, but he's never shorted you on purpose.

He'll fix this, make it right.

You take a breath before you knock, just long enough to make you hesitate.

Your knuckles meet the wood, rapping lightly.

"Come in," he calls out. "Hurry up."

Stepping inside, you feel the air suffocating you already, pins and needles prickling at your skin.

"Scarlett," he says in greeting, not looking up from his magazine. "You need something?"

"Um," you mumble, tongue darting out to wet your lips as your gaze flits about the room.

It lands on the board—a thing of nightmares.

Metrics that detail your failures, how far you've slipped in the ranks since you started.

Only twelve private dances this week compared to Cherry's thirty-six.

No requests. No bottle service commissions. No VIPs.

You try not to wince as your eyes cut to him again, his bald head reflecting the fluorescents overhead.

"I'm short... It's usually six—"

"—hundred. Yeah, I know." He takes a swig of his water, swishing it around in his mouth before swallowing.

"You were out for a week. You don't expect to be paid for not showing up, do you?" he asks drily, making you stammer in response.

"I-I had the flu. You told me not to come in."

"Because you'd infect half our clientele, and that's bad for business. Look—"

He props his elbows onto the desk, finally meeting your eyes. "You can't dance for whatever reason—any reason at all—someone else will."

"...I know I've been falling behind these past few weeks, but I swear, I can get back to—"

"You're not the main attraction anymore, Scarlett. Cherry is. You get the bonus when you're the lead and you're... well, you're losing your touch."

Losing your touch.

The sentiment lands as hard as he expected, any bravado you may have been clinging to, any shred of hope, gone. Just like that.

Your shoulders deflate, eyes dropping to the table.

"You get back to the dancer you were a month ago, and we'll talk," he adds.

You nod once, a barely there dip of your head.

"Okay. Yeah...okay," you say quietly.

The humiliation sinks deep, bone-crushing in its intensity as you make for the door, not bothering to stop when he bids you a good night.

You take the steps two at a time, grabbing your bag from the dressing room to meet Jane out front.

Your cheeks are burning up, head barely lifting as you meander your way through the throngs of regulars and new faces you don't recognize.

Of course the moment you're leaving is when the customers actually show up. It was dead all night, and now the closers get to make all the money.

Meanwhile, you're walking on blistered feet and bruised calves, your makeup caked on thick with a stack of chump change burning a hole in your purse.

And life has a way of kicking you when you're already down, you've noticed.

Halfway to where Jane stands waiting, you collide with someone, sending you stumbling.

Before you can hit the ground, flat on your ass for everyone to see, a pair of broad hands reach out to steady you.

"Woah there. You're alright," the man says, keeping you upright.

You're too stunned, too out of it to realize you've got your face shoved against the broadness of his chest. A hard wall of muscle pressed flush to your cheek.

"I'm fine," you say, pulling yourself away, nearly tripping over your feet again.

You can't catch a fucking break.

Looking up briefly, you catch a glimpse of him in the dim light. He looks just about as tired as you do—hazel eyes sunken in, lined with wrinkles that tell his age, frustration lacing his expression.

"Thanks," you bring yourself to utter, adjusting your bag on your shoulder.

"Don't mention it," he says, voice rough.

You hold his gaze a while, long enough for the air between you to go stale, awkwardness muddying up the exchange.

"Gonna—" he gestures behind you, to the dark hallway that houses the bathrooms.

"Yeah, sure," you nod, already walking off. You try not to look back at him, wondering what about him has you wanting to, but you fail miserably.

By the time you turn your head, he's already gone, disappointment curdling in your gut.

No need to get attached to the first person to show you kindness, you remind yourself.

Easier said than done.

"Did he give you the money?" Jane asks, pushing off from the bar.

"Let's just get out of here," you say, not wanting to risk the breakdown that's been marinating since the moment you walked into the office.

"Scarlett!"

Your eyes shut briefly, recognizing the voice without needing to turn and face it. Still, as the footsteps draw closer, you do.

"What is it, Ricky—"

"Cherry's out."

You blink a couple of times, staring blankly. Then the words register with a frown.

"Out? What do you mean?"

"Sprained her ankle. Doctor says two weeks minimum."

Jane's eyebrows rise. "Jeez. Is she okay?"

He waves a hand. "She's got workers' comp. She'll survive. But..."

He looks around—at Poppy working the tables; Diamond on stage, putting on a show; Lola leading a customer back for a private dance, fingers wrapped around his tie.

"I'm short a dancer for closing."

"What about Ruby?" Jane asks, glancing subtly at you from the corner of her eye, arms crossing against her chest.

"In Italy, on her honeymoon," he says curtly. "I need someone now."

He eyes you expectantly. "Scarlett."

"Huh?" your gaze snaps to him. "Me?"

"You've been slipping, and it's like I said: if you can't dance, someone else will. Two weeks is a hell of a lot of time to work your way back up."

"I dunno—"

"Two hundred."

You tense, face dropping, the fight leaving you all at once.

"You need the money, don't you?" he asks, a slick smile curling his mouth. "You do me the favor, I'll get you what you need."

"Ricky, don't be a prick," Jane scowls, stepping in front of you protectively.

He raises his hands in surrender. "I'm just offering Scarlett the night, that's all."

Looking back at you as he steps away, he says, "You know where to find me if you're up for it."

Nodding a goodbye, a smug expression on his face like he's already won, he disappears up the stairs.

"Babe," Jane begins, hands finding your arms as she faces you. "Don't do it. I'll loan you the money—"

"I can do it," you say, voice wavering.

"Like hell you can," she retorts firmly. "I saw the blisters. You can't dance on those."

"Jane, I need this," you blurt, searching her gaze, urging her to understand. "I'll be fine. I promise."

You pat her hand where it rests on your arm. "Get home safe, yeah?"

When she realizes you're not backing down, she sighs heavily, dropping it back to her side. "Yeah, you too."

Her eyes rove over you one last time, across the forced smile that's found its way onto your face.

"You'll kill it up there."

"That's the plan."

Before she can talk you out of it—before you can talk yourself out of it—you step around her, heading towards the back of the club. With a tip of your head, the bouncer lets you through, your footsteps echoing loud in the quiet of the hall.

The bass rattles the walls, laughter spilling beneath the door as he shuts it behind you. Life goes on whether you're falling apart or not.

The dressing room greets you with the familiar scent of hairspray, perfume, and powder, the harsh lighting around the mirrors stinging at your eyes.

Curling irons. Lipstick tubes. Sequins scattered like confetti.

You stare at your reflection as you sit, rifling through your makeup bag without a word.

She looks tired, smaller somehow—like Ricky's words managed to carve something out of her and left you with what little remained.

Losing your touch, he said. Only to beg you to stay and save his ass, dangling money in front of your face like some prize to be won.

You scoff under your breath. "Fuck you," you mutter, dabbing your puff in powder and patting at your skin.

Each step you take in your routine—lipstick, perfume, fresh curls, heels—feels like you putting the performer back together. You tuck away the exhaustion, the embarrassment, the pain, and swap them for rhinestones, angel wings, and glitter.

Smoothing gloss across your lips with one hand, you adjust your top with the other, fixing the strap threatening to slip from your shoulder back into place.

By the time you stand, Scarlett is back. Or close enough.

The lights hit before the applause does. Then come the cheers, the whistles, a few drunken hollers from somewhere near the stage.

You paste on a flirty smile before anyone can see the effort it takes—how badly your feet are stinging in your heels, how sore your muscles are from your first shift.

The opening notes of the song spill through the speakers as you take a steadying breath. One, then another.

Showtime.

Your outfit shimmers beneath the spotlights as you make your way towards the pole, hips swaying with every step. A hand slides up the metal, the crowd responding instantly.

You let them look, let them leer at you the way they do. Let them think you've got this.

The wings wave lightly at your back as you circle the pole once, slow and deliberate, before hooking a hand around it and hauling yourself upwards.

The movement comes easy despite the ache, years of practice keeping you steady, turning your exhaustion into something graceful.

You spin and the room blurs. Faces melt together into a sea of strangers and dollar bills.

For a moment, you forget all about Ricky.

About Cherry.

About the bills waiting on your kitchen counter—unpaid, overdue.

You give them Scarlett, the fantasy. Anything but yourself. That part you'll protect as long as you can, keep her to yourself so nothing can break her.

Applause erupts when you drop back to the stage, and you smile wider at the praise, working the room like a pro—blowing kisses, winking playfully, wagging your fingers at the men holding out cash for you to take.

Your gaze sweeps the crowd automatically—the tables, the booths, the bar.

Then it catches on hazel eyes. The same man from before, watching you with rapt attention.

But it's different from the others. Not hungry, not drunk, not eager.

Just watching.

And for some reason, that unsettles you more than any pair of wandering hands ever could.

By the time your feet start to give out, the song comes to an end. Then comes the money, landing in a barrage at your feet, more than you saw during your first shift.

Hell—more than you've seen in weeks.

You make the rounds, walking across the stage with all the grace you can muster, all while the strap of your heels dig into the backs of your ankles.

Thank God for blister guards.

To the left, you let a couple of men stuff bills into your garter, grazing their fingers with a coy little smile in thanks while taking the rest in hand.

For the right, you hold out a hand—letting one man press a kiss to your wrist while he hands you a twenty, and the others hand them to you directly.

But for center stage, you crawl.

On your hands and knees, wings lurching gently behind you. The men go wild—shouting comments no woman should hear, no person should make—but still, you carry on.

It's all part of the show, and there's a power in knowing you can leave at any time. They're here for you, not the other way around.

With that in mind, you inch forward, sitting back on your legs when you reach the edge.

"Thank you, honey," you purr, shaking your chest as a gentleman in a suit steps forward, sliding the bill under the strap of your bra.

A fifty. Not bad.

You bite back a smile of relief at the sight, giving him a wink in thanks.

The man with the hazel eyes catches your gaze again, his table directly in front of you, his friends whooping loudly at your arrival.

But he doesn't do a damn thing. Doesn't offer any money, doesn't look at you like you're the hottest thing he's ever seen.

What's his deal?

One of the guys sitting next to him holds out a crisp hundred and you freeze, eyeing it like it's water in the desert and you haven't drank in days.

You grin like the cat that got the cream and reach for it.

Just before your fingers can grasp it, he pulls it back, barking out a laugh at your expense.

Your smile falters when his friends join, only one of them looking uncomfortable at the exchange as he shifts in his seat.

But hazel eyes is having none of it.

He snatches it, ignoring the man's protests to give it back, and extends it out to you.

Something traitorous flips in your stomach then, your heart pounding loud in your ears.

Play the part.

You lean forward, eyes never leaving his as you take it between your lips.

Nothing flickers in his eyes, you notice.

No desire, no lust—not even pity from knowing how exhausted you really are. Just mild surprise and a hint of apology.

You're off the stage before you can think any harder about it. About him.

"God, Scarlett. That was hot," chimes Poppy, stopping you before you head back.

"Thanks," you say, slightly breathless. "I think it went okay."

"No. I mean you and that guy." She fans herself dramatically, sighing wistfully. "Talk about a knight in shining armor."

A knight.

Him?

You scoff, smiling wryly. "No way. He's just decent. The bar can't be that low, Poppy, come on," you tease, already walking away.

"It's very low!" she shouts back.

The silence in the dressing room is no help at all.

Out there, there'd been music, lights, men shouting your name like they've earned that part of you.

But back here, there's nothing to do but replay the moment.

The money. The look in his eyes. The way your stomach decided to betray you over a man whose name you don't even know, a flutter still knocking itself around your ribs.

"Scarlett, you back here?"

You jump, nearly dropping your makeup brush.

"Yeah?" you call out, waiting for Diamond to round the corner.

She pokes her head through the door. "You've got a request, girl."

"...A what?"

She laughs, approaching you from behind, her fingers fixing your hair as she catches your gaze in the reflection.

"Some guy requested you for his brother." She shrugs. "Said he needs to loosen up. Guess he's a hard-ass."

You roll your eyes, reapplying your lip gloss. "Great. Just my luck."

"Can't be that bad," she says, rubbing at your shoulders to try and soothe you. You groan when she works at a knot in your nape, smoothing it away with her thumbs.

"You could totally be a masseuse, y'know. If you ever want outta here," you say, rising from your place at the vanity.

She barks out a laugh, already halfway out the door. "Yeah, I'll think about it."

You take your sweet time getting to the private room, going over the ins and outs of a lap dance in your head like you've never given one in your life.

It's like riding a bike, you remind yourself. If you don't ride one for a few days, you just hop back on and it's like you never even stopped.

Or something like that.

You hover outside the door a moment too long—fluffing your hair, tapping your foot anxiously, going over the worst that can happen.

If Ricky was right about you slipping, you wouldn't have gotten a request in the first place.

Right?

With that logic in mind, you take one final, steadying breath, paste on a smile, and enter the room.

"Hi, sweetheart—" you say, eyes settling on the man of the hour.

With the door only partly shut behind you, you still.

"Oh."

It's you.

Your first instinct is surprise, relief that it's him and not some creep with ogling stares and greedy hands.

The next is disappointment.

He's not here for you. He's here for Scarlett.

Be Scarlett.

The thought settles over you like a second skin. Easier than being yourself, anyway.

By the time the door clicks shut, your grin is back into place.

You saunter forward slowly, letting your fingers trail across the broad line of his shoulder as you move to stand in front of him.

"Your brother must really care about you," you tease. "Getting you a dance with little ol' me."

Your words hang in the air, but they never land.

Normally they get you a laugh, a hand reaching for you, a stupid joke in return.

He just squirms awkwardly in his seat, his shoulders pulling up tighter, tension oozing from him in droves.

He clears his throat.

You swallow.

Jesus Christ.

"Come on, sugar," you try once more, fingers curling around his shoulder before you step back, swaying to the music. "Makin' me do all the work."

Your eyes fall to his hand at his side, curled into a fist so tight, his knuckles are white as snow. He catches you looking, unfurling it quickly and resting it on his thigh.

"Sorry," he mutters.

You try not to frown, do your best to keep the facade going just long enough to make it through the dance. But his blatant lack of interest triggers the spiral.

Ricky's words echo loud in your ears.

The numbers flicker in front of your eyes.

All the money you've failed to earn taunts you in the form of dollar signs too far out of reach, floating there like a mirage.

"...You don't wanna be here much longer, do you?" you ask, quieter than you intended.

That gets his attention faster than your flirting did. It makes you laugh.

"No," he says, shaking his head lightly. "I mean—"

You wrap a strand of your hair around your finger, eyes faraway as you stare at the wall behind him. "I can send someone else in. Another girl."

"That ain't it."

"No, I get it," you blurt, scrubbing a hand down your face. "Trust me, ain't the first time."

"I said, that ain't it," he counters, voice firm.

"Yeah, well," you huff, stepping back further and crossing your arms. "Reckon your brother didn't pay all that money for this."

His brow furrows, gaze hardening.

"Didn't ask him to."

The defensiveness in his words makes your hackles rise.

"Maybe you oughta listen to him and lighten up."

He blinks, taken aback. "Excuse me?"

You stare, long and hard, a voice in the back of your mind shouting curses at you.

What the hell are you doing?

Arguing with a customer, picking a fight with a man who hasn't done anything to you.

"Shit," you whisper. "Shit, shit, shit."

Your hands cover your mouth, eyes wide as you assess the confusion in his gaze, the way he's leant forward into the conversation out of pure frustration.

"I'm sorry. I'm sorry, I didn't—"

"Hey," he cuts in, but you shake your head, dropping your hands.

"Didn't even mean to say that. I don't know why I'm—"

You're stammering now, looking more and more like you want to cry than you did in Ricky's office.

The one time someone doesn't want something from you and this is how you act. No wonder people come and go like summer rain.

What the hell would they bother staying for?

"Hey," he repeats, fingers closing around your wrist. "Look at me."

When you finally do, he sighs—slowly, carefully—like any sudden movement will have you running off to lick your wounds.

"I ain't upset."

You hold his gaze, frown deepening not in anguish, but bewilderment.

"...Why?"

"Why?"

"I was rude."

That earns you a chuckle, his thumb grazing your skin. Whether on purpose or unconsciously, you can't tell—and you don't bother asking.

"Little bit," he nods. "Think you're misunderstandin' me."

"You don't want the dance," you murmur. "I get it."

He huffs. "Ain't said any of that."

"Then..." Your lips part, mouth opening and closing over and over again, until the words form on the tip of your tongue.

"Then why do you look so miserable?"

The look he gives you is pure disbelief.

"That how this looks to you?"

Your gaze drops. To the floor, to your hands—anywhere but him. Silence settles in, broken only by the thump of bass, the occasional chatter drifting through the door as people walk past it.

Then his fingers gently brush beneath your chin. Hesitant, almost. Giving you every opportunity under the sun to pull away.

You don't. The thought doesn't even cross your mind.

He tips your face up just enough for your eyes to meet his again, his thumb grazing your cheek as he lets his hand settle there, warm and steady.

Without thinking, without taking a moment to contemplate the implications of what the hell it is you're doing, you lean into it.

His expression changes immediately.

The tension leaves his jaw first, and something shifts in his eyes, softening them enough to send warmth creeping up your nape.

Not surprise. Relief—like he'd been expecting you to pull away.

You never let customers get so close, never let them touch you like they have the right to.

But something's different about this one and you know it. Enough to not flinch when he pulls you onto his lap, to not recoil when his fingers curl lightly around your hip.

To not shy away when he murmurs, "You wanna dance, dance," the rough drawl of his words curling themselves around you.

The agreement slips past your lips before you think better of it.

"Okay," you whisper.

Dancing has always come easy. The thinking's the hard part. As soon as you put it away, your hips move on sheer instinct.

It takes a few rolls of them to find the rhythm, your gazes transfixed on one another like you can't bear to look anywhere else.

He doesn't rush you—doesn't tell you what to do, what he wants.

Just watches you dance the way you're accustomed to, not realizing how much extra effort you're putting in to make it perfect for him.

You grind down, hips moving in a figure-eight that has him groaning, a measured breath leaving his nose.

You bite your lip to tamp down a smile.

There you are.

For the first time since you got here, he gives you bits and pieces of himself. Offers them up wrapped in velvet and ribbon, all while holding you like you matter more than someone who's only his for a song.

And just for a moment—one selfish, reckless moment—you don't give him Scarlett. You give him you.

When the song comes to a close, your movements slowing to a stop, your chest is rising and falling quicker than it was at the start, arms around his neck like you're not ready to let go just yet.

You're supposed to be selling a fantasy, a glimpse of heaven that comes and goes in an instant.

Instead, you've bought into one yourself.

"Sweetheart," he murmurs, getting your attention with a gentle tap of your thigh.

"You mind—" he trails off.

"Hm?" you hum in confusion, tilting your head.

That's when you feel it, a hardness that wasn't there before pressing against you.

"Oh," you breathe, cheeks burning. "S-Sorry."

"S'alright. Just happens," he mutters, clearing his throat as you rise from his lap, settling onto the couch beside him. The moment you're off of him, he shifts, trying to adjust himself as subtly as possible.

"No, yeah," you say softly. "It's fine."

You don't make for the door—not yet, anyway. Instead, you stay seated, fingers curling around the couch's edge while your breaths even out.

He rubs awkwardly at his neck, exhaling slowly before he reaches for his wallet, pulling it from his pocket.

You watch as he thumbs through the bills—stopping on a ten, then grabbing a twenty instead.

He holds it out, glancing at you without a word.

You stare at the money, then his face, then back again.

"Go on," he says roughly. "Take it."

You hesitate, reaching out to let your fingers brush the paper before they close around it.

With the song over, the tip in your hand, you know it's time to go. And yet, when your feet carry you to the door, heels clicking all the way, you linger.

"You know..." you begin, looking over at him. "You're a really weird customer."

His lips twitch—against his better judgment, no doubt.

"Says the one who just took my money," he teases.

It catches you so off guard, that lilt in his tone. Enough for a laugh to escape you, warm and genuine, a smile curving your lips that feels like the realest one you've shown in days.

You wave the bill at him, watch the way his eyes catch on your mouth.

"...See you around."

The rest of the night passes in a blur.

Songs. Lights. Dollar bills.

More requests than you've had in weeks, and Ricky's smug little grin flashing in the corner of your vision as he watches you perform from upstairs.

By closing, your feet are bleeding, your calves more banged up than they've been in weeks.

You're changing out of the wings, the bedazzled two-piece, and the glittery heels when Lola asks, "So..."

You toss a glance over your shoulder, stilling when you notice all of the girls watching you expectantly.

"Tell us about the dance."

You snicker, throwing on a t-shirt. "Which one?"

"Oh, please. Don't play dumb," Diamond says, rolling her eyes.

"We're talking about the knight, babe," Poppy cuts in.

You grimace. "Ugh, don't call him that."

"He totally had you blushing," she exclaims, shoving lightly at your arm. "I've never seen you leave a private dance so flustered."

Your smile grows against your will.

Unassuming at first, then beaming.

"Oh my god, I knew it!" Lola yells, the girls shrieking in unison.

"God, you guys are annoying," you retort, hanging up the wings. "He's just a customer. It's nothing."

"Nothing my ass. He'll be back before you know it, asking about you," Poppy quips, wiping her makeup away.

Asking about you.

You swallow against the sudden dryness in your throat, fingers tracing the waistband of your jeans absentmindedly before you tug them on.

Your phone buzzes on the vanity—your roommate on her way to pick you up.

The dressing room empties in waves, everyone leaving one by one, the four of you exiting the club in a line.

First Diamond, then Lola, then Poppy, blowing kisses over her shoulder and shouting something about the knight that earns her a chorus of laughter.

You flip her off affectionately.

The club feels different at closing. Quieter, almost. Sticky floors and half-empty glasses abandoned on cocktail tables, men stumbling toward the exit in search of their designated drivers.

The cool night air hits your face like a blessing, refreshing you to the bone, soothing the aches in your muscles.

You dig a cigarette from your purse, slipping it between your lips as you light it.

"Get the fuck off me," you hear, your eyes drawn across the parking lot.

"Get in the truck."

"I'm perfectly capable of—"

"Tommy. Now."

And there he is—the knight. Standing beneath the moonlight, looking better than he has any right to.

You shake your head, try to rid yourself of the thought before it takes root.

But you can't stop staring, and the moment he happens to glance over, neither can he.

He closes the door, shutting the drunk man in his truck, watching you in silent question.

You don't look away. He takes that as answer enough.

He crosses the asphalt in long strides, coming to stand beside you, hands in his pockets.

Neither of you speak for a moment, but it doesn't feel as awkward as it probably should. It's comfortable—easier than it needs to be.

"You got a ride?" he asks, breaking the silence.

You take a drag of your cigarette, letting the smoke curl around you with every word.

"Yeah... She's almost here."

He nods, but before he can speak again, you beat him to it.

"I know what you're doing."

His brow lifts in curiosity. "What's that?"

Your lip twitches, flicking the cigarette against the ground to ash it. "Playing the savior. But I'm a big girl, I don't need saving."

He watches you sidelong, eyes tracing the slope of your nose, the stubborn set of your shoulders, the confident gleam in your eyes.

"Never thought you did," he says, voice low.

You turn to face him just as your ride pulls up, parking in the spot adjacent to where you're standing.

"You wanna help me out? Request another dance."

You drop the smoke, stamp it out with your foot. "Ask for Scarlett."

"Scarlett," he repeats, turning the word over slowly.

"...That your real name?"

You look at him pointedly, a smile curving your mouth. Without saying a word, you walk to the car, about to slide into the passenger seat.

Just before you do, your gaze finds him once more.

"Hey. What's yours?"

When he doesn't answer, staring at you with confusion on his face, you say, "Your name."

It takes him a moment to answer—like it'll cost him something, and he's weighing the pros and cons of it before he does.

Then—

"Joel."

Your eyes soften, the word settling somewhere in your chest too forbidden to name.

"Goodnight, Joel."

The door shuts behind you, your roommate speaking the moment she pulls away from the curb, but you don't hear a word of it.

Because Joel is still standing where you left him, watching the taillights recede, watching you leave.

And for once, you find yourself wishing you didn't have to.

a/n: it's officially my birthday, yay!!! so happy to be ringing in another year around the sun with one of my favorite fictional men and an OC i'm beginning to love dearly. part II will be coming soon, so i hope you'll all be patient in waiting for it. it's going to be an absolute treat! if you'd like to be added to the tag list for it, please let me know in the comments. love you sm, thank you for celebrating with me!!!

Deep down in your mind, you have a selfish idea that you can still leave now. Everything will be forgiven. You do not have to stay if you are not sure. But you also know that this was your decision.

Either it was a wise decision or a desperate one, you are not sure.

Three weeks ago, when you were peacefully eating your stew in the hall, Tommy Miller approached you with a grin on his face. "Hey there, sunshine," he greeted.

"What do you want?" you eyed him.

"Can't I jus' say hello to my dearest ol' friend?" he chuckled, sitting down next to you. "Those boots suit you well," he nudged your boot with his.

You smiled but rolled your eyes at him. "I'm not interested in married men, sorry. Scram now, good sir."

Tommy let out a loud laugh. "M'not flirtin' with ya for fuck's sake. Maria would cut off my balls, y'know that."

"Yeah, I know. And I would help her happily," you said before eating a spoonful.

"Need a favor from ya," he muttered. "For old time's sake."

You turned to look at him. "And which old time's sake?" you asked. Tommy gave you a look that told you he was being serious. You sighed, "Alright. Spit it out."

You knew exactly what Tommy meant, but you just wanted to taunt him a little. You two had known each other long before Jackson. Tommy first met you when he saved you from a raider. His short-tempered nature made him smash a glass bottle over the head of the bastard, and he threatened to shoot him in the head if he did not want to leave you alone.

You did not trust anyone back then, so you spat on Tommy after he saved your life. One thing led to another. He had been friends with you ever since, despite how much older he was compared to you. None of that mattered when the two of you were just surviving, trying to see another day.

Until you two ended up here in Jackson, a place with a new hope. Where Tommy met the love of his life, Maria.

You had never seen Tommy so happy in his life as when you saw him after he married Maria. You were happy for them, even when you and Tommy had a fling a long time ago. It did not matter now. Neither of you made a big deal out of it. You loved him as a friend, and you were truly happy for him.

Tommy stared at you deep. "Promise me you won't overreact."

"I promise," you declared, feeling annoyed at him.

He looked around for a second, making sure no one was eavesdropping. And no one was. People were eating and chatting, minding their business.

Tommy cleared his throat, then he leaned closer and whispered, "I want you to try goin' on a date with my brother."

As the words left his mouth, you turned fully to stare at him in disbelief. "Your— WHAT?!" you yelled.

People turned their heads to look in your direction. Tommy muttered a sorry to them while you were still stunned. Shocked. Horrified.

"HAVE YOU LOST YOUR GODDAMN MIND?!" you yelled again at Tommy.

People turned their heads once again to check on you before returning to their own business.

Tommy flicked your forehead. "I told ya not to fuckin' overreact, goddamn it."

You finally looked around, finally noticing that you just made a scene before glaring back at Tommy. "You just fucking said you want me to go on a fucking date with Joel Miller," you whispered, feeling scared that anyone would hear. "Tommy— what—" you paused, "Are you fucking insane?"

"What's wrong about one date with Joel? S'not a big deal."

You made a face. "Did a clicker eat your brain out somewhere during patrol?" You scowled at him before whispering again, "He's old, Tommy. Like so, so old."

"You usually have a crush on older guys anyway. It's only Joel," he muttered as if it wasn't a big deal.

He wasn't wrong. But you still did not want to go. "Why does it have to be me? Can't you ask someone else? It's fucking weird. Joel is like a really mean old man. I have nothing in common with him."

"Hey, careful there. That's my brother you talkin' about," Tommy warned. "He's been through some shit. Things that would keep him at night. And now that Ellie's all grown up... he's been alone most of the time."

"That's not my fucking problem," you mumbled.

Tommy glared at you, making you stop complaining for a second, and listened to him. "Maria and I told him s'no good for him if he keeps drownin' in his loneliness. And guess what? The man finally listened once in his life. Now he's lookin' for a wife."

"The fuck?" you looked even more annoyed. "Do I look like I'm interested in getting married any time soon? I don't even wanna go on a date with him."

"Why not?"

"He's old."

"Didn't stop you from sleepin' with me back then."

You frowned at the reminder. "That was one-time. And— he's even older than you, asshole."

"It's jus' Joel," Tommy muttered. "He's way better than those punks you had a crush on."

"I don't even know him, Tommy," you grumbled. "The man's barely said three words to me since he got here years ago. He's mean."

Tommy sighed. "Listen, Maria told me you cried to her the other day," he muttered, making you turn your gaze from him. "Sayin' things like you feel tired doin' everythin' on your own. Said you need someone to love ya in this new part of the world we live in, 'cause you feel so alone, even in the crowd. Ain't that right?"

"Shut up," you mumbled as you looked away.

"Guess even your sunshine has its cloudy days, huh?" Tommy stared at you. "Then try with him."

"Ask someone else."

"I could've. Y'know, women in all Jackson would be all over him if I informed them of this. But I came to ya first."

"Why? Because you think he's the right one for me?"

"'Cause I care 'bout ya, stupid. I know my brother wasn't a saint, well, none of us was. But he sure does protect the ones he loves. And, hell, I jus' want the best for ya," Tommy said before getting up from his seat. "Though I can't decide anythin'. It's your call. Jus' sleep on it," he stated before patting your back and walking away.

You did end up going on that date.

The one that leads you here now. In your husband's house. Even if it still feels foreign to you to think that you are someone's wife now.

You refuse to believe that you are only here because you are desperate. But you know you are.

This marriage is supposed to be convenient for both of you. Joel needed a wife, and you wanted someone to love or care for, or to be loved. Hell, you were not sure. All you knew was that you were so tired of being alone. You were used to surviving all your life, so the calmness of the future days scares you. It made you feel so alone sometimes in the past few years. Even Tommy and Maria knew that, and they were trying to help you so you would not feel so alone anymore.

You were fine with it. Had always been fine with being alone. Finding peace in your own company and cherishing the moments you have with your friends in the community. But there were times when the voices in your head got too loud that you wished you had someone to make you forget about them, to tell you that everything is going to be fine.

And then there was this option for you to marry Joel Miller.

You had asked Tommy why Joel asked for your hand after one date, and the younger Miller said, "Joel don't do casual no more, not after he's lost so many people he cared about. He wants to make things right. Wants to live his life." Tommy stared deep into your eyes, even when you frowned as you considered the older Miller's proposal. "If he asked to marry you, then he meant it. He wants to marry you," he explained back then.

You keep fidgeting with the hem of your flannel as you sit on the couch near the fireplace while waiting for your husband, as he brews coffee for you both in the kitchen.

"You okay?" Joel asks, putting both mugs on the table in front of you.

You nod and grab one of the mugs. "Thank you."

The coffee smells good. You are not sure if you should have one, though. Your heart is already beating so fast. But Joel said it is a celebration for the two of you tonight, and you both love coffee.

It is so awkward now. You do not know what to say, and Joel does not say anything either. The silence is deafening.

"Where's Ellie?" you ask, breaking the silence.

"In her room in the garage. She seemed happy today. Talked a lot. A rare thing to see these days," he admits.

"What do you mean? I think Ellie talks a lot just fine. Well, maybe she wasn't as cheerful as she was when you two arrived in Jackson. She was just a kid who loved to tell silly puns back then."

Joel chuckles. "Yeah, she talks to you. Not t'me. She mostly jus' hates me now," he takes a sip of his coffee. "I remember how she used to lighten up when we talked about space. The girl wanted to be an astronaut. Not sure if she wants to be anythin' now."

You turn to look at him. "I'm sure she doesn't hate you, Joel," you mutter, "I think she's just going through a phase. All girls do."

To your surprise, Joel takes your hand in his calloused one and squeezes it. "Yeah. Hope so."

His hand is huge compared to yours. You stare at how he keeps holding your hand until he finally lets go.

"Wanna go to bed?" Joel asks.

Your breath hitches. "Mmm, not yet," you murmur.

"Are you nervous, sweetheart?" he turns to stare at your face clearly, and you turn your gaze to the mug on the table. You feel your cheeks getting hot from his stare. "Y'know we don't gotta fuck tonight if you don't wanna, right?"

That makes you turn your head to look at him. "We don't?"

"Yeah, we don't have to if you're not ready."

"You mean it?" you ask quietly.

Joel smiles, pulling your hand toward his lips, then kisses the back of your hand. "I mean it. We ain't gotta do what you don't wanna do, honey. You bein' here, lettin' me be your husband already makin' me full of joy."

You finally smile at him. "I thought you weren't really happy. You didn't look happy when we got married earlier today."

"That's probably jus' my face. Goddamn, I was nervous as hell, honey."

"You were nervous?" you ask in disbelief.

Joel nods. "Trust me. I was. My heart was racin' too damn fast that my ears started to ring."

"No way."

He laughs now. "What? Ya don't believe me?"

You shake your head. "You didn't seem nervous. You just look angry."

"Told ya that's jus' my face. How could I be angry when you jus' made me the happiest man today, hm?"

You open your mouth, but you are not sure how to say it, so you say nothing as you turn to stare at the empty mug again.

"What is it, darlin'?" he asks, concern in his voice. Joel lets go of your hand and reaches to cup your chin softly. "Hey... what's on your mind?"

"I just— I don't know. I'm scared, Joel."

He frowns. "Of me?"

"No. It's just... What if this is a mistake? This marriage. You know there is no love between us. Even when we took a vow."

The second it comes out of your mouth, you realize how stupid you are being. This is the night after your wedding, for fuck's sake, and now you are saying these things to your husband. What is wrong with you?

"Yeah, I know," Joel mutters. "I'm aware that there ain't no love between us. Well, not yet," he caresses your cheek with his thumb. "I had my doubts about this marriage too, sweetheart. But I ain't thinkin' it's a mistake. Not once. Especially not after I took a vow."

"Why did you wanna marry me?"

"Didn't we have this conversation already?"

"Yeah, we did."

"Then stop overthinkin' 'bout it, honey. C'mere," Joel reaches to hug you. "This okay? Me huggin' ya like this?" he asks.

"Mhm," you hum before hugging him back.

You stare at the fireplace from over his shoulder as you both hug. Staring at the flame as you cherish the feeling of how soothing his hug is. This is the closest either of you has ever dared. He kissed you earlier today in front of everyone after getting married, yes, but this hug is the most intimate gesture you two have ever shared.

"There will be a time... when we fall in love with each other during the mundanes," Joel whispers, "and there will be a time when we wish we'd done it sooner. But for now... we ain't gotta rush nothin', honey. We can jus' live our life."

His words... God, his words calm you down in an instant.

You have never considered that a man who looks as cold as Joel Miller could calm your mind down this very instant. This is only your first night with him, and he already brings peace to your chaotic mind.

Maybe you did feel that kind of peace when you were on that date with him. The magnetic pull you felt around him, even when you tried to deny it. The way he could make you feel seen when he gazes at you with those eyes of his. No one had ever stared into your soul that deep.

Maybe those feelings were the reason you said yes to the absurdity of this marriage.

"You wanna go to bed now, darlin'?" he asks, and you nod.

Once in his room, the tension in the air feels thick. The awkwardness comes back again. You stare at the ceiling of his room as you lie down on his bed, already in your modest nightgown with a blanket around your body.

"You comfy?" he asks before getting in bed himself. "Need anythin'? A glass of water?"

"I'm okay," you murmur.

Joel nods and lies down beside you on his side of the bed. "If you need anythin' in the middle of the night jus' wake me up, alright?" he turns to look at you. "And you ain't gotta ask my permission for anythin'. This is your house as well."

You nod and smile. "Thank you, Joel."

"Alright. Good night."

"Good night," you answer before turning to your side, facing away from him, and so does he.

But none of you goes to sleep. This is what happens when you drink coffee on your first night with your husband but without fucking.

Minutes later, Joel notices you keep tossing and turning behind him. He turns to look at you. Your eyes are closed, your face is scrunched.

"Sweetheart? You okay?"

You open your eyes and glance at him. "I can't sleep. I'm sure it's the coffee."

"Yeah, me neither," he sits up, "I think I'm jus' gonna do some carving until sleep gets to me."

"Alright," you nod.

You turn back to your side and close your eyes, trying to fall asleep, until around five minutes later, he comes back into the room. The sound of the door makes you open your eyes and look up at him.

Joel smiles at you as he stands near the bed, holding two mugs. "Hey... did I wake ya?"

"No, I haven't fallen asleep," you sit up on the bed, "What's that?"

"Raw milk. I jus' finished heatin' it. Here," he gives one of the mugs to you. "People say milk helps makin' ya sleepy. Don't know if it's true or not. Worth tryin' though."

You take the mug from him. "I thought you were carving."

"Yeah, I was about to carve," Joel mutters before he sits down on the bed. "But then you crossed my mind. I felt like a dick knowin' my wife was restless and alone on my bed. So I went downstairs to warm the milk."

"You don't have to..." you smile, "but thank you. It's so thoughtful."

"No problem. S'the least I could do after makin' my wife restless from the coffee I brewed for her," he smiles back.

The raw milk does not work like Joel thought it would. But somehow, the two of you manage to fall asleep around thirty minutes or hours later and sleep side by side through the night.

In the morning, you find his side of the bed empty. You get up to go to the bathroom and grab a robe to put over your nightgown before going downstairs.

"Morning," you greet him when you enter the kitchen.

Joel turns to look at you with a smile on his face. "You sleep well?" he asks, and you chuckle, knowing you both had terrible sleep last night. He grabs three bowls from the cabinet. "We're havin' soup and bread for breakfast."

"Here, let me help," you say as you grab the bowls from him and set them on the dining table.

"Ain't ya too sweet? Thank ya, darlin'." Joel smiles at you before hollering into the hallway, "Ellie! Breakfast. Now."

"Give me five more minutes," Ellie shouts.

"Now, Ellie," Joel orders.

A few seconds later, Ellie appears with a frown on her face. "I was playing the guitar. I'm not even hungry, Joel."

Joel looks at her with a stern face. "The guitar can wait. Eat first. Soup's gettin' cold waitin' for ya."

Ellie walks toward the table, feeling annoyed at Joel, then she looks at you. "Oh, hi. I totally forgot you live here now," she smiles at you, ignoring Joel.

Even before you and Joel became a thing, you had known Ellie first, so familiarity is not a problem between the two of you. Somehow, you even feel more comfortable with her than your own husband for now.

You smile back at her. "Good morning to you too, Ellie."

"Mm, yeah, my morning was shitty," Ellie mutters, "So how's your first morning being married to the old man?" she asks. You open your mouth to answer, but then she cuts you off, "Wait, no. Don't tell me. You two are clearly being gross. No, I don't wanna know. Let's eat."

Even if you did not make love to Joel last night, people would assume you did. Even Ellie assumed you did. Because that's what married couples do on their wedding night, normally.

Neither you nor Joel comments on it. But you do share a knowing glance. He gives you a smirk, and you hold your laughter before the three of you have breakfast together.

Days turn to weeks. The season gets colder, but Joel gets warmer and even warmer to you.

And you do feel happier, it turns out. You thought this was an unwanted marriage to you at first, but somehow it is everything you ever wanted.

You feel delighted having someone to come home to. Someone who always listens to all your problems without judging you. Someone who gives you hugs and kisses when you have a bad day. You had no idea that someone who was once so cold to people could be so very patient with you.

Your husband turns out to be the type of man who can calm you down and shut your brain off with his presence. He always holds your hand in the streets and leads the way while you chatter to him nonstop about everything as you two stroll around.

And somehow, even when he has a gruff expression on his face, Joel always reddens a little when any of the folks in Jackson congratulates you two. Never once did you think in your life that the icy-cold Joel Miller would blush over some simple comments.

Joel is the kind of man who always makes time for his wife, even after a long day. One time, he is about to take a nap after a long patrol, but the moment you mention going to tend to your horse, your husband ends up following you to the stable. Lingering in the stable and listening with a slight smile on his face as you tell him stories.

"I've always wanted a horse, so when Maria let me have one— a week after I arrived here with Tommy, I was so excited," you squeal. "Isn't she the most precious?" you ask as you guide your husband's hand to touch the mare.

Joel chuckles at your excitement. "Yeah, she is, sweetheart. Jus' like her rider," he smiles, watching you start to blush. "C'mon now, let's go home and get you a warm bath 'fore supper. Ya startin' to smell like horses."

You roll your eyes at him, but the smile on your face gets wider, letting him take your hand as you both walk back home.

You love how sometimes your inner child feels safe enough to appear around him. It just happens. Like he draws out a softness you thought you had outgrown.

Every morning, Joel would prepare breakfast for you and Ellie. Even when you tell him you can help with making breakfast, he tells you just to enjoy your mornings and have those extra minutes of sleep while he prepares breakfast. And it has become a routine for him to kiss your forehead before heading to the door when he needs to leave the house.

"You two are so gross," Ellie teases every time Joel is being sweet to you, making him glare at her.

And you would laugh at her comment and laugh even harder when Joel decides to kiss the top of Ellie's head. Even when she pretends to be annoyed at his affection, she always smiles later after Joel walks out the door.

One day, when you are out on patrol with Tommy, he keeps talking about Maria's morning sickness. "I'm sure the baby's torturin' her. My poor wife," he mutters.

"Then you should pamper her even more," you say before looking around at the scenery from your horse.

"I did everything I could," Tommy mutters, "and by the way, you're doin' a good job with my brother. The man has never smiled more in his life."

You turn to look at him with a grin. "He makes me happy too. Thanks, Tommy. For... everything."

Tommy chuckles, riding his horse beside yours. "Can't believe you're thankin' me. I remember you wanted to kill me with a kitchen knife the day after I told ya to go on a date with him."

"To be fair, my mind was all over the place because of you back then."

"Yeah, well, you're welcome," he says with a smile. "Marriage looks good on ya."

Everyone tells you that lately. Some say you look glowing. Your friends joke that you must have been fucked well by your husband.

None of them knows the truth. In the weeks you have been married to Joel Miller, you two have not had any sexual encounters. Yet.

He never urges you to do something you are not ready for. It is not like you never popped the cherry before you end up here in Jackson. It is not the lack of experience. Joel knows you were not comfortable enough to have sex with him yet, and he is okay with that. And maybe a little too okay with that.

But now you feel guilty because you feel like a bad wife. Have you been neglecting your husband? The realization hits you like a freight train.

"How's your patrol with Tommy today, sweetheart?" he asks during dinner.

It is just the two of you tonight. Ellie is out somewhere with a friend.

"Just a normal one," you answer. "How's yours?"

"Nothin' special either. Jus' saw some of those frozen infected," he picks up his empty plate before looking at yours. "You done eatin'?"

"It's okay, I can clean it up myself."

He shakes his head. "No worries, honey. Jus' get ready for bed. I'll be right upstairs."

You mutter a thanks and go upstairs. Sometimes you wonder if you have fallen in love with him already. Joel is so thoughtful and sweet to you. He never once raises his voice at you, even when his mood is sour. And he makes your life ten times easier to live.

The door to his room creaks when you open it. You walk toward the drawer in his room and smile when you stare at a picture of him and Sarah that he still keeps, and next to it, a picture of him and Ellie.

It always fills you with bliss to know how full of love your husband actually is. His heart is soft, though his past is rough.

You open the drawer and grab one of your modest nightgowns before walking into the bathroom to have a quick shower. But then you stop on your track as an idea forms in your head. You go back to the drawer that is filled with your nightgowns and underwear, then you grab one that you have not worn once since you got married.

It is a short nightgown. A really short one. The fabric is white and so thin that it is kind of see-through.

You have only worn modest nightgowns every other night, but tonight you have a plan.

After your shower, you expect to see Joel already in bed, but he is not. So you walk out of the bedroom and spot him at the carving table. He is working on the wooden bear you requested a couple of days ago, carving the wood with full concentration.

You notice how handsome Joel looks right now. He has always been attractive. You were just in denial at first because he was a real grumpy old man. But he is not as grumpy anymore, at least not to you.

"Hey... I thought you were already in bed," you mutter, making him turn to look at you.

The moment Joel sets his eyes on you, his eyes widen as he drops the wooden bear from his hand to the floor. "Sweetheart..." he murmurs.

"You drop the bear," you say before leaning down to grab it and give it back to him, "Here."

Joel blinks before taking the wooden bear from your hand. "Thanks, baby," he mutters, then puts it on the table. He turns to look at you again, "Your nightgown..." he freezes for a second before continuing, "It's real pretty."

"You think so? It's not too revealing?" you ask, teasing him while acting innocent.

You can see the blush forming on his cheeks, creeping down his neck.

Joel clears his throat before answering, "It's not if it's only for bedtime. It's real pretty on you."

"Okay..." you say as you hold back a laugh. "You wanna go to bed with me or... continue carving the bear?"

"C'mon, let's go to bed," he says, leading you by your waist.

You are unsure if you are teasing him or testing yourself. The way he puts his hand on your waist as he leads you to bed makes your insides all flutter. It's just a simple gesture, but the butterflies in your stomach go wild.

You watch him take off his watch and put it on the nightstand. The watch that stopped working around the time he lost his daughter, Sarah, in the earlier outbreak. He told you about that one night when you two stared at the ceiling while being vulnerable to each other.

You two slowly peeled back each other's trauma and talked it through during the nights you spent together as you got to know each other better. And it did feel great to have someone to talk to about it without feeling any regret afterward. You cried when you told him about yours, but he listened to you, and somehow the old man managed to make you laugh so loud that you had tears from laughing too much just two minutes later. Then he held you until you fell asleep in his big arms.

"Joel."

He turns to look at you after putting his watch down on the nightstand. "Yeah, baby?"

You say nothing else before you tiptoe up to kiss him on the lips. Joel kisses you back immediately as he puts one of his palms on your cheek and the other on the back of your head.

The kiss lasts for a while until you end up lying on the bed with him on top of you, his forehead on yours, and you both gasp for air.

"Joel... I want you."

He pulls back a bit to look at you better. "You ready f'me?"

You nod desperately and try to kiss him again, but he pulls back this time, making you frown at him.

Joel gets up from the bed and stares down at you lying on his sheets, all flushed. "Give me a sec, honey. I gotta appreciate how pretty my wife is."

That makes you chuckle. "Come back here..." you whine as you reach for him.

He smiles at your whine and gets closer to touch your stomach through the thin nightgown with his fingertips, making you gasp. The way his fingertips brush against your stomach through the nightgown gives you goosebumps all over.

"You look like an angel in this nightgown. And the pretty little bow... makes you look like a gift sent straight from heaven, f'me to unwrap."

"Joel..."

"I know, baby. I know," he mutters before pulling his undershirt over his head.

Your eyes widen at the sight. It is not your first time seeing his upper body bare like this, but it still surprises you to see how good he looks for a man his age. You stare at his salt-and-pepper happy trail, which leads to under his pants. Hell, there is a bulge there now.

And somehow it gives you more ideas to make it up to him since he has been so patient with you all this time. You want to make him feel good physically, as he did you emotionally so many times before.

"Joel..." you murmur, feeling nervous before you admit. "I wanna suck your cock."

The shame gets to you right after you said it loudly. Even Joel looks surprised at that.

"Honey..." Joel murmurs, getting closer to you again, then caresses your cheek with the back of his fingers. "You serious?"

"Yes."

"Alright," he reaches to take off his pants and briefs, finally showing you his hard dick for the first time.

Your face lights up as you stare at how huge it is, and you get on all fours on the bed in an instant, crawling closer to his veiny dick as he stands near the bed.

You palm his dick, already leaking on the tip, then smile at him. "Can I?"

Joel smiles back at you. "Wait, c'mere," he says before leaning down to kiss your lips deeply, making you melt as you close your eyes at the feeling, still on all fours. Then he pulls back and kisses your nose softly before pulling away to position his dick back in front of your face. "Okay, have at it, sweetheart."

You hold the base and kiss the tip before putting the head in your mouth. It is the biggest you ever put in your mouth. His girth, his length. Hell, even his balls are huge.

"Fuck..." Joel groans when you put his dick deeper in your mouth.

You take him even deeper until it hits the back of your throat, making you gag. Then you pull away on instinct and look up at him with teary eyes.

"Hey..." Joel reaches to cup your cheek, "you okay, baby?" he asks in a concerned tone, and you nod.

"I'm okay."

"You ain't gotta put it all inside your mouth, sweetheart," he caresses your cheek with his thumb. "Jus' suck the tip and stroke the rest with your hand, s'fine."

You do as he tells you for a while. But to Joel's surprise, you manage to almost put it all inside your mouth even when tears fall down your cheeks.

Joel groans at the feeling. This feels so unreal to him. His sweet wife is making every effort to take him all the way in her mouth. And fuck if it does not make him closer to blowing up his load deep in your throat.

When Joel feels you start sucking his balls while stroking his dick with your hand, then back at sucking his tip, he is losing it.

He accidentally starts spilling his cum all over your face as he grips your hair a little rough, making you gasp. It spills on your lips, your tongue, your chin, your nose, one side of your cheeks, and even some on your forehead.

"Goddamn..." Joel groans, "fuck— baby, m'sorry. I'm so sorry," he murmurs as he pulls his dick away from your face and looks down at you with full concern.

Joel stares at your face in regret and worry. His sweet young wife is all messy with his cum. He did not mean to cum so fast, nor did he mean to spill his cum all over you like this.

Now he feels bad because he made a mess all over your face, and he knows he cannot get it up again, at least not for a while. Fuck, he feels so guilty for being so old.

But to his surprise, you smile at him. "It's okay," you say.

"No, it's not okay. I'm real sorry, sweetheart," he mutters as he tries to wipe the cum off your face with his thumb, but then you clasp his hand and suck on his thumb instead.

He stares down at you in surprise.

"It's okay, Joel," you mutter, "I like it."

Joel shakes his head, but then he sighs and smiles at you. "I owe ya two or three orgasms at least 'cause of all this, darlin'. C'mon, let's get you cleaned up first. S'the least I could do for now."

You laugh at that. "Hmm, 'kay. I'm not complaining."

He prepares a hot bath for you and gives you privacy as he looks away, facing the wall when you take your nightgown off before getting in the bathtub. You really appreciate how he always gives you privacy, despite being married.

"I'll wait outside, alright?"

"You don't want to join?" you ask, looking up at him from the bath.

"Do ya want me to?" he asks, and you nod. "Alright. Scoot over, darlin'."

Joel gets in the tub and groans when he puts you on his lap, straddling him. He can see your tits fully bare now in front of him, glistening from the water. Your cheeks are slightly flushed now, either from the hot bath or from how intimate this night turns out to be.

He had cleaned up your face with water and soap earlier, saying that he felt so guilty seeing you all messy because of him, while you just giggled from the feeling of his calloused hand on your skin.

"I know you wanted to fuck, sweetheart..." Joel murmurs, "and I'm real sorry I can't get it up yet. Not after I came that hard. Guess it's jus' 'cause of how old I am," he caresses your cheek with his thumb, "m'sorry 'cause I'm so old, baby."

You shake your head at that. "No... don't be. I enjoyed it too, Joel. And I don't mind at all. I like that I could make you feel good."

He chuckles. "You're jus' too sweet. How could I get so lucky to have you as my wife, huh?"

You run your fingers through his salt-and-pepper hair. "Could it be that you and me are the lucky ones?"

Joel smiles and pulls you to him to kiss your lips. Then his kiss trails down to your neck, and down to your breast. You moan as you hold onto the back of his head. He licks one nipple, then looks up at you. "I taste soap," he mutters, "I didn't know you would taste like soap, darlin'."

You make a face for a while before laughing hard when you realize he made a joke. "That is so fucking lame, Joel," you say before splashing his face with water.

He laughs and shrugs. "It made you laugh, honey. Means it's a good one."

"I laugh at everything. Doesn't change the fact that you tell bad jokes."

After a bath and lots of laughter later, Joel helps you put on a towel around your body as you get up from the tub, and he accidentally gets a glimpse of your pussy for the first time. He did feel you on top of him during the bath, but he had not seen it properly. Not like this.

Fucking hell, he thinks. Now he feels like he just wants to fuck that pussy of yours with his dick. Not that he can do it anytime soon, though. Thanks to his old age.

When you walk toward your drawer, Joel pulls you to him. "No need to wear anythin', honey. C'mon, jus' get on your back on the bed," he watches you do as he says. Lying on your back with the towel still wrapped around your body. "Still as pretty as an angel, even in a damn towel," he murmurs as he stares down at you.

You smile at him.

"Can I unwrap this towel from my beautiful wife?"

"Yes."

The moment Joel sets eyes on your fully naked body, spread on the bed before him, he feels his old man's dick stir a little under his towel. He caresses your ankle before pulling it to his lips and kissing it. Then he rubs your foot against the salt-and-pepper stubble on his handsome face, making you bite your bottom lip at the sight.

Then he kisses your calf before bending your knees toward your chest, then spreads your legs in front of him, with his eyes all over you. You shiver beneath him. You can see the flames reflected in his eyes.

"Fuck if this ain't the prettiest pussy I've ever seen in my life," Joel murmurs. "Can I?" he asks for your permission.

You never nod so fast in your life.

Joel kisses your pussy. Then he sniffs on it while he rubs his stubble on your sensitive part.

You moan at the feeling. "Joel—" you grab at his hair, making him smile as he looks up at you.

Joel finally slides his tongue upward in one lingering stroke, licking you as if he were hungry for it. He sucks on your clit until you grab the sheets so hard while shaking.

"Hmm, s'wet enough now," he mutters before licking the two of his fingers and putting them inside you all the way to the knuckles. "I do okay?" he asks, looking up at you as he fingers you.

You nod and grab at his hair again as you get closer and closer to your orgasm. When he curls his fingers and nudges that spot while sucking on your clit, you are done. You cum on his mouth and fingers.

Joel smiles, licking the sweet nectar, his salt-and-pepper stubble wet as he pulls back from you to remove the towel from his lower waist. His old man's dick is finally half-hard.

"Do you want my help?" you ask as you come down from the high.

"S'okay, baby. I'm jus' gonna rub my cock on ya for a while. You mind?"

"Go ahead," you smile.

He rubs his half-hard dick on your wet pussy. Getting it all lubed up from your wetness. Then he jerks off with his hand, using your wetness as lube. "M'sorry, honey. S'not that you don't turn me on. My damn dick is jus' as old as me," he mutters.

"It's fine. Come here," you reach for him. He leans down to devour your lips while his hand keeps jerking himself off for a while until he is finally fully hard.

When Joel aligns his hard dick to your leaking hole, your breath hitches. You know it is going to feel like your first time again, having that huge dick inside you. You know his size would stretch you so good it hurts. But you are so wet now, and you really want your husband.

Only halfway in, Joel already feels how tight your pussy is gripping his dick. He can feel your wetness, your warmth, the tightness of it all around his dick. He looks down to stare at it. "Fuck, sweetheart. Your drippin' pussy looks so good around this old man's cock. Look at 'er suckin' me in."

But when he looks up at your face, you are wincing as if you are in pain. He stops his movement and reaches to touch your face. "Honey... you okay? Am I hurtin' ya?" he caresses your cheek, "You want us to stop?"

"Don't stop."

Joel feels your pussy clench even more when he leans down to kiss your cheek. "She wettin' my cock so good, baby. Fuck..." he whispers as he keeps thrusting in and out of you, still halfway in. He pulls back to stare at your pussy again before spitting on your swollen clit and pushing an inch deeper.

"Joel..."

"Yes, sweetheart?"

"Feels so good," you whisper, moaning when he puts his cock deeper. "Hurts a little, but I want it all in me, Joel," you beg, "wanna feel all of you."

A few thrusts later, Joel finally manages to bottom out in you. He groans when he feels his dick nudging your spot. "Holy fuck..." he mutters when you cum on his dick for the first time after he scratches that spot of yours over and over.

Your second orgasm of the night makes you feel lightheaded as you feel Joel still thrusting in and out of you in a steady movement.

"I feel sleepy, Joel," you mutter as you look up at Joel, and he slows his movement a bit. Then you continue, "Maybe we should've done this on our wedding night instead of drinking that raw milk, huh?"

That makes him chuckle. He leans down to kiss your lips, resting his forehead against yours while thrusting into you harder, making you gasp.

"I'm so close, baby. Where do ya want me to cum?" he asks between thrusts.

"Inside me?" you offer.

His eyes darken at that as he stares down at you. "You serious, darlin'?"

"Yeah. Can we?"

Joel smiles. "I'll do anythin' you ask me to, honey. I'm all yours."

You wake up late the next day. It is almost noon when you go downstairs after you pull on a sweater and jeans, finding the house completely empty. You feel bad because now the breakfast that Joel prepared for you earlier has gone cold.

After you finish eating your meal, you wash the dishes in the sink when you hear the sound of him walking into the house. Just from the sound of the footsteps, you know it is him. Your husband.

The art of knowing. You smile to yourself when you think about it. The way you always know the sound of his footsteps around the house, notice the silhouette of his wide shoulder. The way you search for him in the crowd when you hear his voice from afar. The way a smile appears on his stern face when he sees your angelic one.

"Hey, darlin'."

You turn to look at him. "Hey..." you say with a smile. Then you reach out to grab a mug you are going to wash, but Joel stops you and grabs the mug first.

"I got it, honey. Jus' sit down. I'll finish the dishes."

"No, it's fine. I can do it on my own. You just got home anyway."

You try to take the mug from him, but he puts it up high in the air, out of your reach. Joel chuckles, seeing your annoyed face as you turn to wash your hands. He finally puts down the mug and circles his arms around your waist, brushing your hair to the side as he kisses your neck from behind. You giggle from the feeling of his stubble rubbing your skin. He keeps tickling your neck with his stubble until you yield.

"Okay, okay..." you laugh, "fine. Wash the damn mug if you want it that bad. Ugh, you're gonna get us both wet."

"I don't mind gettin' wet 'cause of ya," he chuckles.

You eye him. "Yeah, right," you mutter before opening one of the cabinets. "I'm gonna make coffee. You want some?"

"You know I never say no to coffee, sweetheart."

Minutes later, you both enjoy your coffee while sitting on the couch near the fireplace. This gives you déjà vu. The very similar setting and proximity to what it was on your wedding night a month ago.

But the feelings you are feeling now are a lot different from last month.

You two are chatting about what Joel did earlier today. He tells you that he did construction work with Tommy for the community. And one thing leads to another, you end up telling him the story about how you hunt Tommy around his house with a kitchen knife the day after he told you to go on a date with Joel.

"You did?" he asks in disbelief. You nod, and he chuckles. Then he shakes his head as he puts down his mug on the table. "Makes me think of our first date," he mutters.

"What of it?" you ask, taking a sip.

"You called me Mr. Miller," he chuckles. "It was the most ridiculous thing ever. I've never once gone on a date with a woman and got called Mr. Miller before you."

"I had to respect the elderly," you shrug.

Joel laughs so loud at that. "Oh, honey. That mouth of yours."

You smile at him then. "I was just being polite, calling you that. To be fair, we were not even friends back then, and you are a lot older than me, so..."

"Yeah, I know," he leans his head against the backrest of the couch, pulling you closer to him, and squeezes you into his big arms. "I thought you were real sweet back then. And hell, you laughed at my dumb jokes. Maybe that's the real reason I asked you to marry me right away."

You roll your eyes at his smirk but chuckle.

Joel brushes his thumb along your cheek. "I think I'm fallin' in love with ya."

Your heart nearly stops beating when you hear his confession.

He clears his throat and continues, "Think I was already in love with ya during those days we spent together. I honestly don't know when it started, sweetheart."

"Joel..." you murmur as you look up at him.

"You ain't gotta say nothin', baby. M'not tryin' to pressure ya on anythin'."

You hug him without saying a word. Joel smiles and hugs you back. You nuzzle him closer until you end up straddling him, and he puts his big hands around your waist.

You kiss his lips until the skin near your mouth reddens from his stubble as you grind on top of him. When you finally pull back, Joel notices the redness on your skin. "Damn it, sweetheart. You're all red 'cause of me."

"I love you, Joel."

The moment the words come out of your lips, Joel feels the world stop spinning around him. His mind goes blank, and he suddenly hears the ocean crashing against the shore in his head while the violins begin to play.

And then he blinks.

And there you are. His wife. The light of his life, staring deep into his eyes after confessing the words he was longing to hear.

A second later, you are pinned under him on the couch while he devours your lips. Kissing all over your face, making you giggle. Inhaling the scent of your neck while his hand travels down to unbutton your jeans.

"Wait, wait... Joel— what if someone walks in?" you ask, gasping from all his affection.

"I locked the doors," he mutters.

"But are you sure?"

Joel pulls away from you and gets up without another word to check on the doors. "Already locked," he hollers from the hallway.

You smile when he walks back toward you on the couch while unbuckling his belt, then unbuttons his jeans. You notice how attractive he looks right now. The sleeves of his flannel shirt pushed up to his forearms. The watch on his wrist. This view in front of you definitely drenches your panties.

"C'mere," Joel mutters as he sits back on the couch, his jeans and briefs pooling around his ankles. He helps you undress before positioning you on his lap.

"Me on top?" you ask, feeling unsure but aroused.

"Only if ya want to," he murmurs.

"I want to," you answer before helping him put his hard, leaking dick inside of you. "Oooh, fuck..." you curse when his dick is halfway in.

"Atta girl, darlin'," Joel murmurs as he helps you bounce on him slow at first. "You look so pretty bouncin' on my cock," he smiles at you. "My pretty wife. Doin' so good f'me."

The way he says those words makes you even wetter. Joel keeps helping you move on top of him until he finally bottoms out.

You moan hard at the feeling. "It's so deep, Joel."

"It is," he murmurs, "I can see the bulge on your lower belly."

You are too concentrated on chasing the feeling that you ignore him as you put your hands on his chest and bounce on his dick harder.

Joel gets so turned on seeing you like this. He lets go of you and leans back on the couch while looking up at you bouncing on his dick. "Yes, baby... fuck," he groans, feeling your warmth around him. "Ride me, my precious cowgirl," he murmurs. "Ride me all ya want."

The sound of your wetness around him is obscene.

You fall on his chest when you finally cum on his dick as he helps you grind your swollen clit on his pubic hair with his dick buried deep inside you, making you cum even harder from the sensation. He strokes your back with his calloused hand while whispering sweet words in your ear. His other hand is grabbing your ass cheek playfully.

"Did I ever tell you that you have a very nice ass?"

You look up at him from his chest and laugh at that.

After a minute or two, Joel pats your butt, "C'mon, lie on your stomach, baby. I wanna see my wife's perfect ass when I'm poundin' 'er drippin' pussy with my cock."

You hold onto the cushion as you lie on your stomach on the couch, facing the fireplace.

Joel leans down to bite your ass cheeks playfully before positioning himself behind you. "Fuck me..." he groans when he thrusts into you, bottoming out in one go. "So fuckin' wet f'me. Pussy takin' me so good," he murmurs before kissing your shoulder. His thrusts get harder as he pounds into you. "I ain't gonna last long now, baby. Where do ya want me to cum, hm?" he whispers into your ear.

"Inside me."

Joel grabs your face with his hand to look into your eyes. "You do realize if we keep fillin' that pussy of yours with my cum, we gonna end up with a bunch of little Millers sooner rather'n later, right?"

Heat creeps into your cheeks.

"Y'want me to make you a momma, darlin'?" he asks, his dick swelling inside you as the words leave his mouth.

You cannot think straight because of how much you are feeling right now. But the thought of giving Joel Miller a baby...

"Can we have one?" you ask, feeling nervous if he denies it because of his age.

Joel grins. "Anything you want, honey. One is fine," he kisses your lips briefly before whispering, "though ten more is tempting..."

You laugh, and he taps on your nose before starting to thrust in and out, deep until he hits that spot inside you again.

"Joel..." you moan, "I— I'm close again."

To your surprise, Joel wraps his hand around your throat as he pounds into you harder from behind. "This okay?" he asks, and you moan yes, yes, yes into the cushion before creaming around his dick as you reach your second orgasm. The feeling of your warmth around him makes him start spilling his cum deep inside you. "Oh, darlin', fuuuck—" he groans as his dick pulses inside you, shooting ropes of his seed. A broken moan you have never heard before slips from his lips as he fills your womb with his cum.

The two of you go quiet for a minute as you both catch your breath, with his weight pinning you down, until you tell him to get off because he is crushing you into the couch.

Joel chuckles when you settle back onto the couch, legs lifted against the backrest. "Don't laugh," you mutter, "this is supposed to help increase the chances of getting pregnant, I think."

"Alright, Mrs. Miller," he teases. "Y'want my baby that bad, huh?"

You turn to look at him, half smiling. "Don't call me that. You make it sound like I'm a hundred years old."

Your husband laughs at that before placing a blanket around your naked body and leaning down to kiss your nose. "I would still adore you when you're a hundred years old, sweetheart," he chuckles, "though, I'm sure as hell gonna miss that pretty ass of yours."

You chuckle and gently caress his scars. A flicker of surprise crosses his rough face. "Honey..." he murmurs.

"I think you're gonna be a great dad..." You paused, looking into his eyes, "You're a real good dad to Ellie, as I am sure you were a good dad to Sarah," you mutter. "You might not be a good man for what you did, but you've always been a good dad... and a good husband to me."

Joel says nothing, but he smiles at you as he caresses your cheek with his fingers.

You smile back, looking up at him from your position, then grab his fingers toward your lips and kiss the wedding ring on his finger, the one that matches yours. "I thought this kind of love's never meant that much to me, Joel..." you murmur, "guess I was wrong," placing the back of his fingers on your cheek as you look into his eyes, you continue, "It means everything to me if it's with you."

"Sweetheart..." Joel whispers, tears forming in his eyes as he puts both palms on your cheeks. "You mean everything to me. I never dreamed that I'd meet somebody like you, baby. Not after everythin' I've been through. But now I can't even imagine life without you in it."

Joel hugs you in his arms so tight, like he never wants to let go. And you smile as you hug him back, feeling content and full of love.

For the first time, the future days no longer seem so scary. Because you have him. Your Mr. Miller. Your husband.

Nothing worries you anymore. Not with Joel Miller beside you. Not with this kind of love.

Um... okay... I'm not okay... When I wrote this, I had so many emotions all at once. I felt excited most of the time, but also sad when I wrote the part with Joel and Ellie. It was like reliving Part II, but with my own ending, I don't know. I didn't mean this to be 9.4k words so sorry. This was supposed to be a special one for my birthday on January 12, and I didn't expect it to be this long.

I'd love it if you leave a note on what you think about this. Reblog would be appreciated. Love y'all! 🤍

Fun fact: I wrote The Older Miller for my birthday actually, but I couldn't help but post it because I was so excited when I finished it, so yeah. I'm glad that I posted it on November tho, 'cause it gave me so much motivation to finish my thesis.

Masterlist

Bow dividers by @cursed-carmine

“Here, hold on to me.” He takes your hand in his, helping you out of his truck. "You good?” 

You look up, kissing his cheek as he closes the passenger door behind you. “Always the gentlemen.”

He grins, looking up at the old diner. “Sorry we couldn't go anywhere better.”

“I don't mind; a quiet dinner with you is all I need tonight.”

"How are the cramps?"

"Still there."

You’re both tired, but tonight is probably the last chance for a date night before the twins arrive, and when you're this heavily pregnant and he’s had a long day on horseback, driving into town to the only diner for miles is the best you’re both going to get. 

“Hey Mr. and Mrs. Miller, what can I get ya?" the waitress asks. 

Mrs. Miller. You’re still getting used to that, pinching yourself every time you hear it on someone else's lips because you never thought you’d get your happy ending, especially not with him. 

*Flashback*

“So, where are you taking me?”

“Up there.” He nods straight ahead towards the top of valleys that surround the ranch. "In a couple week those tops will be covered in snow, so I figured we should take the chance while it’s still safe.”

“Shall we take the horses?” You smile, knowing that’s a stupid question. 

“Nice try, you know I'm not letting that happen. Now go grab some warmer clothes; it can get cold up there once the sun drops. I’ll wait in the truck.”

You nod and head inside. He’s been acting weird today, all week actually. There’s a nervous energy about him, like he’s waiting for something. Last week you had a minor scare with the twins; it wasn’t serious once the doctors figured out what was going on, but maybe that’s what's got him acting all uptight.

As he drives up the valley, his eyes stay locked on the road, his shoulders tense, his hands gripping the wheel so hard. his knuckles are white.

“You okay?”

He doesn't respond. 

“Baby?”

He clears his throat, finally hearing you. “Yeah.” 

“Here,” you reach over, take his hand, and rest it on your bump. “You feel that?”

“Feel what?”

“Just wait.”

The second you feel one of the twins kicking, he instantly relaxes, his face lighting up, and he pulls the truck to a halt on the side of the road. 

“They’re kicking?”

You nod, "One of them for sure.” 

He turns as best as he can, resting his other hand on your belly too. “Hey boys, it's Daddy!"

You feel another kick, and he begins to laugh excitedly. 

“They hear you, Joel." 

“Yeah? You hear us boys? We can't wait to meet you; better be looking after each other in there, no fighting, alright?”

Joel doesn't cry, it’s rare you ever see it happen, but after he leans down to kiss your belly, he looks up at you, tears building in his eyes.

"you ok?"

"Just so fuckin' happy, darlin'."

Later that night your cuddled up in the bed of his truck watching the stars glimmer above you when he shifts, digging into his pocket to pull out a small piece of woven leather in the shape of a ring. 

“What’s that?”

“I love you so much, I love our sons, and I love this life we're building together, and I want you to be mine forever.”

“You have me.” You giggle, furrowing your eyebrows a little confused. 

“I’m serious, darlin’. I want you to carry my name."

“Joel…” your voice trails off, your heartbeat increasing rapidly at his words. 

“Be my wife. be my wife before the boys arrive. We’re going to be a family, and we should do it right.”

“I don't know what to say…”

He chuckles nervously. “Say yes? Say you’ll have me.”

“But I thought you hated the idea of a wedding?”

“Of a wedding, yes. But not marriage. I don't need some pretentious ceremony that just caters to our friends and family to prove I want to spend eternity with you. Although if you would like that, hell, I’ll make that happen, believe me. " He takes a deep breath. “I don't care how we do it; I just want to know that when I wake up beside you every morning, you’re mine in this life and in whatever comes afterwards.” He tilts your chin up to look at him. “So what do you say?”

“Yes, Joel.” You smile through the tears. “Of course I’ll marry you, you idiot.” 

“Yeah?” he’s beaming now. “Gimme your hand.”

You notice his hands shaking as he starts to slide the handmade ring onto your finger. “I’ll get you somethin' better, I promise. But I found one of Shadow's old bridles in his stable; it took a little work to make it into this, but I thought it could work as a temporary one."

“Are you kidding? This is perfect!” You don't need anything else; he took the time to think about this and to make it, and therefore it holds more meaning than anything else ever could.

“Well, you can have two, because I'm getting the ring you deserve.”

You shift, moving into his lap as you snake your arms around his neck, your palms holding the back of his head as you kiss him. 

“So we’re doin’ this?” he asks between kisses. 

“Mmmh,” you bite your lip. “Let's get married, cowboy.”

The very next morning, you wake to him watching you, his sleepy face all smug as you reach up and brush your fingers through his messy curls.

“How about today?” he croaks.

“Today?”

“Yeah.”

“How?”

“Well, we could get the license this morning while I get Tommy to find an officiant, and then we could pick a spot somewhere here on the ranch, and by tonight it could be official.” He shifts until he’s on all fours, hovering above you. “Afterwards we could go dancin’, party…totally sober, of course… and then I'd bring you back here and carry you over the threshold of our front door and all the way back to this bed where I’d make love to you all night.”

You‘re unsure what to say; the idea is crazy but also perfect.

“I know your parents aren't here, or your friends, so we can wait if you want—"

“Today.” You cut him off.

He smiles. “You sure?”

You nod eagerly. “Let's not wait a second longer.” The excitement fills you with butterflies and you could squeal uncontrollably at the thought that today you’ll become Mrs. Miller, but then the panic starts sets in.

“What's wrong?”  

“I don't have a dress!”

He pauses for a minute before an idea enters his mind. “I’m on it.” He crawls off the bed and takes his phone off the nightstand to make a call. “Baby girl? I’ve got some big news to tell you, and then I'm going to need your help.”

Following Joel out on the front porch, you see Tommy approaching the house on his horse and Sarah’s truck in the distance coming down the road. 

“Tommy, I need you to find an officiant for me. Oh, and go dig that suit out; you’re going to need it later.”

“Huh?” Tommy looks down from his horse, confusion written all over his face. “An officiant? Why?” 

“There’s going to be a wedding today.”

“A wedding? Who’s getting married?”

“I am, brother.”

His face lights up. “Wait… are you serious?”

Tommy looks up to you, the smile on your face telling him all he needs to know.

“Holy shit!” Tommy laughs, “I’m on it, brother.”

As Tommy rides off, Sarah pulls up in her truck and rushes over to you, both of you uncontrollably giddy as as she wraps her arms tightly around you. 

“Woahhhh, careful! Don’t forget she’s carrying the most precious cargo.” Joel calls over.

Sarah brushes her dad's comment off. “I can't believe this is really happening!” 

“Me neither. And… you’re really okay with this?”

“Stop! Of course I am. You're growing my baby brothers. You're basically already my stepmom anyway.”

“Nooo please don’t call me that; that’s too weird.” You laugh. 

“Okay, okay! But we should get going if we’re gonna find you a dress in time!”

As you pass Joel on the way to Sarah’s truck, you intertwine your fingers with his and he leans down to kiss you. When you pull away, his hand snakes around your waist, pulling you back into him, kissing you more as you feel Sarah watching on behind. 

“Uh guys, this is cute and everything, but if you want to get married today, we have to go now.”

He hums against your lips, kissing you for a moment longer before you reluctantly pull away. 

“See you soon, handsome.”

He tilts his hat. “I’ll be waiting." 

As the night draws in, you follow closely behind him as he rushes up the steps. You reach out instinctively to support him as he almost trips as you both giggle your way to the front door. He’s tipsy, and you’re simply high on happiness. 

He fiddles with the lock for a while until you take the key and do it for him and he smirks down at you as the door swings open. “May I?” 

“Be careful mister, don’t drop me.” 

“Never.” 

He bends down and scoops you up into his arms, holding you close against his chest. He nuzzles his head into your neck, peppering eager kisses on your skin. “Woah, Joel. Let’s get safely in the house first, you’ve had a drink remember.” 

By some miracle, he manages to successfully carry you inside and up the stairs all the way to the bedroom, where he places you gently on the bed.

Dressed in his best shirt and jeans, and still wearing that damn hat that will always stir something deep inside you, he lets his eyes travel up and down your form with hungry eyes.

“Mmmmh. You sure did well with this dress, darlin’."

“You like?” 

He nods. “Fuckin’ divine, my love.” He takes a deep breath and when you look down, you notice the bulge in his jeans. “But as much as I’m enjoying this sight, I think it’s time we took it off you, Mrs. Miller.”

You giggle. “Say that again.”

He moves over you, snaking his way up your body, breathing you in desperately as he hums in approval. “What? Mrs. Miller?” he stops once he’s level with your face, his lips just above yours as he stares into your eyes. “My wife?”

You whimper at the sound of those words on his lips. “Mmmmh. I’m your wife.”

Present day

“What?” you ask, noticing that naughty look in his eye as he sits across from you in the booth, watching you eat.

"Nothing, I just like looking at ya" 

You blush, looking away from him. He tilts his head to the side. “Don’t shy away from me.”

“Just eat your damn food, mister.”

Pregnancy has been hard on you, not just physically, but mentally. Getting used to the way your body was changing at each stage had taken its toll, even if you did have Joel telling you every morning just how beautiful he thought you were, or showing you exactly what it did to him when he’d get home after a long day and find you naked in the shower waiting for him.

He’d always be extra careful, taking it slow to ensure he was never going to hurt you or the babies, but he’d always give you exactly what you needed to reassure you in all the best ways that he still wants every ounce of you. 

And then there were his small, tender touches like when he’d lie in bed beside you and rub cream over your tummy to ease the tight skin, or help you wash your hair when you didn’t have the energy. Or just the simple reminders to make sure you’d eaten plenty and hydrated enough. These were the things that made you realized how lucky you were to have a man like Joel by your side and how lucky the twins were to have him as their father.

“Ahh, Marcus, haven’t seen you around here for a while!” you hear the voice of the diner owner, your eyes immediately flicking up to Joel. Surely not. 

Joel drops his fork onto his plate with a loud clang. He slumps back against the seat as he glances just past you towards the counter, his jaw locked, his eyes wide like he’s seeing red. You don't need to look over your shoulder to confirm your suspicion; judging by the way Joel isn't taking his eyes off the man tells you all you need to know. Great, that’s the quiet date night officially over. 

“Joel?”

He hums in response, but he isn't listening.

“Joel, can we go? The cramps are getting worse.”

“Alright, just gimme a minute, darlin’.” He stands, leaving you alone in the booth. 

“Joel, please don’t.”

Your pleas fall on deaf ears, so you sit there, refusing to look behind you, instead carefully listening out in anticipation of what might happen next. 

“Shit. Joel," you hear that familiar irritating voice behind you, the sound of it making you cringe.

“Whatcha still doing round here, boy?” Joel asks. 

“I'm not; I'm working down south now; just passing through.”

"Ah, yeah?”

“Don’t want no trouble, Miller," the owner of the diner warns, picking up on the tension.

"Oh, I don’t want any trouble either, but it seems someone in this damn place does, showing his face around ‘ere.”

“Alright, relax, I just wanted a drink after a long day; I'm going.” Marcus sighs, his chair scraping along the floor as he stands. He pauses then; and you can feel his eyes at the back of your head. “Heard she married ya.”

“Where’d you hear that?” 

“I got my sources.”

“Sure ya do.” He scoffs. “Well, if you heard that, you’ll also know she’s carrying my sons too.”

The room goes silent then. Maybe he didn't know that. “Shit.” Marcus laughs. “Well, congrats, I guess. You both got it all figured out, don't ya? Must be nice.”

Joel smirks, taking out his wallet and flicking through the wad of bills sitting in there; he’s being an ass now, simply because he can. “Drinks on me.”

“Don’t want your money, man.”

“Take it. But I promise you kid, if I ever see your ass in this town again, I won't be so polite.”

“Fuck you, and fuck her too.”

You stand then; you couldn't care less about your ex, but you don't want to have to split up a fight when you're this heavily pregnant. So you turn and look into Marcus' eyes for a second with a blank expression before you take Joel's hand. “Joel, come on, let's go home.”

He doesn’t budge. Rolling your eyes you give up and leave. “I’ll be in the truck.”

As you climb into the passenger seat with a clear view into the neon-lit diner, you notice the sheriff pulling in and an uneasy feeling settles in your stomach then.

It all happens too fast. Joel’s head connects with Marcus’s face making him fall backwards onto the bar, and unfortunately for both of them, the fight then erupts exactly as the sheriff walks.

Pissed, you open the door and climb out of the truck in an attempt to go inside and defuse the situation, but the moment you stand, you feel an intense rush down below and you realize your waters just broke. 

You stand frozen in place unsure what to do. The entire pregnancy you thought you'd be calm when this moment came; all the classes, books, and videos made you think you’d handle going into labor pretty well, but not one of those things mentioned your waters breaking as your husband got dragged out of a diner in handcuffs.

You call out for him but he doesn’t pick up on what’s happening to you as he’s pushed forcefully towards the sheriff's vehicle. “I’m sorry, baby. Go get Tommy; he’ll know what to do.”

“Joel, my waters just broke.”

He frowns. “I can’t hear ya, just go get Tommy." 

“The babies are coming!” 

His eyes go wide as your words register. Pure panic reverberates through his body then as he starts yelling, trying like hell to free himself from the grip of the sheriff, but of course he can't. Both men stumble onto the ground Joel’s elbow collides with the sheriff's nose, instantly drawing blood. 

The deputy steps in then, helping to secure Joel on the ground, both men yelling at him as you look into your husband's helpless eyes as his face squishes against the asphalt. This can’t be happening. 

You plead and plead with the men like it’ll make any difference, but they don’t listen. Joel might be liked and well respected around here, but he isn’t above the law. 

Once Joel’s secured in the vehicle, the men come over to you, and the sheriff sighs with a pitiful look. “My deputy will drive you to the hospital, ma’am, but I’m sorry; your husband has to come with me.”

———

The entire night felt like you were in somebody else’s body watching this nightmare happen to you. You were scared, pacing the hospital room between examinations and contractions, wondering why hell Joel had to go and get himself arrested tonight of all nights.

But when Sarah and Maria arrived, they helped you realize that anger wasn’t going to help. Tommy was dealing with Joel, and you had two tiny humans relying on you right now, so you had to be strong and try to forget about him in a jail cell for the sake of the twins.

Labor had lasted hours. You were exhausted, highly emotional and honestly terrified. But just as you notice the sun starting to rise, the midwife helps you back up on the bed to examine you again. 

She looks up from between your legs, and the look she gives you tells you it's time.

“I don’t think I can do this; this wasn’t how it was supposed to be. I can’t do this without him.” 

Sarah grabs your hand tightly then. “You can. You have to.” 

“When the next contraction comes, I need you to push for me, okay?” 

You don’t know how long you’ve been pushing; you don’t know if this is even real; you just know the pain feels overwhelming.

But at some point between pushing, the door bursts open and you see that face you’ve been desperate to see. He’s here.

Your head falls back against the pillow as you pant hard, feeling relieved that despite the pain, you don't have to do this without him no longer. The tears start to fall then. “How? How are you here?”

“It doesn’t matter; I just know I’ve got a lot of sweet talking to do after this.” He smiles.

“I hate you for leaving me like that!” 

He chuckles, dabbing your sweaty forehead. “You can hate me; that’s okay. You do whatever you need to do to get through this.” 

You shake your head, anticipating the next contraction. “I’m so tired, Joel.” 

“I know, sweetheart, I know. But you're so close now.” He leans down, kissing your forehead. “Take my hand; you fuckin' break it if you need to.” He looks deep into your eyes then. “You’ve got this, my love. Let’s meet our sons, yeah?" 

A few weeks later…

“You’re home.” You sigh in relief as he steps into the bedroom. 

“I’m home.” He checks on his son in the crib before walking over to you in the rocking chair, bending down to lay a soft kiss on top of your head. “How are our sons?”

“It’s been a long day; I think they’ve been missing their daddy.” 

You hand him his other son, watching him cradle the tiny bundle in his huge arms. 

"Well, if it makes you feel any better, my day was pretty rough too. The auction didn’t go great, and your dad definitely still hates me.”

You smile. "No, he doesn’t.” 

“Didn’t say a word to me the entire day. Maybe it was a mistake taking him with me; now he’s seen me failing as a cowboy as well as a husband.”

“Joel, please stop beating yourself up about that. I promise you, he was over you getting arrested the second he saw his grandsons. I think he just likes to keep you on edge.” 

“He does that, alright.” Joel grins, a mischievous look in his eye. “Anyway, I got you something today."

“Yeah?” You narrow your eyes suspiciously. 

“I mean it’s more for the boys, but I don’t think they’ll quite appreciate it just yet.” He places his son into the crib beside his brother and leaves the room.

“It’s not a horse is it, they’re a little young still.”

When he comes back, he’s smirking and holding a small box. You open it and two tiny pairs of cowboy boots sit there. 

“Oh my goodness! Joel!” 

“You know I don’t part with my money unless it’s to buy a horse, but not this time. I saw ‘em and couldn’t resist getting the boys their first pair.”

With your hormones still all over the place, this might just send you over the edge. “They’re so cute.” 

“Well, my sons are gonna be cowboys one day, they gotta look the part.”

Your son’s babbles turn into cries and you slump back into the chair with a quiet groan, feeling deflated.

He smiles. “It’s alright, you should go eat something, daddy’s got this.” You smile, kissing his shoulder as you pass him. 

You weren’t naive; both of you knew having twins wouldn’t be easy, but the reality of having two newborns, running a ranch, and having your parents stay with you for the first few weeks of the twins' lives was often challenging. The house was also a mess and the post natal effects on your body were rough.

But it was the overhwelming love you felt for them as well as those small, soft moments of watching Joel as a father all over again that made the stress and the worry of adjusting to being parents so worthwhile. 

Like when he’d been unable to get away from work and he’d come home late tired and filthy, but the moment his eyes caught you sitting on the porch, the twins bundled in your arms as you all waited for daddy to come home, it would give you both a new energy that made the long day just disappear in an instant. 

Or how he'd refuse to miss bath time, knowing the twins loved it; he’d never want to miss a moment of their infectious smiles. Watching him read the boys their bedtime story as they fell asleep was always your favourite though, the little funny voices he'd create as he sent them off into their dreams would make you burst with joy. he was the best daddy, and you were so grateful to be on this crazy ride of parenthood alongside him.

“Are they down?” You ask, sitting on the kitchen counter as he walks towards you. 

“Finally. What ya got there?” He leans against the counter, trapping you.

“Open up.” 

You feed him a spoonful of ice cream, and he hums, licking his lips. “We really have to eat something more substantial.”

“The wonderful joys of having newborns, huh?”

“Any chance your mom put leftovers in the fridge?”

“Uh-uh, that’s a risk I’m not willing to take.”

“Don’t be mean," he chuckles as you feed him another spoonful. 

“You smell like horses.” 

"Hmmm, and you love it.”

Your eyes scan down his frame. “Maybe, but really you should take a bath." 

“Alright, but only if you join me and bring the ice cream too.” 

His strong arms wrap around your waits as he pulls you back into his front, peppering kisses along your shoulder. “Now this is more like it.”

He digs the spoon into he tub of ice cream on the side, collecting the biggest amount before taking a bite.

“You think the boys are gonna like this life?” you ask.

Through the mouthful of ice cream he responds, “It’s in their blood, baby; of course they will.”

“But what if they don’t want to be cowboys?"

“They ain't got a choice.”

"Joel—"

“okay, okay, I’m joking. We’ll be there for them no matter what they want to be, just as long as they don’t want to move to the city," he laughs. “Look, all we can do is try our best to raise two beautiful and healthy boys. The rest is out of control.” 

“But what if they become criminals like their dad, getting arrested—"

“Heyyy shut up!" He squeezes you playfully then, tickling your sides and making you squeal as the water splashes around. “I ain't no criminal, it happened once, alright?”

“Alright! Please stop!” you giggle as he digs back into the ice cream. "Can i have some?"

He brings the spoon to your mouth and as you go to take a bite he pulls it away quickly, drawing a trail of it along the back of you neck instead. Instantly his tongue comes out to draw along the trail then making you sigh into him.

"That's not fair."

"No? How about this?” He discards the spoon, his hand instead stroking up your front until he reaches your tits, his thumb flicking over your nipple, teasing you as you start to feel him getting hard agaisnt your back.

“Or this?” He brushes his knuckles down your body before dipping into the water and between your thighs until he reaches your folds, making you moan softly into the room. It’s been too long, and even though you're still healing, having him tease you like this feels so good. 

"Is this okay?” He mumbles.

"Yesss,"

“You need to tell me if it's too much, darlin’. I don't wanna hurt ya.”

“No, don’t stop; it feels so good.”

He takes his time and he’s so gentle in his touch, but it’s enough to drive you crazy, enough to have you withering against him and enough to have you completely surrender yourself to his control.

———

It's still dark and silent when you stir the next morning and when you turn in the sheets, you find the bed cold and empty next to you. Sitting up, you check the crib, and it’s empty too. Naturally as a mom, you panic but then your phone lights up and see the message from Joel telling you that he’s taken the boys down to the barns. 

Curious, you dress and go downstairs; you take Joel’s coat, loving the way it smells of him and wrap it around your body as you stroll down the hill in search of them.

A soft voice draws you in, and when you peer around the door, you see him, the twins bundled protectively inside his thick flannel as he introduces them to the horses. “This one’s daddy’s. He's the biggest and he’s the best boy I’ve got, although I hate to say it but he’s getting a little old now, just like me I s’ppose." 

He walks over to the other side where shadow stands watching him. “And this is Mommy's horse. There’s a little story about him and how she got him and I’m sure she’ll tell ya when you’re older.” He looks down to his sons snuggled against him. “And, one day when you're both a little bigger, I’ll get ya both have your own and maybe, just maybe you might wanna help run this place alongside your big sister, huh?” He sighs. “Yeahhh, you don’t have any idea what Daddy's talking about, do ya?”

“Morning.” You interrupt softly so as not to startle him. 

He gasps. “Who’s that? "Is that Mommy?" 

“What’s going on in here?” 

“Just letting ‘em meet the team.”

You chuckle. “It’s super early; they usually sleep a little longer?” 

“Not today; I guess they're going to be early risers like their old man.”

“Hmmm. I wonder how long that’s going to last.” 

A few years later…

The sun is only just rising, but the summer heat is already starting to settle in now, and it gives you that giddy feeling because you know it means long days in the saddle, warm family nights by the camp fire, and days off watching the boys play with their father, uncle and cousins in the river.

You check the boys' room, and sure enough, their beds are empty. School might be out for the summer, but that just means the boys get to learn alongside their father instead.

You dress before heading down the hill where like always you spot the group of cowboys along with Tommy and Sarah saddling up their horses, ready for yet another day out on the land. 

You lean against the corral fence, watching the cowboys when you spot Joel. He’s saddled up like he means business, except this time your sons are sitting up there with him, their little smiles lighting up from the excitement of being on their dad’s horse. They’re growing up so fast, and seeing them like that, with their little boots and hats looking just like their father makes you a little emotional.

When Joel spots you, he gives you that irresistible miller smile and rides over and dismounts. “You hold him steady now while I go talk to your mama.”

He comes to the fence, lifting the brim of his hat a little to capture your lips in that way that will forever make your tummy feel fuzzy. "Morning, darlin’.”

“Heading out?”

“Hmmm. Gonna take them with me today.”

“You sure they'll be okay?”

“Of course, they're so eager to get out there; they were down here with the horses even before I was.” 

That makes you smile, they’re just like their father. “Of course they were. Just be careful, please.”

"Always," he pauses, an idea running through his head. “You wanna come with us?”

When you were pregnant with the boys, you’d spent a lot of that time finalising your second book. And to your surprise but not to Joel’s, it was big success, but that meant now you had a team of people working for you, eagerly anticipating the second draft of your third novel so you were busier than ever. Yet today, the idea of taking Shadow out and riding alongside your three boys is just an opportunity too perfect to be missed.

“Okay!”

He smiles. “That’s my girl. Go saddle up; we’ll be waiting for ya."

“Yes sir.”

You walk away from him, feeling his eyes on you as you do.

“Hey,”

You turn to his call. “Yeah?”

He comes to you, removing his hat from his head and placing it on yours. “That’s better. I love you, Mrs. Miller.”

“I love you too, cowboy.”

You didn’t set out to hire a contractor with the sole purpose of cheating on your husband. It just happened.

In all fairness, he cheated first. Consistently and repeatedly. His ongoing affairs are the reason you’ve found yourself in this situation in the first place. 

In truth, it started long before his infidelity had. You knew marrying him was a mistake the moment he showed just how little he cared for you and your needs, miniscule as they may be, in your opinion. 

You married Jeremy straight out of college, which was your first miscalculation. Guys your age never quite met your standards of what a healthy and loving relationship should be. But you married him anyway because you thought it’s what you had to do.

His job in finance allowed you to buy the house of your dreams, though it definitely needed some work. He promised you – insisted – that he could take care of the repairs himself despite having the financial means to hire someone else to do it and zero experience doing any sort of manual labor. Your career was just as lucrative as his, so between the two of you, there was no reason you couldn’t afford to hire someone to do the job. You lost track of the amount of times you’d fought him on the topic.

Just hire someone! No, I can do it myself! When? I’ll start soon, I swear!

He never started soon. And now, it’s been five years

The home itself was perfect – full of mid-century modern charm, large, bright windows, sleek, low-pitched roof, open floor plan. You loved it. You did not love the orange shag carpet or the lime green cabinets in the kitchen, nor were you a fan of the square teal tiling covering every inch of both bathrooms. But those problems could be easily resolved. 

Your husband, cheating, vile, misogynistic scumbag that he is, was considerably less simple to deal with.

When you discovered his habitual adultery, you were surprised to feel nothing but anger. Not hurt. Not betrayal. Just pure, unbridled anger.  You hadn’t been happy in years, and quite frankly, you weren’t sure you ever were. 

It sparked a thirst for retaliation in you that couldn’t be quenched without taking full and total control of your life again. 

First on your to-do list was filing for a divorce. You had all the proof you needed to back up your claims of his infidelity – texts, phone calls, receipts for motels – Jeremy was not smart, nor was he careful, which made the task incredibly simple. Seeing as he fucked anything with a pulse, you had plenty of evidence to go on. Your lawyer was astonished, either at his stupidity or the sheer amount of women Jeremy has been caught with, you weren’t sure.

Next, you gathered the funds you needed in order to complete the renovation to your home, and luckily, you’d been saving for that specific task. You wanted him to be dumbstruck when he saw the final product, and then you would hand him the divorce papers and tell him to get the hell out.

Finally, you had to hire the right contractors to get the job done. This proved to be your most ardent task yet. 

It took you weeks to find a suitable contractor to take on your project. You vetted and price checked and examined their work with a scrutiny that would impress even the most seasoned detectives. You took recommendations, avoided certain ones entirely, and finally landed on Miller & Miller Construction.

Their website had no flair. No pizazz. No gimmicks. It was plain, clean, and it showcased their work in stunning clarity. You were impressed. The custom cabinetry was just what you’d been looking for, the craftsmanship simple, but precise. Their eye for design, their workmanship, everything spoke to you. You set up a consultation and met with them as soon as you could.

Joel and Tommy were two completely opposing entities that you weren’t quite sure how to read. Tommy did most of the talking, his smile easy and bright, immediately likable, while Joel sat quietly, eyes trained on you, not exactly frowning, but there was no smile to be had on his face either. You liked them, despite how quiet the elder Miller was, grizzled hair, trimmed scruff on his jaw and chin, mustache flecked with grey.

Something about him made you squirm. 

You could tell immediately how their dynamic worked. Tommy was the salesman, the entrepreneur, the frontman. And Joel was the brawn, the craftsman – it showed in the rough edges of his features, his hands, his discerning eyes. Though, you’re sure they both put in their fair share of hard labor.

Tommy had a tablet in front of him, typing out the details of your project. Joel paced the kitchen, measuring, examining, testing. You watched him, admiring the slope of his broad shoulders, the sharp line of his jaw, the faint hints of grey in his beard, rippling muscles hidden under a flannel and a t-shirt.

You blinked out of your haze when Tommy spoke.

“Full-scale kitchen remodel. Custom cabinetry. Updated appliances. Marble counters – that won’t be cheap,” Tommy muttered, but you waved your hand.

“It’s covered. I’ve been saving for years.”

His grin flashed, warm and friendly, “Don’t worry, we won’t drain it all.” He types something else out, muttering, “Hardwood floors, new trim, drywalling, tiling..” he trailed off, listing out everything the two of you had discussed for the entirety of the house. When he was done, he looked across at you with a smile, “I’ll get you an estimate in about a week or so.”

You almost bounced in your seat, giddy with the prospect of your home finally coming to life. You were so ecstatic you almost forgot about the wreckage of your marriage.

“We’ll have our design team set up a consultation, pick materials, colors and such, and then we can get you a fixed timeline. Do you have any questions for us?”

Your eyes darted between him and his stoic older brother before shaking your head, “No, thank you so much.”

In all of your searches and meetings with various contractors in the area, it was the first time you felt seen. They didn’t ask if you needed your husband’s approval. They didn’t ask if he wanted input in the project. Didn’t even ask if you had a husband. But it was clear in your surroundings – the framed picture of you two on your wedding day situated right behind you on the china cabinet, the men’s tennis shoes discarded by the door, the ugly recliner just visible in the living room. Your wedding ring.

Your meeting with their design team went even better – though team was a bit of an overstatement. A woman your age, friendly, bright, excited to help you design your kitchen. Her name was Winona, and she was bubbly without being obnoxious, smart without being a knowitall. And best of all, she took your design ideas and turned them into something spectacular. You loved her.

Jeremy was on a business trip, probably fucking anything that moved, when you signed the final contract to get the house started. And the progress was swift. Efficient for two guys who did all the work themselves. You wondered, briefly, how many projects they normally took on. If they had a crew doing work elsewhere. But it didn’t matter. They were working on your house. 

And Tommy was right. The estimate he provided didn’t drain all you’d saved for the project. You had just enough left over to tuck away for your lawyer fees for your inevitable divorce. Something you were wildly ecstatic about.

Over the course of two weeks, Tommy and Joel arrived at seven am on the dot, ripping apart your house piece by piece, hauling things away, cleaning up the site, and working at a scarily efficient tempo.

By the end of the first week, they’d had the upper level of your home completely bare, painted in the soft, off-white color you’d chosen for the hallways, and the corresponding colors you’d chosen for your office, bedroom, and guest room. You slept on the couch while the upstairs was under construction, and by the end of the second week, you were back in your bedroom, adding the decorative touches you’d been working on while they did the hard labor.

Now that your primary living space was completed, they’d moved on to the rest of the house, spending two weeks alone on the bathrooms, and another full day hauling debris from your house.

You enjoyed seeing them bright and early every day. Tommy’s friendly smile, Joel’s gruff nod. After just under a month, you’d grown accustomed to them. You offered them coffee, brewed in your home office instead of the kitchen, and had bagels and fruit out on the kitchen table for them to enjoy at their leisure. Tommy ate the bagels and fruit. Joel guzzled coffee like it would cure whatever had him looking so grumpy all the time. 

You chatted with Tommy during your lunch breaks, and you were surprised to find that you enjoyed his company. He was charming and friendly and sweet and nothing like his quietly cantankerous brother. You were lucky if you got more than two words out of Joel in a day, but Tommy was quickly becoming the highlight of the entire project.

You learned a lot about him, and incidentally Joel, every time the two of you sat down for lunch. He told you about their construction company, the scale of their work, and how business has really picked up over the last couple of months. He told you about his wife, Maria, and how she was due to give birth any day now. He expressed his excitement, his trepidation, and joy at becoming a father. He’d had a lot of practice with Joel’s daughter, but she was grown now. That surprised you.

You couldn’t picture Joel getting close enough to someone to have a child with them.

While Joel cut lumber on your back patio, you lowered your voice and asked, “He’s married?”

Tommy took a heaping bite of his sandwich and shook his head, “Nah, wife ran off a couple months after Sarah was born. ‘S just him now that Sarah’s gone off to school in Washington.”

You could see Joel through the patio door, hunched over a piece of lumber, marking it with a pencil, brows furrowed in concentration, eyes focused. You hadn’t let yourself examine him very closely, but watching him work, you were struck by how handsome he was. You’d thought so when you first met the pair of them, but you were so focused on getting the project off the ground, you paid little attention.

His green flannel drew tight over his shoulders and biceps, sleeves rolled to his elbows. He tucked the pencil behind his ear as he maneuvered the piece of wood into place and ripped it through the saw. His forearms tensed, fingers deft and precise as he pulled the wood through. His jaw clenched as he examined it, flicked away the sawdust, eyes singularly focused on his task. 

“Easy, sugar,” Tommy drawled, snapping you out of your trance, “He’s a surly old bastard. Don’t wanna get mixed up with that.”

You gaped at him, cheeks coloring, pressing a hand to your chest, “Excuse me? That would be highly inappropriate.” You tried to sound glib, but Tommy was right. You were attracted to Joel. And you were aching for someone to touch you. 

You hadn’t had sex in nearly a year thanks to Jeremy’s exploits. You were not interested in contracting an STD from him, and you were so disgusted by him, the thought of having sex with him turned your stomach.

In the month since the project began, Jeremy had only been home twice, complaining about the mess and the dust and screaming at you for going through with the renovation when he’s perfectly capable of doing it all himself.

“Who’s paying for all of this anyway?” He asked derisively. You crossed your arms over your chest, glaring at him. Joel and Tommy were downstairs, completing the tile work for the guest bathroom, and you knew they could hear every word. “I bet they’re taking you for a ride. Women always get scammed by contractors, are you stupid?”

“Shut the fuck up, Jeremy!” You shouted at him, unable to contain your fury. “Why don’t you just go back to fucking your assistant and keep your shitty opinions to yourself!” You stormed out of the room, slamming the door in his face and retreating to the back patio where Joel was hunched over a wet saw, lining up a tile to cut with with the precision you’d come to expect from him.

He looked up at you, his face neutral, lips set in a firm line, dark eyes assessing.

“Everying alright?”

Stunned by his gentle voice, you’d been unable to speak, simply nodding your head and watching as he nodded back and hunched over the saw again.

Jeremy left, and hadn’t been back since.

Between your frustration at your husband, and Tommy’s comment about Joel, a spark of determination lit inside you like dry shrub in a wild fire. Your previously controlled, distant admiration of Joel transformed into a cloying, desperate urge, and he was the one and only thing on your mind.

But that didn’t mean anything would happen. Not with Joel’s sour disposition and gruff exterior. Talking to Tommy was easy. Talking to Joel – well, there was very little that came out of his mouth, so you weren’t sure it could be qualified as talking. Which is why it was so shocking to you that he’d spoken to you in the first place.

You tried. You really did. Every time he came to your office for a coffee refill, you immediately dropped what you were doing in order to strike up a conversation with him. But he never budged. Just grunted, gave one word answers, sometimes even just stared at you like you hadn’t spoken at all. You wondered why he even bothered coming into your office in the first place. Why not just send Tommy to get his refills if it was such a burden to talk to you?

His silence perturbed you. And you were determined to get his attention. 

You were so desperate, you started wearing less. Instead of yoga pants and a conservative pull over sweater, you switched to shorts and loose t-shirts that hung off your shoulder. It was an easy switch to make as the last remnants of chilly spring weather finally succumbed to the prickling heat of summer.

If Joel noticed your slowly deteriorating selection of moderate clothing, he didn’t let on. And the more he ignored you, the more you wanted him.

Instead of letting him come to you for coffee, you brought the pot out to him, low cut, form fitting, spaghetti strap top displaying your perky breasts. Your shorts barely covered your ass. And he didn’t even blink.

“Coffee?” You ask coquettishly, lifting your chest just a touch. His eyes stayed on yours, steadfast, hard, and determined, as he held his mug out for you to fill.

“Thanks,” he grunted, taking a large gulp. 

“Hot today,” you point out, the beginning of summer making its presence known. “You sure you don’t wanna come inside? Take a break?”

His eyes never strayed. Not once. He shook his head, “Tommy should be back with more lumber any minute.”

It’s the most words you've heard leave his mouth in a consecutive string. It emboldens you.

You nod at the comfortable, air conditioned living room just on the other side of the French doors, “Just a quick break. I can get you something cold to drink. Lemonade? A beer?”

You were pushing, and he wasn’t conceding, turning back to the makeshift work table he had set up under the shade of your patio; three saw horses with a large piece of plywood acting as the tabletop, “‘M alright, darlin’. Why don’t you go cool off?”

Darlin’. That subtle Texas drawl, syrupy smooth, deep and rich like honey. He’d called you Darlin’. 

You shouldn’t devote too much thought to it. Tommy calls you ‘Sugar’ all the time. Even goes as far as ‘Sweetheart’ on some occasions. But it was natural coming from him. Harmless and utterly platonic. He’s a smooth talker and a schmoozer. From Joel, it was so foreign, so out of character, you didn’t know what to do. He’d hardly said two words to you in the past, and now he’s giving you sweet nicknames. Calling you Darlin’ was just as harmless as Tommy calling you Sugar, but it did something to you.

You left him on the patio and shuffled back to your office, dazed. 

You liked it, you realized, skin flushed and heat simmering low in your belly. You wanted him to do it again. Call you by more endearing pet names. Even in your five years of marriage to Jeremy, he’d only ever addressed you by your name or a condescending ‘babe’. You hadn’t realized how pathetically you’d been yearning for more. Something softer, sweeter, kinder. Not until Joel.

But he didn’t seem interested. Should you be more direct? Ask him, outright, if he was attracted to you? Should you strip naked and throw yourself at him? No, no. That was too direct. You had more self respect than that. Maybe. Probably not.

Jeremy had neglected you for so long, your mind was spinning out of control. You want to be wanted. You want to be touched. And you want Joel.

When Tommy returned with the lumber, you watched them unload it from his pickup truck. Joel shed his flannel and was now clad in a white t-shirt that hugged his biceps, his back spotted with sweat and his muscles bulging with the effort of lugging wood into your home. Fuck, you couldn’t stand it.

You have to do something about this ache between your legs. The sudden, unquenchable thirst you feel for him. If skimpy outfits and shy invitations to join you for coffee don’t do it, you know what will. And it’s just about as close to stripping naked as you could get.

When Joel arrives the next day, without Tommy, you greet him with a smile, a fresh pot of coffee, and a question in your gaze that asks where his brother is.

“Wife went into labor late last night. I’ll be finishin’ up without him,” he grunts, though without any of the typical irritability that comes with the need to socialize. Maybe the birth of his nephew had softened him.

You’re a little sad you won’t get to see Tommy, but thrilled to have Joel all to yourself.

As you step aside to let him in, you don’t miss the way his eyes flit down your bare legs. You hadn’t bothered getting dressed, still clad in your oversized sleep shirt that barely hangs down past your ass. 

As he sets about getting his bearings from where he left off the previous day, you pour him a cup of coffee and toast and butter a bagel for him, knowing he doesn’t much care for the indulgence of cream cheese or jelly. He thanks you with a grunt and shuffles his way onto the patio to get started. Your eyes linger on the way his navy t-shirt stretches across his broad, muscular back.

After you change into a revealing tank top and the shortest shorts you own, you coop yourself up in your office to get some work done. But when you’re done for the day, you can’t help yourself. You check in on him, peering through the back doors and asking if he wants something to eat. You expect him to decline, but when he graciously accepts, you bounce giddily to the kitchen to make him a sandwich. 

Today is different. You can feel it. 

When you present him with the sandwich, he dusts his hands on his jeans and nods at you in thanks, but doesn’t say anything. He only watches you, eyes flitting to your cleavage so quickly, you think you imagine it. But then he looks you dead in the eyes as he takes a bite of the sandwich and chews it slowly.

Something in you snaps and your blood heats, making your skin flush. You rush away from him, and as you retreat inside, you swear you hear him chuckle.

With your heart racing and an idea bubbling to life in your mind, you race upstairs and start digging through your closet until you find exactly what you’re searching for. If he wants to tease you, you’re going to tease him right back.

You pull on a white and blue bikini with strings that tie at the hips, around the base of your neck, and at the middle of your back. After applying a nude gloss to your lips and dabbing a light amount of makeup across your cheeks, you pull on a black sheer coverup, that flows down past your ankles, leaving it open. It does little to hide your scantily clad body as you tiptoe back downstairs with a book and a bottle of tanning oil in your grip.

You walk past the back door as deliberately as you can, making sure to catch his attention as you carefully maneuver your way through your deconstructed kitchen to fill a glass with ice water and lemon slices. With your sunglasses perched on the bridge of your nose, you finally step onto the patio, your tits on display, legs bare and gleaming, and smile coy and searching.

”I’m going to lay out by the pool for a bit. If you get hungry or thirsty, help yourself to anything you like,” you tell him, feigning disinterest. Acting like you don’t see the way his throat bobs and his eyes greedily drink you in. He doesn’t say anything to you as you take the three short steps down to your yard and traipse over to your pool.

The early summer sun is blazing hot, and sweat prickles your skin the moment you lay out on your teakwood lounger, the white cushion comfortable but warm from the heat of the day. Your eyes dart toward Joel to make sure he’s watching, and you slowly slip out of your coverup, intentionally dropping it and bending at the waist to pluck it off the stone pavers surrounding your pool.

It feels almost comically pornographic to resort to this type of temptation, but with the blatant way he watches you, it’s worth it.

You lean back on the lounger, snatching up your book and flipping to the page you’d left off on. It’s some tawdry romance novel with a shirtless cowboy on the front. Painfully transparent with little to no plot, but you’re not reading it for the plot, anyway.

Your skin prickles with awareness, your eyes darting toward Joel every few minutes to catch him watching you for the briefest moment before he returns to the meticulous work of assembling your cabinetry. 

When your ice water is half gone and too warm to enjoy, you decide to take a brief dip into the pool. You stand, adjusting your bottoms, pulling them up just a touch, before wading slowly into the rippling water. The effect is instant, the water immediately cooling you and making goosebumps pebble across your skin, tightening your nipples. 

You’re careful not to get your hair wet, brushing it aside as you drift further in, then back toward the shallow end. A quick glance in his direction makes you frown. His back is to you, broad shoulders leaned over his plywood table. 

The power saw buzzes to life, then quiets. He blows away the sawdust, t-shirt damp with sweat. Biceps straining as he joins two pieces of wood together, fastening them with a clamp. You’re enraptured by his focus. Envious of your very own cabinets and wishing he’d look at you with such deliberate intent and concentration. House be damned.

When you can tell he’s about to turn in your direction, you climb out of the pool, allowing the water to trickle off your frame and slick down your body. You run a hand down your stomach, briefly toying with the pink jewel at your naval, then adjust your bottoms again as you strut back to the lounger.

Under the dark, impenetrable lenses of your sunglasses, your eyes dart to him. He’s staring, his throat bobbing, hands tight around the clamps he’s using to fasten the cabinets together. 

You hide your smile, laying out on your towel to let the sun soak up the water from your skin. You feel his eyes on you more prominently than the moisture coating your body. With a sly smile, you push your sunglasses down your nose to look at him.

“Hey, Joel?” Voice dripping with honey and mischief.

“Yeah, darlin’?” He calls back, still watching. Not even bothering to pretend anymore. And he calls you that name again. Darlin’. Your core clenches.

Biting your lip, you give him a coquettish look that’s all sin and wicked intention, “Will you help me put on some sunscreen?”

Straight out of a porno. The oldest trick in the book. Painfully, achingly transparent. You’re inviting him to touch you. And even from afar, you can see his resolve snap. Eyes darkening, posture going rigid.

“You sure about that?” He asks, voice tight and rough.

You nod, biting your lip for good measure, “Uh huh.”

He shakes his head like he can’t believe what he’s about to do, and a devilish smile spreads across your face, triumphant. Joel dusts his hands off on his jeans, trudges down the patio steps, and prowls over to your lounger. His tall, broad frame eclipses the sun, casting shade over you. You grin and roll onto your stomach, acutely aware of the way your ass looks in your tiny bikini.

“Sunscreen, there,” you point to the bottle of tanning lotion on the teakwood table next to you. It’s more of an oil with UV protection, but the idea is the same: you want him to rub it all over your body, and then fuck you senseless.

The scent of pine and leather wraps around you as he sits on the edge of the lounger, careful not to touch you. He grabs the oil and huffs a laugh, “This ain’t sunscreen.”

“It has UV protection!” You argue.

“This is nothin’ more than body oil.”

“Still. Please?” You ask, looking back at him and resting your cheek on your arms. He shakes his head, cheeks dimpling against the smile he’s trying to fight off.

“Ain’t payin’ me to lather you up, honey,” he says under his breath, flicking the cap of the oil open and drizzling it along your back.

“That’s okay. You need a break.”

He hums, setting the bottle aside. Your entire body tingles with anticipation, waiting for his skin on yours. You wait and wait, feeling the oil drip along your spine, your shoulders. Then, finally, the coarse surface of his work roughed hand meets your skin and you shiver.

“S’it okay if I untie this?” He asks, voice so low, so smooth, you’re sure you imagined it. But then you feel his fingers playing with the ties at your neck and you nod, frantically, too eager. “Of course it is.”

You almost giggle. He knows what you’re doing and he’s still placating you. You wiggle a little when he unties the neck, then the back, leaving you bare from the waist up. The moment his hands are back on you, you gasp. Pressure firm, but gentle. Sure and thorough as he spreads the oil around your skin. Brushing your hair aside, he massages the oil into your neck. You peek at him to see that concentrated look on his face. Like tearing him away from his task would undo him.

Then, both of his palms press into your back, eliciting a moan straight from your lips. You clamp your mouth shut, but the pressure is so divine, you almost do it again. 

“Feels okay?” He mutters, hands skimming down your body, your waist, your lower back, and then up again. His fingers graze the sides of your breasts and you nod again. God, if he stopped now, you think you’d cry.

Every pass of his hands turns you to jelly, and soon, he moves down to your legs, first starting at your ankles, then up your calves, careful not to go much further than the bend in your knee. You’re soaked. Skin humming with the effects of his firm, soothing touch, heated by the sun, and glowing faintly with the sheen of oil.

When you feel his hand inch up the inside of your thigh, you suck in a breath.

”Relax,” he coaxes, moving from the top of your thigh down to your knee and back up again. Over and over and over, pressing a little firmer on the way up, and stopping just short of the gusset of your skimpy bikini. “You told me to help myself to anything I liked.”

You did say that. And then you called him over to you to touch you freely. You grin, peeking up at him, cheek resting against your arms, “And you like me?”

His cheeks dimple, his smile so soft, so sexy, you almost say to hell with your little ruse. Something between a grunt and a laugh escapes him, “Darlin’, you got no idea.”

Darlin’. You don’t think you’ll ever get tired of it. You feel yourself grow damp as he moves his hands to your other thigh, repeating the same, torturous ministrations. But this time, he goes so much higher, you think he’s going to graze the covered, soaked apex of your desperately neglected pussy. He never does. Massages right below it. There’s no reason to put oil there, but he does it anyway. His thumbs get closer, massaging circles into your skin, very nearly grazing you, teasing, refusing to give you what you want.

When his hands leave you, you almost cry out in protest, but then he’s nudging your hip, “Turn over for me, sweetheart.”

As you lift up to turn, you toss your bikini top aside, having no desire to feign modesty any longer. He knows it, and you know it. You want him to fuck you.

His eyes spark with interest as they land on your breasts, perky and waiting, nipples tight from your dip in the pool. You lie back, making yourself comfortable as he stares. 

He chuckles, deep and smooth, “Not bein’ shy no more, are you?”

You grin in response as he grabs the oil and drizzles it over your chest, your stomach, and along your arms. He starts at your hands, making sure you’re fully covered, his large ones engulfing them completely in his grasp. The texture of his fingers is rough, but you like it as he moves his way up your wrists, your forearms, and then toward your shoulders, massaging along the way.

“Mm, Joel,” you sigh, his hands rubbing the oil into you completely before moving on. He presses his thumbs into your shoulders, then your collar bones, then the tops of your breasts. He still doesn’t touch you there, but then one hand wraps around your throat, resting, thumbing your pulse point where it hammers rapidly against your skin.

“Lookin’ so pretty,” he says quietly, keeping one hand on your neck while the other finally finally covers your breast. The initial touch is feather light, thumb grazing your nipple. Then, he presses firmer, his entire hand covering you with his palm while he kneads and massages. His hand leaves your neck only to cover your other breast, and you’re giddy with need as he works you into a whimpering, keening mess. “That feel good, darlin’?”

“So good,” you nod, grabbing his wrist to keep him there, demanding more.

He hums, keeping the hand you’ve now possessed on your breast, while the other moves down to rub oil into your tummy. His hands are a work of art, skilled in so many ways. You’re trembling by the time he reaches the top of your bikini bottoms. His pinky slips under the hem, making you gasp. He withdraws and does it again, rubbing back and forth until your hips move up to seek his touch.

“Want me to take these off?” He asks, tugging at the strings, already knowing your answer before you nod rapidly.

“Off, please. Take them off.”

His reply is a deep grunt, and you think that must be his grumpy little way of teasing you, “Needy little thing.”

The bottoms come off, and you’re bared to him, your center slick with need and ready to be fucked. But you just know he’s going to take his time. Simultaneously, you can’t stand it, but you also yearn for it. Being teased and molded into a whimpering mess, desperate for his touch. Your husband has never made you feel like this. Sexy. Desirable. Loved.

“Fuck, look at that pussy, baby,” he groans, still not touching you where you really, really need it. He’s massaging your hips now, leaning over you in a way that’s almost obscene as he gets closer to your slick heat. His thumbs press into your hips, then down your thighs until he’s rubbing oil into your legs, still neglecting you, even though every pretense of professionalism has all but burned up in the wake of your arousal.

“Joel,” you whine, arching your hips.

“Patience,” he answers sternly. And that’s that. Nothing more. 

Every stroke up and down your leg is torture as he repeats the same teasing he’d done to the backs of your legs. Getting closer and closer to your pussy, but never fully touching. You’re so eager, your slick coats your thighs, and on a final pass, he rubs it into your skin before his fingers finally graze your clit. You suck in a sharp breath, your hand shooting out to grab him again. To keep him there. Because if he stops now, you think you’ll actually die.

You look up at him, his eyes dark, his grin wide. You’ve never seen him smile like that, and it’s blinding, warm, and teasing. He rubs circles over your clit delicately, not pressing too hard, not too light. It’s so perfect and you’re so on edge that it has you on the precipice of your orgasm faster than you can blink.

And then he eases up, halting your peak so quickly, your hips buck, making you moan in protest, “No, no, no, don’t stop, please, Joel.”

“Ain’t plannin’ on stoppin’, baby,” he says softly, “Just need to get a better look at you.”

And then he shifts, gently lowering himself to the ground, knees probably screaming in protest, and grabbing you by the hips to pull you to the edge of the lounger, slightly askew on the cushion, but still comfortable. He lowers his head, making you squirm, lips brushing against your hip, across your tummy, briefly pausing to kiss around the pink belly button piercing. You arch your hips, enticing him.

“So eager,” he grumbles, one hand spreading your thigh, hooking it onto his shoulder, the other running up your opposite leg, kneading and massaging you into a puddle.

“I need — I need—“ you breathe, one hand clutching the teakwood, the other reaching for him, digging into the muscles of his shoulder.

“What do you need, baby?”

Your chest is heaving as he plants another kiss below your bellybutton, still massaging your leg while his other hand keeps your thigh firmly planted over his shoulder. 

“Fuck, you smell so sweet,” he sighs, inching down. It’s torture. It’s pure, unbridled torture — waiting for him. You’re a slick mess, oiled up, pussy wet, walls fluttering around nothing. “Tell me what you need,” he repeats.

“I need your tongue,” you gasp, the prickle of his beard on your skin driving you insane. You never would have guessed this. That Joel Miller is a fucking tease. That he’s slow and methodical. That he enjoys making you squirm. But here he is, peppering kisses all across your body, everywhere except your aching core, “Please, make me cum. Please, Joel.”

His chuckle is deep, a hint of red coloring his cheeks and neck, either from the sun or arousal, you don’t care.

“Since you asked nicely.”

And then his mouth is on you, hands spreading your thighs wide, keeping you open for him as he drags his tongue from your weeping cunt to your clit where he sucks, teasing you, making you gasp for air, arching your back off the lounger.

Your burrow a hand into his hair — it’s damp with sweat, but that doesn’t bother you in the slightest. 

His mouth is devastating against you, licking stripe after stripe up your slit, pausing briefly to suck and nibble at your clit until you’re sobbing with need. And then, just when you think it can’t get any better, he pushes one, thick finger into you, stretching you. The burn makes you cry out, the slow drag sending prickles of lightning up your spine.

“This is what you wanted, right, darlin’?” He asks, voice rough with arousal, eyes nearly black as he slowly pumps his finger into you. “It’s why you’ve been walkin’ around lookin’ like that. No pants on. Shorts barely coverin’ you, askin’ me to touch you. Askin’ to get fucked.”

You can’t answer. Your voice stalls in your throat. You can only nod, frantically. He adds a second finger and it almost undoes you. You’re so fucking close. He pushes them deep, leaning down to tease your clit again with his mouth, sucking hard, groaning.

“How do you think your husband would feel if he knew his pretty little wife was gettin’ fucked by the help?” 

He twists his fingers, curling them just so. He prods at the sensitive, soft spot inside you, making your arch.

“Ex. Ex — husband. Soon.”

He hums, “Judging by that ring, he’s no ex.”

It takes every ounce of will power you have to rip your hand away from him and tear the ring off your finger. It glints in the sun and clatters on the table next to you when you slam it down. Then your hand is back in his hair, urging him back to your cunt where he grins and licks you again, this time not pausing, not slowing.

Your orgasm is volcanic, blinding. You think you scream. You know your fingers clench around his hair so tight, you’re in danger of pulling it out of his scalp. And he just keeps going. Finger fucking you into oblivion, tasting your release on his tongue, moaning against you as you ride the waves of your climax into bliss.

You’re trembling when he lifts himself off the ground, fingers still probing deep, hunting for another orgasm. He leans over you, bracing his other hand next to your head, and kisses you. You whimper into his mouth, tasting yourself on his lips, tongues stroking and breaths mingling.

“Joel,” you moan when he removes his fingers, leaving you empty and limp. But he’s not pulling away. He’s kissing down your neck, sucking a spot just below your ear that drives you crazy that your husband always neglects, and undoing his belt.

“Tell me what you need,” he says into your neck. But he already knows. You know he knows. You’ve been begging for it this entire time.

“Fuck me, Joel,” you whine, hands searching for the end of his shirt. They slip underneath, and you moan at the way his muscles feel under your fingertips. He’s warm and rough and you want to see him. “Off.”

He hums, leaning up to pull his shirt over his head and toss it somewhere among your discarded bikini. He comes back to you, lips hot on yours while you concentrate your efforts on getting his jeans undone. He’s hard against your hand as you pull the zipper down, aching and needy.

Once his cock is freed, you break away to take him in, and you almost shrink. He is huge, leaking from the tip, resting heavy against your thigh. Even with how wet you are, you don’t know if he’ll fit. But God you want to try. 

“Don’t worry, baby, I got you,” he grunts, shoving his jeans and boxers off. He straightens you on the lounger, making room for himself as he climbs over you. He’s golden and glistening in the sun, slick with sweat and your arousal shimmering on his chin. 

The sight of his broad, hard form over you almost makes you cum again. 

He catches you gawking and you could swear he’s trying to fight off a smug smile, but his lips only twitch in amusement instead. Taking his cock in hand, he drags the tip through your folds, making you shudder and reach for his hips, holding him as he hovers, nails pressing a little harder than you intend. He doesn’t seem to mind.

As his tip catches your entrance, he groans, “Nice and wet for me, aren’t you?”

You can only nod, speech evading you as he slowly, cautiously sinks into you. The stretch is everything. You’re so full, so wet, and inconsolable, it makes you mewl in delight. 

“What’s that, darlin’?”

”So — so big. Your cock is so big, Joel,” you sigh, shifting your hips, taking him deeper. The burn is exquisite, but you need him to move. Need him to fuck you into another reality. ”Please..”

”Such pretty little manners,” he tells you, withdrawing slowly.

The first thrust is devastating. The second is mind numbing. And after the third, you’re holding onto him for dear life. It doesn’t take long for you to melt underneath him, arching your hips so he hits at just the right angle. 

“Tightest fuckin’ pussy I’ve ever had, baby,” he pants, leaning down to mutter profanities into your ear, nibbling and kissing your neck, “That husband doesn’t take care of you at all does he?”

”No, no, no, never,” you chant, every part of you ready to snap.

“Bet he hasn’t fucked you proper in years,” he grunts, the sound of your skin slapping together downright obscene. “That’s all you needed, huh, darlin’?”

“Uh huh,” you yelp, almost a broken sob leaving you as he drives into you, “Fuck me, Joel..”

“Nothin’ to worry about now, I’ll take real good care of you.”

You could cry from the relief of it. The way his hips slam into you, how deep he is, how attentive. Even at the strongest point in your marriage, it’s never been like this, and it’s ecstasy.

Pleasure pools low in your belly, his cock hitting that sweet, sensitive spot inside you so perfectly, the precipice of your orgasm is on you in an instant. Just as you’re about to cum, he stills, breath heaving, your walls trembling, clenching around him.

“Joel,” you whine, breathless and wanting.

“Not yet, baby,” he tells you, voice syrupy and thick. Pressing a kiss to your neck, then your lips, he sits up on his knees, takes you by the thighs and lifts your hips to grind against him. The position is utterly indecent, back arched, him holding your thighs for leverage while he begins snapping his hips against you. And it’s like he never stopped in the first place.

Your orgasm crashes into you, hands reaching for his wrists to hold on as he towers over you, giving you everything he’s got. The power of his thrusts knocks the breath out of you.

“Take it, baby, fuck, you’re such a good girl,” he grounds out, sweat slicking his muscled chest, dripping down his temple. “You got me so wound up, darlin’, prancin’ around looking sexy as sin. Now I’ve got you all to myself.”

“Don’t stop, please,” you keen, desperately grasping for air, your climax driving away all rational thought and composure. “It’s so good, please, don’t stop.”

“Gonna make me cum, sayin’ things like that.”

You think, then, that you’d be fine with it. Letting him cum inside you, or paint your oiled up body with his seed. Mark you, stake his claim on you. He can cum wherever he wants, you decide, as long as he promises to do it again.

“Ain’t gonna let that piece of shit husband touch you again,” he declares, pinning you with a solid, steady stare, “You’re mine now, darlin’.”

You tell him, then, “Cum inside me, Joel,” nearly sobbing as his powerful thrusts drive you toward another orgasm with blinding speed. His movements are precise and deliberate, his eyes going dark at your words.

You know he wants to do it, that he can’t stop himself even if he wanted to. Even if you weren’t begging for it.

“Yeah?” He huffs, hooking his arms a little higher around your thighs to gain better leverage. You shift your hips, cry out as his cock goes deeper, spearing into you so completely you never want him to leave.

You’re almost sobbing with the approach of another orgasm, one that will undo you and wreck you for the rest of your life. All you can do is nod and gasp and hold onto him as he fucks you deeper. Your neighbors are going to hate you.

“Shit, darlin’,” he grunts, the buck of his hips frantic as he chases his release. When your nails bite into his forearm, the tight coil of his control snaps like a cable and you feel warm ropes of cum fill you. A final orgasm paints stars across your vision, and you faintly hear a guttural moan leave him as you tighten around him once more. He doesn’t stop fucking you until you’re both spent, your muscles aching and fingers sore from how tightly you have them wound around his wrists.

He collapses on top of you in a heap, your bodies slippery with sweat and oil. His hot breath fans over your neck, the weight of him both grounding and comforting. The scruff of his beard prickles your skin as he peppers kisses along your chin, down the column of your throat.

”Ain’t gonna be able to finish those cabinets today,” he grunts.

A slow smile spreads across your lips, ”Why not?”

He lifts his head to gift you with a warm smile of his own, captivated, even after the way he’d fucked you. Surprised that he gives it so willingly now that you’ve had each other in the most physical and intimate manner possible.

”Wanna take you out. Dinner. Will you let me?”

His offer stuns you into silence. 

Yes, you’d practically begged for him to fuck you. Asked him to cum inside you. Told him you were as good as divorced. And yeah, you have every intention of having sex with him again.

But a date? That says something. It speaks volumes to his intentions. Which both frightens and thrills you.

Despite you throwing yourself at him for weeks on end and finally getting what you want, he wants more. And not just your body. 

Your hesitation draws his eyebrows down, “We don’t have to ––“

”I want to,” you answer quickly. But there’s still that lingering sense of doubt. Of trusting someone with yourself only to be stabbed in the back. Betrayed in the most visceral sense. You didn’t have sex with him because you wanted to move on from Jeremy right into another twisted, sickly excuse for a relationship. You just needed attention. And Joel gave it.

He lifts himself off of you and pulls on his jeans, “It’s fine if you don’t wanna ––“

”Joel.”

”I’m too old to be playin’ games, darlin’. If I wasn’t clear before — I like you. More than I should. And I know you’re married, but that didn’t stop us, did it? So if you want this, I’m here. If not, no hard feelin’s.”

He’s half dressed now, jeans buttoned, belt still hanging loose, t-shirt hanging over his broad shoulder. His wide frame blocks the sun, allowing you to see him clearly. No man has ever been as direct and straightforward with his needs. Not like that. It’s… different. Refreshing. Almost unheard of.

You almost want to pull him back down and let him have his way with you again, but you’re a woman of control and poise. You can articulate your needs just as clearly as he has. And you’d be lying if you said you weren’t at least a little bit interested in seeing what manifests.

”Dinner would be lovely,” you begin, keeping your expression controlled, “When Jeremy gets back from whatever trip he’s on, I’m serving him the divorce papers.”

You can see the moment when your words sink in, the pleasant twitch of his lips, the way he leans over you and brushes his lips against yours. This kiss is tender and sweet in a way you haven’t experienced from your own husband in years. But it’s what he says next that turns your body into mush and your mind pliant and docile.

“Good girl.”

I apologize for the length of this

Square in the nose, bone breaking with a sickly crunch. You’ll never forget the way he screamed, crimson blood rolling down his nostrils as he clutched his face.

Your grandmother was watching you that week, parents away on a bi-weekly business trip. Always gone, always moving.

Which you suppose was lucky, considering how your mother would’ve reacted to a call from the principal. 

Still, your stomach sank as your grandmother pulled up in front of the school in her old 1980 Voyager.

You carefully shut the car door, as if slamming it too loud would prompt the lecture you knew was coming. So you clambered in gingerly, silent, eyes-averted. Waiting for the torrent of admonishments.

But they never came.

Instead, she regarded with a warm, knowing grin, uttering the last words you expected:

“Wanna go get some ice cream, sweet pea?”

You looked at her incredulously, barely hiding the shock on your face. When she just continued to smile at you, seemingly unphased, you nodded sheepishly.

The car ride was quiet, conversation looming in the air. Your chest softened at the familiar melody of your grandmother’s favorite Stevie Knicks CD, emanating from the ancient stereo system.

And I saw my reflection in the snow covered hills, where the landslide brought me down.

You leaned your head against the cool glass, gazing out at the world flying by.

When you were sitting at a red picnic table, carefully licking a cherry ice-cream cone, did she finally address the elephant in the room.

“I heard you got into a little tiff today,” she stated. Not accusatory, just confirming.

You stared guiltily down at your Mary-Jane’s, shame coursing through you, tears welling in your eyes.

“Gram, I didn’t mean to,” you choked out pathetically, a tear escaping down your cheek. “He just kept pushing and pushing, and I just…snapped.” 

You beseeched her with pleading eyes, silently begging her to absolve you.

“And I’m sure he deserved it,” she chuckled jovially.

Once again, you were utterly perplexed by her response. 

Your mother would be screaming at you by now. And she’s…laughing?

You were slightly annoyed with her for not understanding the gravity of the situation. But then again, she wasn’t yelling.

So you simply stared at her, tears continuing to course down your cheeks.

“Sweet pea,” she soothed, bringing a gentle hand to your cheek, wiping away the sorrow.

“Sometimes people got a funny way of showing affection. I’m not saying it’s right, but the line between hate and love is finer than you think.”

Your mind stuttered with disbelief at her implication.

“You’re saying Thom—he—loves me?”

“Oh, hun, I don’t know,” she sighed, patting your arm comfortingly. The golden afternoon sun caught a strand of long, graying hair as she gazed pensively towards the treeline.

“Feelings don’t always show themselves in the way you expect. Knowing you, I’m sure you had a good reason for doing what ya did. Sometimes you gotta stand up for yourself and know what you deserve.”

She looked at you fondly, eyes glowing with affection. Then, growing a touch more serious.

“But sometimes it’s about giving people grace. You just gotta remember that there’s a lot more than meets the eye for some people.”

You lapsed into thoughtful silence, watching the trees sway as you finished the remnants of your ice cream.

You thought of that day often.

On the days when you missed her the most, the absence of her pressing in on your chest like a vice. You’d trade decades of your life for just one more moment with her.

Your grandmother was better than you were. More patient. More forgiving.

She always saw the good in people, gave them the benefit of the doubt. 

But no matter how hard you tried, you couldn’t summon the goodness that seemed to come so easily to her.

You couldn’t find it in your heart to absolve Joel Miller. Not for his condescension, and certainly not for his indifference. Jackass.

Though you’d outgrown your days of thoughtless violence, the thought of him made you want to rage, to scream until your throat was raw.

It seemed that boys who pulled ponytails grew into men who sidled around hard conversations. 

They had no problem sliding a hand between your legs, but retreated at the prospect of actually addressing it. As if the act only became real when put into words.

Your grandmother was right: hate and love are two brands of the same drug. If they are indeed one and the same, you can’t tell which side of the line Joel Miller walks on: loathing or desire.

Each morning on the ranch arrives brutally early, the horizon only beginning to shift from inky black to pre-dawn blue as you carefully climb down from your top bunk, sleep clinging to your puffy eyes.

You huddle blearily next to the coffee pot in the kitchen of your staff cabin, the soothing aroma of fresh coffee perking you up, the warmth of the ceramic mug comforting against your chilled fingers.

True to fashion, Marge and Kiara prattle energetically, despite the early hour. You, Maddy, and Claire, on the other hand, stare into space, still becoming reacquainted with consciousness. Claire grumbles as she plops into a chair at the round oak table, slumping forward as she tucks her head underneath her arms.

You’re more awake as you sit astride Lady an hour later, beams of light rising golden over the dark pines. The morning air is crisp against your face, still damp with dew. The cacophony of bird calls grows steadily as the sun climbs higher in the sky, illuminating the jagged surface of the Teton mountains beyond. 

The lively jingle of cow bells fills the morning air as you call the horses back from pasture, trotting eagerly towards the promise of breakfast. There’s always a few stranglers that seem deaf to your encouragement to return to the paddock, so you guide Lady through the waking pines, in search of the remaining culprits.

Once the sun is fully risen, you stride into the paddock, a young mustang named Pip in tow. You coax him into a saddle and bit, patiently leading him around the enclosure as he adjusts to the new sensations. 

He is apparently unamused, pulling so hard on the reins it feels like your shoulder is going to pop out of its socket. He kicks a hind leg out swiftly, a little too close to your head for your liking. You wisely decide to try again another day.

On Wednesday, Mabel shoves a pair of pruning shears in your hand, sending you, Marge, and Jason out on the ATV to clear the riding trails, overgrown from a rain-filled spring. Sweat oozes down the back of your neck as you and Jason sit on either side of the ATV, hacking away at overgrowth as Marge slowly trundles down the wooded hillside.

There’s a contained sense of panic, an organized chaos, the looming knowledge of an endless to-do list before guests arrive next week. You flop into bed each night absolutely exhausted, but fulfilled. 

But contrary to your belief that your paths wouldn’t cross often, it feels like Joel is everywhere you turn, a phantom appearing around every corner.

At the dining hall every morning, he sits at a table with Mabel, chatting casually. He leans back against the wooden chair, ankle propped on his opposite thigh, mug of black coffee in hand. Looking at ease, like he’s meant to be there.

More than a few times, you catch his eyes on you, your stomach swooping with every stolen glance. One day, his wayward glance catches you off guard, sending you choking on your water, coughing and spluttering embarrassingly. 

Only when your heart stops racing and you’ve ensured Marge you’re not going to die, do you risk a look towards Joel.

You swear he smirks into his coffee mug.

He’s there, again, at the paddock. His relentless stare burns a hole in your skin as you laboriously dump hay in front of the horses, strands of sweat-damp hair curling at the base of your neck.  

Your heart races wildly at the view of him hauling bales over his shoulder, muscles bunching beneath the snug fabric of his brown T-shirt. A sliver of the weathered skin peeks out when he lifts his arms, sending your core ablaze.

Your face flushes beet red as you try to think of totally un-sexy things. Like broccoli. Or jury duty. Definitely not your extremely attractive boss.

“You okay?” Marge murmurs to you quietly, noticing your sudden silence.

You scold yourself internally for being so damn obvious. You’re thankful Marge isn’t a mind-reader.

“Yeah! I’m fine,” you blurt breathlessly, too quickly. 

You dip your chin in an attempt to hide the crimson flush across your cheeks, shakily continuing to scatter hay.

 But it’s an effort to focus, your body much too aware of Joel’s presence in relation to you. Like an invisible tether, impermeable to your efforts to sever it.

You know you have to cut it out. What happened in that bar bathroom can never happen again. You suspect your presence at Teton Ranch is contingent on your good behavior; you’re determined to be a star employee, if only to avoid giving Joel a reason to send you home. 

But being good becomes profoundly difficult when you find yourself alone with Joel late one afternoon.

You stride swiftly into the barn, stopping dead at the sight before you: Joel, leaning against the cluttered table in the middle of the room, polishing a halter, brow furrowed.

You contemplate turning on your heel and running for the mountains.

You freeze as he glances up, eyes darkening at the mere sight of you. Your heart immediately stumbles into overdrive.

He doesn’t speak, but you notice the slight clench of his jaw, the way his breath turns heavy. 

Neither of you utter a word, the silence of the barn pressing in on the air between you.

You drop your gaze to his work boots, awkwardly mumbling, “I just needed to grab something,” before hurriedly striding to the tack rack.

You feel his eyes boring into your back like a white-hot iron brand, furthering your resolve to exit the barn as quickly as possible.

But when you look at the rack, searching for a spare brush, you notice it on the very top shelf, far out of your reach. You stretch on tiptoe, fingers straining towards the high shelf, silently cursing the bloodline of whoever put it there. 

You irritably brush at a strand of loose hair tickling your face. Your fingers strain towards the brush, your impatience and desperation to get out of the barn growing with every second spent in Joel’s presence.

A huff of annoyance rises behind you. Your stomach drops as you hear him set the halter on the table.

He must think you’re a pathetic excuse for a wrangler, so exasperated with your incompetence he could no longer stand to witness it.

You’re startled, biting back an audible gasp, when his fingers gently brush the small of your back. His large, warm body closes the space behind you.

“I got it,” Joel murmurs near your ear, that Texan drawl sending shivers down your spine.

You nearly arch your back as his honeyed tone. 

You think you hear his breath hitch as his calloused fingers graze yours in pursuit of the brush, which he grabs off the top shelf with ease.

You whirl around to face him, light-headed at his sudden closeness. 

In the past week, you thought of that night at the bar more than you cared to admit. The way his lips felt against your neck, your thighs, your core. The rumble of his voice in your ear, whispering forbidden encouragements.  

In the moments afterward, you only wished to know more about him. To have another chance with the man who made you feel things no one else ever had.

But now, it’s as though you’re looking in on his life through a glass cage. You’re here, in his orbit, but never let in, kept on the outskirts of truly knowing him.

In the past week, you’ve been around him everyday. You knew his daughter’s name, knew how he took his coffee, saw the easy comradery between him and his staff. The easy charm with everyone but you.

You observed the comfortable familiarity, the genuine care when he talked to Mabel or Marge—and it made you jealous. What did he find so undeserving in you that he couldn’t extend the same courtesy in your direction? 

Joel Miller was an enigma to you, the phases of his personality changing so quickly you never knew which version you were going to get next. Would you get the ranch owner, your detached boss that only saw you as a nuisance? 

Or would you get the man you craved, who touched you so tenderly, that made you feel desired and revered?

There’s a moment where you feel pulled to do something incredibly stupid, chest heaving as you stare wide-eyed, his face mere inches from yours. 

What would it feel like to close the space between his lips and yours, for him to thread his fingers through your hair once more?

Would it really be so bad to let his fingers drift between your thighs…

But then, his crimes of the past week come flooding back to you. You remember the way he treated you on your very first day: the blatant ignorance, the condensing tone he took with you.

He didn’t even want you here, thought you an incompetent pest.

You were a woman of dignity, someone who took herself seriously. Who stood up for what she deserved. You wouldn’t allow yourself to be made a fool. 

Not again.

You glare at him with ire, snatching the brush roughly from his hand.

“I had it,” you snap in his face, willing yourself to stand your ground.

His eyes flash dangerously at your attitude.

“Sure,” he mutters sarcastically, the hot puff of his breath tickling your face. “Were you plannin’ on wastin’ the entire work day reachin’ for it?” 

You sigh sharply through your nose, chest heaving. 

So this was how it was going to be today. Why’d he even keep you around if he hated you so much? Surely he could find another wrangler in all of Wyoming.

Suddenly, his eyes flit towards the bottom half of your face, stealing the breath from your lungs. Your heart pounds so loudly against your ribcage, you wonder if he can hear it.

His eyes rake back up your face, meeting yours with hunger…and a sliver of apprehension. 

You’re torn between shoving him away or pulling him the last few inches to your lips.

But then footsteps sound outside the barn door. You and Joel spring apart as if burned as Jason obviously traipses in, sparing you from damning yourself. 

He’s blabbing about a fence needing repaired, to which Joel grunts and assures he’ll look at it later.

You retrieve Lady’s saddle off the hook, brush in-hand, and slip out the door hurriedly. Not sparing Joel a second look.

When you start tacking up Lady in the paddock, you consciously remind yourself to deep, soothing breaths. 

It’s another hour before your palms aren’t tacky with sweat.

When your hand drifts between your legs in the shower that night, desperate for release, Joel’s face is the one that lingers in your mind’s eye. You pretend your fingers are his, your other hand clamped tightly over your mouth so as not to be overheard by your roommates. 

Your mind plays out what might’ve happened in the barn today, if you were feeling more reckless, or if Jason chose any other moment to walk in. 

How Joel might’ve slid his tongue between your parted lips, coaxing a wanton moan from your throat. 

How he might’ve pinned you against the wall, hips rolling sinfully into yours as he kissed down the column of your throat.

How he might’ve worked open the zipper of your jeans, dipping his fingers into your underwear…

Sometimes the right thing isn’t always the fun one.

In the end, you find yourself replaying that night at the bar once more.

The memory of his mouth between your thighs, his lips whispering sweet nothings in your ear, is what hurtles you over the edge.

You resent the hold he has on you. Which only grows with every day you spend around him, no matter how hard you try to shake it.

Unfortunately, Joel isn’t your sole dilemma when it comes to ranch romances.

Brett seems to regard flirting with you at every opportunity as his new passion project, becoming more and more forward with his blatant advances.

He always seems to be in your vicinity, taking any excuse to brush his fingers on your low back as he shuffles behind you in the paddock (while there is ample space for him to walk around) or lay a presumptuous hand on your arm whilst telling a corny joke.

At first you were amused by it, enjoyed the attention of having a decently attractive guy interested in you. Especially when you were trying to forget someone else. 

But Marge’s warning still rang clear in your ears, and as the week dragged on, you found his advances increasingly uncomfortable.

“Where did you disappear to after the bonfire?” Brett inquires curiously one day.

You’re brushing horses side by side, backs to one another.

You’ve been at it for hours, lower back aching as you slowly work your way through dozens of coats.

“I couldn’t find you anywhere,” he adds.

Bonfire night ended in a haze of alcohol and disappointment. Desperate to stave off the torrent of emotions following your fight with Joel, you chugged a beer, took a drag of the nearest blunt you could find, then promptly puked into a bush.

You didn’t see Joel for the rest of the night.

Marge ushered you back to your cabin, holding your hair and rubbing your back soothingly as you knelt on the tile floor in front of the toilet.

You collapsed into Marge’s bottom bunk in the wee hours of the morning, at her gracious request, head spinning and ears ringing.

“I–uh–had a headache,” you hedge.

“Lightweight?” he teases playfully.

“Something like that.”

“You know, we should check out that bar in Teton Village sometime,” he offers casually, “Could teach you a thing or two about drinking.”

He smirks.

Brett’s been flirty all week, vaguely suggesting making plans. Not directly, making it easy to brush off. 

But this was the first time he was making an explicit offer, for just the two of you.

If there was one thing you were keen to avoid, it was a night at a bar with another cowboy. You’d had your fair share and were still paying the consequences of the first instance.

The whole situation felt sticky, like honey dripping on your hands; everything you touched became tainted, drawn deeper into the vortex whirling around you.

Between the dumpster fire of the whole Joel situation,  Marge’s warning, and Maddy’s claim on Brett, you felt as if you were standing at the top of the Titanic, watching the ship sink beneath the waves.

It seemed everyone’s lives at Teton Ranch were intertwined, a web where repercussions were felt by all.

When your gaze shifts over the back of your horse, trying to think of a polite, yet firm way to let him down, you catch Maddy looking at you, a murderous gleam in her eye. 

Dread sinks like a block of lead in your stomach. You didn’t even realize she was in earshot.

As you attempt to telepathically communicate, pleading with your eyes, that this isn’t what it looks like, she suddenly drops her brush onto the hay-strewn ground and stomps off towards the barn.

You watch her trudge away, leaving a trail of tension behind her.

Great, another person on this ranch that hates you.

Brett, back turned and completely oblivious, pushes, “Did you hear me?”

You feel him turn to look at you. Your shoulders stiffen.

“I’m actually trying to cut back on the alcohol,” you lie, determinedly fixing your gaze on your horse, making a show of looking absorbed in your work.

“Oh come on, it'll be fun!” he presses.

The scrape of the brush along horse hair pauses as he turns to face you in full.

His insistence sparks your irritation. 

“Maybe another time,” you concede, attempting to keep the annoyance in your voice hidden.

“I’ll hold you to that,” he confirms, finally facing his horse once more.

You had no doubt that he would.

Between Joel’s seemingly constant presence and Brett’s ambitious attempts to ask you out, you’re utterly relieved when the girls invite you along for their lake day.

A day with the girls is just what you need to clear your mind. 

Much to your disappointment, Marge is needed in the kitchen for the evening, to help train the new bartenders, being an experienced one herself.

So you, Kiara, Maddy, and Claire, traipse over to the lake on the far end of the property, towels and sunglasses in hand.

You hadn’t gotten a chance to talk to Maddy about the whole Brett situation yet. 

You had no intention of ‘stealing’ Brett from her, much less harbored any genuine affection for him. Brett’s interest was entirely one-sided. You had enough to deal with as it was.

You were tentative trying to talk to her after Brett asked you out, testing the waters.

While she’s treated you politely, there’s a detached quality to her interactions with you, that’s notable in comparison to the warm smiles and inside jokes she offers Claire and Kiara.

If the other girls notice the tension between the two of you, they don’t mention it.

You silently promise to clear the air with Maddy when you get a moment alone.

The lake is simply breathtaking; crystal-clear water stretches to the opposite shore, swaying pines clustered at the base of the behemoth granite mountains. 

There isn’t a cloud in the sky, periwinkle blue covering the expanse. Goosebumps break out on your arms as you walk under the shade of the trees dotting the shoreline. 

But your body warms like a black cat curled in a bay window when you stretch out on the pebbly shore, basking in the unfiltered sun.

Kiara sprawls on her back, dozing with her hat tipped over her face, as Claire pulls you onto the rickety wooden dock. You cannonball side by side, the water chill, but refreshing. 

You paddle deeper into the lake, the cold of the deep water kissing your toes as you tread water. 

You dip your hair back into the clear water, steadying yourself with your arms as you lean back, face to the sky.

You spy a hawk circling far above, the sight filling you with a sense of wonder. The soft gurgle of water shifting as you glide your airs along the surface, puts you at ease in a way you haven’t felt in a long time.

This was Wyoming as you hoped it would be. 

Sure, things were a lot more complicated here than you could have ever imagined, but the essential parts of your dream rang true: the scenery, the work, the friends. 

The last point could still be considered in the complicated category, but you were determined to ensure it wouldn’t remain there.

Maddy is unusually quiet and you catch her looking at you once or twice, an unreadable gleam swimming behind her eyes. 

You shove down a growing sense of unease.

You sprawl on your stomach, propped up on your elbows, letting the sun warm your back. You finger open a book on horse wrangling, the pages yellowed, spine cracked with time. 

Not the most enlivening literature, but Marge lent it to you. Maybe if you can summon an impressive fact or two, a certain someone will seem less eager to send you home. 

You bookmark a page on the madigan squeeze as Kiara pulls out a container of hummus and chips. 

You both munch happily as Claire, who possesses the spry energy of a teenage boy, pulls a reluctant Maddy towards the rope swing, echos of laughter ringing out as they jump from the faded rubber tire into the clear surface.

As the sun starts to dip toward the horizon, a glowing orb streaking the sky a vibrant pink, Claire reveals a bottle of Tito’s from her bag, much to the amusement of the group.

The bottle of clear liquid is passed around, long swigs taken at the whoops and hollers of the others.

Maddy has the grand idea to play truth or dare. Kiara and Claire agree enthusiastically, but you don’t share their excitement at the look on Maddy’s face.

Your gut simmers with thick, sticky dread; you have quite a few things you’d like to keep to yourself at the moment.

Nothing they would have you do could be worse than laying your soul out to them.

“Kiara,” Claire says with mock seriousness, amusement dancing in her eyes. “Truth or dare?”

“Truth,” Kiara giggles with a nervous smile.

“If you could sleep with anyone on the ranch, no consequences, who would it be?”

“Hmm,” Kiara muses, trailing off and looking thoughtfully into the distance. She snorts.

“Would it be crazy to say Joel?”

Your heart stutters a beat.

Claire gasps and Maddy cries, “Um, yes that is crazy!”

Kiara blushes furiously. 

“What? He’s like, kinda hot,” she justifies, arms crossed defensively. 

You can’t believe the turn this conversation has taken. You attempt to plaster a slightly interested (but not too interested) expression on your face, trying to calm the pounding of your heart.

“Look, he can still get it, or whatever,” Maddy pushes incredulously, “But Joel? He’s, like, old.”

“You asked a question and I answered,” Kiara mutters defensively, turning her nose up.

You’re surprised by the jealousy you have to swallow down at Kiara’s answer. 

There was no denying that Joel was attractive, but it hadn’t crossed your mind that there were other wranglers vying for his attention.

And Kiara is gorgeous and knows him better and is a more experienced wrangler than you, an unforgiving internal voice chides.

“Okay, fine,” Maddy concedes, palms raised in mock surrender.

Your stomach sinks as Maddy's eyes turn to you, a mischievous glint in her eye making you uneasy. You try to stuff down the torrent of emotions raging in your mind.

“You’re awfully quiet over there.”

You shrug, hoping that the motion comes off casually.

“Just watching the show.”

“So, new girl,” she says, tracing her finger slowly along the rim of the Tito’s bottle, “Truth or dare?”

“Dare,” you utter resolutely, trying to sound braver than you feel.

She pauses, still carefully tracing the rim. A cat toying with a mouse.

“I dare you…” she drawls. She smirks deviously. 

Seemingly intent on making you suffer as slowly as possible. 

“To jump in the lake.”

Oh. That’s remarkably tamer than you thought it would be…

“Naked.”

Shit.

Claire and Kiara both burst out laughing.

It’s not the worst thing she could dare you with, considering the grudge you suspect she holds against you, but it isn’t exactly kind either.

“Oh, come on Maddy,” Kiara appeals, pushing at her arm, “Be nice.”

Despite everything, you feel a glow of affection for Kiara. But it’s short-lived.

“What? It’s a right of passage.” Maddy grins devilishly. 

They all look at you expectantly.

You thought your days of being peer pressured were over, but nonetheless, you find yourself rising from your seat, letting your towel drop from around your shoulders and shrugging off your swimsuit.

You’re determined to fit in here, do whatever it takes to earn the respect of the other ranchers. Whatever it takes to belong.

You’re not going to back down from a stupid dare.

The light breeze is chill against your bare limbs, but you determinedly stride toward the dock. You pick your way over the pebbled shore as the girls watch on in devious amusement.

You step gingerly onto the dock, the wooden planks shifting beneath your bare feet. You tread to the very edge, finally looking back towards the shore with a defiant glare and your head held high.

You catch Maddy’s eye, glinting with the thrill of revenge. 

You offer a mock salute, bringing your hand to your forehead and outwards in a swift motion, before jumping in feet first.

Your body breaks the surface of the now-frigid water, stealing the breath from your lungs.

When you surface, kicking your feet to stay afloat, your heart drops as you see the girls running hurriedly across the shore, back in the direction of the ranch.

But not before Maddy reaches down and grabs your clothes and swimsuit.

Kiara hesitates at the treeline, turning back reluctantly, but Maddy grabs her by the arm, pulling her in the opposite direction.

They disappear into the trees, leaving you alone in the dark water.

You kick towards shore, horror sluicing through your veins. Rocks pinch the bottoms of your feet as you head towards shore, mind racing.

Was this why they asked you to the lake in the first place? To humiliate you?

Did Marge know?

No, she couldn’t have, you argue with yourself. 

Marge was your friend, and had done everything to make sure you felt comfortable here.

You swallow down your rising panic as you stand in waist height water, arms wrapped over your bare chest. 

The water pokes at your bare flesh like icy knives, soaked hair dripping like icicles down your bare back. 

One thing you didn’t expect about Wyoming: how cold it could get some nights, especially earlier in the season. 

You feel jumpy, scared and alone in the inky black water.

An owl hoots in a nearby tree, startling you.

Deciding there’s no use in delaying the inevitable, you pick your way across the last few feet to shore, frigid water dripping off your body.

You look around for something, anything to cover yourself with, to no avail. Your clothes, towel, swimsuit: all gone.

At least they left your shoes, you think bitterly, sliding on a pair of sandals that does nothing to combat the dropping temperature of your body.

You creep silently back in the direction of the staff housing, ears strained for any sound of movement, ready to hurl yourself into the nearest hiding place at a moment’s notice.

You dread seeing anybody; this would be the fucking cherry on top. So much for respect and belonging.

You make a weak attempt to reason with yourself: it’s late and everyone will be in bed. Or at least you hope.

You’re tip-toeing past the storage shed, about halfway back to your cabin, when you hear footsteps crunching across the gravel in your direction.

You freeze, absolutely horrified at the prospect of being discovered in such a state.

You throw yourself around the corner of a shed, ducking behind a barrel and flattening yourself to the cold metal siding. You cringe at the frigid metal cutting into your back. 

You flinch, elbow accidentally knocking into the wooden barrel with a loud thump.

Pain shoots up your arm, and you bite your lip to hold back a cry of pain.

The footsteps pause.

You squeeze your eyes shut, disbelieving at the absurdity of the situation, praying futilely that they just continue walking.

Apparently you’re not so lucky.

“Someone there?”

Your blood freezes as you recognize that voice. 

No, no, no. Out of anyone on this whole godforsaken ranch…

You’ve never known such horror as when Joel steps around the corner, flashlight in hand, the beam of his flashlight illuminating your naked body.

His eyebrows shoot up his forehead, eyes wide in shock.

“What in the Sam hell?” he chokes.

He takes in the scene before him, absolute disbelief on his face.

You, bare and crouched behind a barrel in the dead of night.

You try to cover yourself as best you can, but there is no real way to maintain any dignity. Your face is tinted crimson from embarrassment, stuttering with no real words coming out.

You must have truly angered whatever deity ruled out there, broke some unknown rule that brought this luck, or lack thereof, to your miserable life.

He clears his throat, turning his body away from you, averting his eyes.

“What the–” he starts, at a complete loss for words. His gaze is fixed resolutely in the other direction, only his side profile visible, jawing clenching.

“I–I can e-explain–” you force out, body quaking from adrenaline and cold.

“I’d like to see you try,” he huffs out. 

You search for something else to say, but come up painfully empty. So much for trying to impress him.

He sighs roughly through his nose, dipping his head to massage between his eyebrows. Utterly exasperated by the situation.

Suddenly, he starts to unbutton his flannel shirt with one hand, tugging roughly at the buttons. He shrugs it off one shoulder, passing his flashlight between his hands as he shrugs off the other, leaving him in a white undershirt.

Your blush deepens.

You stammer, “What are y-you–” 

“Put this on,” he says roughly, thrusting the flannel in your direction without looking at you.

You reach for it tentatively, careful not to brush his fingers as you snatch it out of his awaiting hand. You shove your arms through the sleeves, hastily buttoning it back up. 

The flannel is like a warm embrace against your bare skin, a welcome reprieve from the cold air biting into your flesh. The hem brushes against your mid-thighs. 

It smells like pine, wood musk, and something distinctly Joel.

“Thanks,” you mutter, looking at the ground, face burning.

Now that you’re somewhat dressed, he turns to face you head on. His shoulders are tight, jaw clenched. His expression softens slightly when he takes in the pathetic sight of you. 

He sighs. “Yer shakin’ like a leaf.

“I-I’m f-fine,” you stammer, teeth chattering.

He pauses for a moment, as if debating with himself. 

Something shifts behind his eyes after a moment. More resolute, steeling himself.

Then he murmurs, “C’mon. There’s a heater and blankets in the barn.” He jerks his head in the direction of the structure, the green metal roof looming nearby.

You know it’s the most logical option. Given how hard you’re shivering, and how you’re only halfway back to the staff cabins. 

But the thought of being alone, with Joel, feels like a temptation you’re not strong enough to resist.

“I c-can just go back to my d-dorm,” you mutter quietly, sopping wet hair slowly dripping frigid water down your back. 

You shudder involuntarily.

“Quit bein’ so goddamn stubborn,” he huffs impatiently. “Yer gonna catch a cold.”

Right. He’s just worried about an employee taking a sick day. Not out of any genuine concern for you.

“Look,” he elaborates grumpily, hands on his hips. “It’s up to you if you want to freeze your ass off.”

You get the feeling you’re at a dangerous crossroads, but given the choice between hypothermia and the presence of Joel Miller, you suppose Joel is the better option. 

But only barely. 

“F-fine,” you concede, body shaking, feet throbbing.

“C’mon,” he repeats gruffly, motioning an impatient arm towards the barn.

You scan his face tentatively, unable to read him. 

You can’t make sense of the ever-changing tides of his personality, like a language you’re expected to know but haven't been taught how to speak. One moment, he’s gentle and sensual, concerned for your well-being. The next, he treats you as if you’re a nuisance, not sparing you a second glance.

You search his features, trying to discern which version of Joel Miller you’ll get tonight.

Your body gives a painful shudder, cold racking up your spine. 

With a defeated huff, you turn and stalk off in the direction of the barn. Joel follows, boots crunching along in the gravel beside you. 

You can handle a few minutes alone with Joel. You’ll go to the barn, get warm, and be on your merry way.

You make your way to the barn in tension-filled silence, neither of you uttering a single word.

It dawns on you that this is the first time you've been alone with him since that day in the barn. That near slip-up, what almost happened, it haunted you. 

It was so simple to make fragile promises to yourself, in the quiet of your cabin, that you would never entertain the possibility of whatever this was with Joel.

But when he is there in front of you, eyes meeting yours, musky scent reaching you on the night breeze, those promises become meaningless. The closer he gets to you, the quieter your sanity becomes. 

And if he were to touch you again, you feared you’d truly go insane.

The only way this was going to work, was if you both cut it out. Let this living, breathing thing between you, die. Nothing good could come out of this, so it was best to let it go.

If only it was that easy.

The wind burns icy against your bare legs, and you try not to let your teeth chatter too loudly.

You’re ashamed of the state you’re in, and even more so that Joel was the one to find you. The one trying to make it better.

He pulls open the barn door, sliding it along its tracks, stepping back to let you inside.

You bite back a sigh in relief as you step into the barn, the temperature positively balmy compared to the frigid wind whipping outside. 

You flick the lightswitch on the wall, bathing the room in a dim orange glow. 

A row of empty stalls stretches to the left, the end of the long space stretching past the circle of electric light. The door to the storage closet is cracked open on the opposite wall, the large wooden work table standing before it, littered with metal tools and horse supplements.

Joel slides the door back in place, clicking shut with an air of finality. 

The silence presses in on you, your heart hammering in your chest at his proximity. 

He stalks over to the tack wall, pulling a sarape blanket from a shelf. He hands it to you wordlessly before ducking into the small storage closet, returning with a small black space heater. 

He bends down with a low huff, plugging it into the wall behind the central table. 

You skirt around the table cautiously, trying not to look too eager as you huddle around the heater. You sigh contentedly as the waves of warmth meet your chilled skin. 

Your eyes flutter shut, basking in the heat.

“Better?” Joel asks quietly, startling you.

Your eyes flit open to find his gaze raking your body, your bare legs. His eyes jump back to your face, a slight redness coloring his cheeks, as if he’s been caught doing something he shouldn't. 

Your stomach swoops.

“Yeah…thanks,” you agree reluctantly. 

You pause, staring at each other for a moment too long. You’re the first to look away.

Joel scratches the back of his neck, raising his arm above his head.

“So, you wanna explain what the hell you were doin’, walkin’ around like–uh–that,” he gestures towards your half-clothed body.

“I–um,” you start, not knowing how to explain yourself.

Although part of you is already plotting how to get back at Maddy, you don’t want to be seen as a snitch. Maybe it was a misunderstanding, something that could be sorted out. There wasn’t need for anyone to get fired over it. Hopefully you wouldn’t be the one to get fired over it.

You wrack your brain for any explanation that might satisfy his curiosity, but come up short. 

“Well?” he pushes, looking at you expectantly.

You’re feeling bolder now that you’re clothed, and annoyed that Joel, out of anyone on this ranch, was the one to discover you in such a vulnerable state. Your pride huddles in the corner of your mind, a wounded animal ready to lash out.

You snap, “What’s the big deal? It’s nothing you haven’t seen before.”

His eyes flash in warning. 

You’re treading into dangerous territory, of things best left unsaid and unacknowledged. 

But how were you supposed to live, be around him every day, with this looming thing stalking your every waking moment? Mistake or not, that night at the bar demanded to be remembered.

He stalks closer to you, sending your heart thundering. His nostrils flare.

“The big deal,” he grouses, “is that one of my employees is walkin’ around…like that. How on earth would I explain that if a guest saw you?”

Of course. It seems Mr. Miller will be making an appearance tonight.

But a part of your heart stings at being nothing more to him than an ‘employee’, for his concern to be nothing more than professional.

“You think I just walk around like this for fun?” you shoot back, tugging the blanket tighter around your shoulders.

“I don’t know,” he barks, stepping closer to you. “You seem pretty comfortable gettin’ undressed for strangers.”

“If I remember correctly, you were the one doing the undressing,” you retort, craning your neck to fix him with a lethal glare.

The words hang in the air, consequences reverberating between you both.

His hot breath puffs against your face, heat emanating from his tense body in waves. You will yourself to stand your ground, fixing him with a returning stare. Refusing to back down.

Your body trembles, but not from the cold. Your hands tremor with rage, at him…and at wetness building at your core.

Against your best judgement and profound effort, this man continues to make a fool of you, having you pining after him like a horny teenage girl.

You feel your resolve start to slip.

You’re both panting, chests heaving as you glare at each other, each waiting to see what the other will do. His nose hovers inches from yours.

“You’re an asshole,” you whisper, more to remind yourself than to tell him.

“Yer impossible,” he breathes. 

 He barely brushes your lips with his own. You suck in a breath at the contact.

Arousal, slick and wet, builds between your legs, slowly seeping onto your thighs. 

Your core throbs with anticipation, the sudden closeness overwhelming after a week of wanting. You make a feeble attempt to remember why Joel Miller looking at you like this is a bad idea, but come up empty. 

And your body simply can’t resist. Not when he’s staring at you with those hungry, hazel eyes, his musky scent threatening to send your eyes rolling back in your head.

You gasp against Joel’s mouth as his rough hand skims up the inside of your thigh. He takes his time, letting you feel every ridge and callus of his palm as he drags it up your leg, resting his fingers at the hem on the flannel. He rubs small circles against your bare thigh with his thumb, each brush making you swallow down a wanton moan.

“We shouldn’t be doing this,” you murmur, lips brushing the corner of his mouth. 

A last feeble attempt.

“Do you want me to stop?” he whispers, pulling back a few inches to scan your face, halting the circles on your thigh.

To spare yourself from admitting weakness, you lean in, closing to the space between your lips. You press your mouth against his fervently, letting the blanket drop from your shoulders as you circle your arms around his neck. 

The air is chill against your bare thighs and naked core, making you shudder in his grip.

He feels even better than you remembered: his muscled shoulders under your hands, the way he devours you, leaves you lightheaded, gripping tightly to his shoulders to ground yourself.

You thread shaky fingers through the soft hair at the base of his skull. You tug gently, prompting him to groan into your mouth. Your core throbs with unrestrained need.

His tongue immediately prods at the opening of your mouth, and you grant him entrance, moaning sinfully as his tongue swipes into your mouth.

He tastes like coffee, pipe smoke, and sin.

His hands slide up the outside of your legs to grip your waist firmly, nudging his thigh persistently between your legs. Your bare core brushes against the rough fabric of his blue jeans, wetting it with your arousal. 

His erection is hard against your thigh; the knowledge of him wanting you as bad as you need him makes your heart race.

You gasp breathily into his mouth as his hands urge your hips to grind down on his thigh, putting pressure on your throbbing clit. Your hips jump at the sudden stimulation. 

You feel like a mere look from him could make you finish, so pent up from the stolen glances, the constant proximity of the past week. 

You start to roll your hips against his jeaned leg, gripping tightly at his shoulders to stay balanced. The muscles of his thigh press against your core in a slow, sensual rhythm

You can’t remember anything ever feeling so good.

“That’s it,” he coos as you throw your head back and moan. 

You hate that this is the only time you get to hear him talk to you like this. That the only praise you hear from him is when he’s between your legs.

You hate how those little words of praise get you off more than anything else.

He leans down to pepper open mouthed kisses down your neck, slowly working his way along the vein running down the side. 

You gasp when he licks a long, wet stripe up the column of your throat at the same time he flexes his thigh, grazing you clit in a way that sends lighting bolts running down your limbs.

“J-Joel,” you moan desperately, gripping his hair harder.

He groans in your ear, prompting more slickness between your thighs.

The friction of his rough jeans against your clit sends a steady heat building in your core, each rut of your hips sending you closer to the edge. Your orgasm starts to build startlingly quick. 

You whimper as his hands continue to cant your hips against his thigh, sending tingles of pleasure shooting down your limbs with every press on your clit. 

“I know, darlin’, I know,” he soothes in that damnable Texan drawl.

You want to hate him, want it to be easy to walk away. To retain a shred of lucidity around him. But you can’t find the will to do so, not when he makes you feel like he was put on this earth knowing exactly how and where you needed to be touched.

The pressure between your legs builds like a forest fire, and you lose yourself in the sensation. You don’t care what happens, so long as he keeps touching you, keeps whispering sweet nothings against the shell of your ear.

“Don’t stop, please,” you plead.

“Don’t worry honey, I’m not stopping until you’re done,” he pants.

The pace of your hips grows frantic as you near your climax, gripping Joel’s shoulders tightly to stay upright.

Joel lowers his head, pressing his lips to the base of your jaw.

He whispers against the shell of your ear, “There we go, come for me.”

As if on command, you finish with a silent, open-mouthed cry, body convulsing with pleasure as your forehead drops to Joel’s shoulder. His hands slowly continue to roll your hips against his damp thigh, working you through it with soft encouragements that make your heart ache.

“Just let it happen, baby. Let me hear you.”

You mewl pathetically, overcome with sensation.

He murmurs, voice so low and raw you’re not even sure he meant for you to hear it, “You’re gonna be the death of me.”

Your hips gradually slow to a stop. Your head remains against his shoulder as you both pant hard, feeling the rise and fall of his body underneath your forehead. His hand runs along your spine soothingly.

You wish you could just hide in his shoulder, not wanting to feel the confounding power of his gaze. You’re almost embarrassed by how quickly you came. He’d barely even touched you, getting you off with merely his thigh.

You finally lift your head, avoiding eye contact as he removes his thigh from between your legs. You blush at the circle of your slick arousal dampening his jeans. 

Daring to meet his eye, your stomach flutters as you meet his hungry gaze. His pupils are blown wide with lust, looking positively ravenous.

You let him walk you back against the wood table, gasping as the small of your back meets the hard wooden surface.

You crane your neck up to look at him, breathless with anticipation as he stares back at you. 

He places one hand on either side of you, caging you in as he leans over you.

“You still want this?” he whispers, scanning your face.

You dip your head in a subtle nod.

“I need to hear you say it.”

You pause, reluctant to give him the satisfaction of saying it out loud.

You lean forward, whispering against his neck, “I want to feel your fingers inside me.”

He groans, hands clenching the edge on the wooden counter.

When you pull back, looking up at him expectantly, he lifts two thick fingers to your mouth. 

“Open,” he orders.

You oblige eagerly, parting your lips as he gently pushes his fingers into your mouth. He slides them back and forth along your tongue, urging them deeper. Your lips close around him. 

You suck languidly, cheeks hollowing as you pull them deep into your throat. 

Joel groans sinfully.

You gaze up at him, wide-eyed, as you twirl your tongue around his digits.

Seemingly satisfied, he withdraws his hands. 

He reaches down, between your legs, to massage your swollen core with saliva-slick fingers.

Your hips jerk at the sudden stimulation, eliciting a chuckle from Joel.

He parts your slick folds, sliding two fingers through the center. He groans at the wetness he finds there, gathering it along his already slick digits. 

Your eyes roll back and flutter shut.

He slides two fingers back and forth through your folds, breathy whines escaping your lips when he grazes your needy clit.

Achingly slow, he begins to caress around your clit, circling just around it without brushing the center, teasing you with featherlight strokes. Not quite giving you the stimulation you need.

You whimper impatiently, opening your eyes to find him smirking at you. 

“Glad this is–ah–so funny to you, Miller,” you breathe between whimpers. 

“Just takin’ my time, sweetheart,” he answers smugly. “I’m gonna take my time with you, and I don’t care how long it takes.”

You glare up at him, trying to offer the most withering stare you can muster. Just as he presses two fingers directly on your clit. 

His smirk widens as your eyes roll back in your head.

You whimper his name, abandoning all pretense. 

“Please,” you beg.

The slide of his fingers against your clit is just enough to keep building the heat in your core, but not quite enough to send you over the edge. It’s maddening, the slow, featherlight motion of his fingers.

“Shhh,” he soothes you, pressing his lips to your neck. His other hand tugs roughly at the buttons on your flannel, your peaked breasts spilling out.

He palms your breast, rubbing tight circles around your nipple, sending jolts of electricity to your core. His mouth dips to your chest, tongue caressing the soft skin, before closing his lips around your nipple and sucking. Hard.

You cry out at the overwhelm of sensations as his fingers continue their slow torture of your your clit.

Tears begin to prick the corners of your eye in desperation.

“Joel–mhm–please,” you beg, not caring how desperate you sound.

Joel releases your nipple with a pop, pulling back to take in the pitiful sight of you.

You imagine how pathetic you must look, hair wild and legs spread as you beg him to fuck you.

His face softens, jaw unclenching slightly.

You cry out as he pushes two slick fingers into your entrance, pushing in until his knuckles bottom out, stretching your entrance deliciously. 

Your breath catches as he curls both fingers, stroking your inner walls in a come-hither motion. He begins to drag his fingers along your inner muscles with each entrance and retreat, making you see stars.

“We’ll get you there, pretty girl.”

Your stomach swoops with every morsel of praise he deigns to offer you. 

You missed this. Missed him talking to you as though you were precious, desirable.

He finds the spongy patch inside your core, stroking in insistently in a way that makes you clench around his fingers. You’re overstimulated, panting heavily as your mind addles at the feeling of his digits stroking persistently inside of you.

His strokes turn unforgiving, each curl of his fingers stealing the breath from your lungs.

“Please keep going,” you choke out.

You claw at his shoulders desperately, pants punctuated by pathetic breathy whines. 

Joel leans down and captures your lips, tongue plunging into your mouth and mimicking the slow, deep press of his fingers. He groans into your mouth, the erotic sound pulling you closer to the edge.

Joel starts to rub your clit more fervently, each circle hitting the right spot over and over again, eliciting a raw moan from your throat.

You break away from his lips, chest heaving and heart pounding fiercely against your ribcage.

“Oh god, Joel. Joel!” you whimper as your walls start to clench rhythmically.

A few more pistons of his fingers is all it takes to send you reeling over the edge. 

Your head drops back, back arching, as Joel continues to work you through the lingering spasms of your pleasure. 

You’re lost in the feeling; nothing else matters to you other than this feeling, this heaven Joel’s created between your legs. It stretches in tingles down your spine, down your limbs, all the way to your toes.

As your heart rate settles, your breath slowing to a more even pace, you focus on the feeling of Joel's shoulders under your hands, grounding you back to earth.

You raise your gaze to meet Joel’s, your eyes searching his. When you see your relentless hunger mirrored back to you, your fingers brush down his chest and graze the waistband of his jeans.

You tentatively start to work open his belt buckle, fingers brushing against the dense hair peppering his stomach.

You’re surprised when his large hands grip your wrists, halting your motion.

“I dunno if that’s a good idea,” he pants, trepidation clouding his eyes.

Your stomach sinks, rejection burning your face. Your brow knits in confusion. 

“Do you not want to?” you ask cautiously, searching his face for an answer.

“It’s not that,” he denies, brows furrowing. He releases your wrists and takes a step back from you. 

That distance is forming between you again. That wall snapping back up, shutting you out.

You stay silent, eyes wide with hurt as you wrap your arms around yourself. You start to button up your open flannel. Joel’s flannel. 

Your cheeks are ablaze with humiliation, release still coating your thighs as Joel backs away from you.

“Then what?” you prompt, willing your voice to be steady.

“This was a mistake,” he blurts, the words like a punch to the gut.

“A mistake?” you echo, anger seeping into your voice. “Joel, you can’t just fuck me and act like–”.

A loud, metallic rattle echoes from the doorway, followed by a pained yelp. A human yelp.

Both you and Joel whip your heads towards the barn door.

You freeze, glancing back at Joel, who eyes the door tentatively. 

He stalks over to the barn door cautiously, sliding it halfway open. He looks back and forth, searching for the source of the sound.

After a few moments, he turns back to you, eyes fixed on the floor.

“No one there,” he mutters, voice low. “You okay gettin’ back to your dorm?”

Your stomach sinks even further. 

Shame threatens to swallow you whole at Joel’s averted gaze, the sudden distance. How is it so easy for him to touch you like that, then act like nothing happened? How could you have let this happen, again?

“Yeah,” you mutter quietly, reluctantly.

You bend down to retrieve the blanket off the dusty ground, wrapping it protectively around yourself.

He looks you over for a moment, that same unreadable expression swimming behind his eyes.

What you would give just to know what’s going on in that head of his.

He looks at you one last time, eyes almost pleading, before he strides into the chill night, leaving you alone in the dim orange glow of the barn. 

You swallow roughly, emotion threatening to overtake you as his footsteps fade.

You don’t know why you thought this time would be different. That he’d miraculously changed in the past week, seen the error of his ways. 

But when he’s looking at you like a parched man, and you’re the last drop of water on earth, you let yourself believe that he wants you. 

That he wants something more than a meaningless hookup in a dive bar or a barn.

You thought you could do it, the detached charade. Sleep with a guy at midnight and not look twice at him at noon.

But these damn feelings rise like a storm surge; so slowly they seem harmless, then devastating, fatal upon impact. You heard the warning bells, but you ignored them. And now you were in too deep.

You tug the cord on the space heater unceremoniously, pulling it out of the wall and treading slowly towards the barn door. 

As you're sliding it shut, a flash of something metallic on the ground catches your eye. You grip the blanket around your shoulders with one hand, squatting down to inspect it. 

A silver earring lays in the dirt, metallic sheen catching the light. 

You pick it up, rotating the smooth surface between your fingers. You drop it into the shirt pocket of Joel’s flannel, standing to face in the direction of the guest cabins.

As you start the frigid trek back to your awaiting bed, you mind races with the events of the evening. One thought rises above the rest, another loose thread to this tangled mess.

Someone on the ranch knows about you and Joel.

Thank you so much for reading. Please reblog if you enjoyed!

Taglist: @taniamiller @goodvibesonly421 @bellatopo25 @vickie5446 @isabellaboo2025 @wildthyng @lemonsfromikea @alyloops @mandolauren @millersgirllllllll @dendulinka6 @mxkhxx @k-d--h

Dividers: @strangergraphics

Some songs that inspired this chapter:

It was like any other evening, except today you decided to take some pictures of yourself that you knew Josh would enjoy. Josh and you weren’t anything serious, just a fling that started after you came home from college. He lived a few blocks away and would come around when your dad was at work, it was nice not having any strings attached. It wasn’t exactly your thing to send nudes but you decided to surprise him. One spicy topless photo, you smiled to yourself with excitement loving how it came out. He had just been texting you and you knew he’d love the unexpected tease. Giggling to yourself you attached the photo along with a message.

“Can’t wait for you to suck on them tonight.”

And sent.

That’s when you felt the ultimate sinking feeling in your stomach. Josh’s name was no longer at the top of the text thread..

Joel Miller.

“Oh shit!” You felt your stomach twist into a knot as you rushed pulling your straps back up.

“Oh my god…oh my god” you panicked, your fingers moving quickly back and forth between Josh’s thread and Joel’s. How the hell did it get to Joel? You scrolled up as you swallowed nervously, your heart pounding when you noticed his text.

“Hey, no need to get burgers for the BBQ tomorrow. Your dad said you were stopping to grab some today, Tommy and I already did. See you tomorrow.” You stared blankly at the text.

The fucking BBQ.

Your dads annual Memorial Day BBQ.

Your hands still shaking, how the hell were you suppose to come back from this? Accidentally sending a nude to your neighbor? Your dad’s friend? Then you had to face him the very next day, it felt like a damn nightmare.

Joel, I’m so sorry. That was not meant for you.

Please forget this happened.

You sent the text and threw your phone on the bed.

~~

Joel stood in the kitchen after a long day at work, he grabbed a beer from the fridge when his phone lit up. He figured it was you, responding about the burgers. Taking a sip of his beer he practically choked on his drink when he realized what you sent him.

Surely it was an accident.

Joel wiped his mouth and turned placing his phone on the counter. Almost afraid to touch it but unable to look away.

“Jesus” he whispered to himself.

Joel found himself analyzing the photo, the straps to your tank top pulled down, the way you bit your bottom lip, the glare of the sun from your window directly hitting your breasts.

Then another text appeared.

Joel, I’m so sorry. That was not meant for you.

Please forget this happened.

Before he could even register the text the sound of the door opened making him quickly exit out of the message thread and clear his throat.

“The hells wrong with you? Look like you seen a ghost” Tommy joked as he walked past him.

Joel took another sip of his beer and shoved his phone in his pocket.

“Yeah uh- just a long day. Sarah should be home soon, Miley’s dad is driving her back.”

“Ok, I’ll order some pizza” Tommy called out from his room as Joel walked to his.

He needed to be alone after what he just saw. Still in disbelief he sat at the edge of his bed, leaning forward he brushed his hand over his face before sitting back up and reaching back in his pocket.

Hesitantly he clicked on your name and there it was. His eyes focused on the image before him, something he wasn’t suppose to see. Something he knew he should delete it but he couldn’t stop looking at, his eyes lingering on every part of you he could see. The soft curve of your neck, the way your thin gold chain sat delicately on your collarbone. The charm shaped into a heart sat on your chest, his eyes moved lower just where the curve of your breasts began. They were plump, nipples erect, that’s when he felt his cock twitch in his pants. His thumb hovered just over them, he pictured how soft they must feel when suddenly your father’s name flashed on his screen.

“Shit-“ he stood up almost panting, pacing back and forth in the room as the phone rang realizing what he was just doing. He looked down at his phone again, your fathers name continuing to flash on the screen. He took a deep breath and without thinking twice answered the call.

“Yeah, Bobby?”

“Hey, just wanted to ask if you can do me a favor, I’m getting stuck at work later than expected. If you can just pick up a few boxes of beers for the BBQ and drop them off at the house tonight, I’ll give you the money when I see you. My schedule won’t give me time.”

Dropping them off at the house meant seeing you. Before Joel could even find a way out your father was interrupted with work and quickly thanked Joel for the favor and hung up.

“Tommy!” Joel called as he walked out of his bedroom hoping his brother was still around. Of course he stepped out again with his luck. Defeated, Joel grabbed his keys and walked out.

~~

Joel hadn’t said a word which made it all the more humiliating. You could barely look at your phone, even telling Josh you wanted to reschedule for another night.

Then you heard the bell.

“Why would he still show up” You whispered to yourself as you paced down the stairs going straight for the door.

“Didn’t you get my mes-“ you opened the door to see Joel standing before you. Your skin instantly getting hot, you felt your stomach turn.

“Joel-“ you whispered.

“Uh- your dad called me. Asked me to drop me these off for tomorrow” he could barely look you in the eye. His hands fidgety as he distracted himself with anything to stop himself from looking at you.

“Oh..um-“ you looked down at the boxes of beer. He took advantage in that second to steal a glance before quickly looking away.

“I’ll bring them to the fridge out back-“

“I got em” he quickly picked up the boxes, all four of them at once. You awkwardly stepped aside and let him make his way out the back door and he began to stack the fridge full with beers. You stood close by watching, arms crossed unsure of what to say but knowing something had to be said.

Once he finished he stared into the fridge for a moment, hand on the door as if he was searching for something.

Probably stalling having to turn back to you.

You swallowed nervously before blurting out words you barely thought over.

“I’m sorry about the picture” Joel stiffened before taking a double look at you as he closed the fridge door.

“Huh? Yeah- it’s-“

“It was meant to be sent to someone else, I didn’t notice you had just texted me.”

“Figured that much.” Joel turned towards you but still couldn’t find it in him to look directly at you. Hands in his pockets he stood still, wishing your dad would just appear.

“You can’t even look at me” you whispered with an embarrassed smile, your words making him finally look up at you, his jaw tensing up. And in that moment you realized you didn’t know how the hell you could even be looking at him.

“I uh-“ you suddenly lost your train of thought.

“Um- can we just somehow pretend it never happened?” You spoke quickly then bit your bottom lip nervously looking away. Joel’s gaze darkened at the sight of you doing exactly what you were doing in the photo. He made himself look away.

As if he could pretend it never happened.

All he could think about from the moment you opened the damn door were your breasts.

He caught himself getting lost at the image in his head and cleared his throat straightening himself up.

“Better get back, I’ll see y’all tomorrow.” He looked at you for one short moment and gave you a nod before quickly walking out.

~~

Joel stared at his ceiling that night fighting the urge to take another look at the picture. Finding it hard to delete it.

He knew he should’ve.

Looking over at his nightstand he reached over for his phone. He clicked on the messages, his thumb hovering over your name. Without thinking he clicked it and there it was. Joel took a deep breath as his eyes instantly began tracing the curve of your breasts and then he read over the message.

Can’t wait for you to suck on them tonight.

His cock throbbed, he quickly put the phone face down beside him and brushed his hand over his face.

“The hell am I doin’?” He muttered to himself. His breathing quickened, his hand rested on his chest as the most intimate thoughts ran through his mind. The thought of how you must feel, the thought of his very hands cupping them. He was now rock hard beneath his boxers, his hand reaching below…he couldn’t resist. He cursed at himself grabbing the phone, your picture still there in front, his other hand shoving his boxers down far enough for his cock to spring up out of them. He looked over and knocked over his alarm clock desperately grabbing a bottle of lotion.

And he let his mind go to work.

His hand closing around his shaft, he started off with slow steady strokes.

Joel pictured his tongue sliding over your nipples, he pictured himself sucking on them as you moaned pulling him closer against you.

The thought of you moaning made him move faster, his precum building up at the tip of his cock. His chest rising and falling deeply the faster he moved, he couldn’t get his eyes off your breasts. The thought of you riding him as they bounced freely, he groaned involuntarily, the noise slipping out on a breath like his body betrayed him. Joel hadn’t felt something this intense building up inside in a long time. His hand moving rapidly as he imagined how your pussy must feel like tightening around him. The thought of you riding him and using his body to your advantage. The thought of you cumming all over his cock—his cum shot out of him. He panted as the phone fell onto the bed, his hips jolting upwards against his hand as he moaned as low as he was able to so he wouldn’t be heard throughout the house.

“Jesus Christ-“ he looked down as his cum spilled out of him over his hand, his face flushed as he threw his head back barely able to catch his breath. His hand didn’t move, he lay still panting for dear life realizing what he’d just done.

Maybe now that he relieved himself, just maybe..he could move on from it.

~~

You could smell the charcoal from your window as you got ready for the BBQ. Your dad excitedly prepping the food playing some of his favorite music as guests slowly began to arrive. It was still early as you went through your wardrobe deciding what to wear, you were excited to see Josh tonight. You went with a soft pink sundress you hadn’t worn in a couple years. Looking at yourself in the mirror you put a drop of lipgloss on when you heard Joel’s voice out your window. Replaying what happened yesterday and hearing his laughter outside with your dad made your cheeks flush.

You took a deep breath and shook it off, focusing on Josh tonight was all you needed.

Greeting a few of the neighbors as you made your way by the pool in the back you had a quick laugh with your friend Serena. The sound of your laughter distracted Joel as your father spoke about yesterday’s game. Your dad’s eyes on the grill as Joel stood close by with one hand in his pocket and the other holding a cold beer.

Light caught the fabric of your dress when you moved, and for a second Joel just…stopped listening. His eyes wandering over the dress you wore. What the hell were you thinking coming down here in that, knowing what you’d just sent him. The dress complimented your breasts perfectly, your gold hearted chain sitting just above the sight of your cleavage.

He took a step to the side, dragging his gaze away like it cost him something, staring instead at the edge of the table as if it had suddenly become interesting.

“-Yeah,” he said absently, realizing your dad was still talking. He gave a short nod that didn’t match whatever he’d just agreed to.

You didn’t notice. Of course you didn’t.

You moved through the yard easily, hair catching the sun, completely unaware of the way Joel had gone still again the moment you were in his line of sight.

He took a slow sip of his drink, jaw tightening just slightly, like he could will his thoughts back into place if he tried hard enough.

Then you looked up and for a moment you both locked eyes. He didn’t look away as fast as he should’ve, that’s when you realized a certain look in his eye. A look you had never seen in him. It distracted you for a just a moment until Josh came into view blocking the sight of Joel.

“Hey gorgeous!”

“Hi!” You smiled awkwardly as he picked you up for a hug.

“Careful my dad’s close by” you whispered with a giggle. Yes, you may have been a grown adult but you didn’t want your dad knowing who you were messing around with. He looked at Josh so respectfully, God knows he wouldn’t if he knew what you two were up to.

Joel watched from a distance, of course it was Josh. Sonny’s son from the hardware store, he should’ve known. He never really liked the kid, just never knew why.

“Joel!” Bobby’s voice snapped him out of it.

“The hell you starin’ at?” He chuckled looking over, thankfully you and Josh had moved elsewhere.

“I’m asking if you want a burger, they’re ready”

“Oh yeah-“ he cleared his throat awkwardly.

“Yeah, sure.”

~~

The evening went on, Joel sat with Tommy and Bobby sharing a few stories, having a few laughs. Sarah played in the pool with a few of her friends as everyone enjoyed the warm day.

Joel could still hear you at times laughing sitting with your friends, sitting next to Josh. That’s when a few others left the party, clearing out the space enough where you and Josh were no longer blocked from his view. Still, you were distracted with your stories to notice your father looking your way.

“So Josh huh?” Tommy chuckled nudging Bobby. Joel sat silently waiting for your dad’s reaction.

“Ahh, they’re just friends. He’s a good kid, I trust him around”

“Just friends alright” Joel muttered under his breath before taking a sip of his beer.

Tommy excused himself to use the restroom while your dad went in to check what was left in the fridge. You noticed both of them walking in and looked back to see Joel looking out at the pool, smiling at his daughter laughing with her friends.

“Hey, let me grab us some more drinks from the cooler.” You patted Josh’s knee who nodded as he continued talking with the others.

Joel didn’t notice you walking towards him at first, just until you reached a few feet away.

“Hey” you smiled as his body tensed up.

“Hey” he put the beer down by his feet and sat up straight.

“I’m glad it didn’t rain today” you attempted to make normal conversation but truthfully something was lingering in your mind. Something you couldn’t help but want to ask.

“Mhm” Joel kept it short, he crossed his arms looking away knowing exactly what you did to him anytime he would look at you too long. He didn’t know what the hell you were still doing there in front of him in that damn dress.

Then before you could stop yourself, you leaned slightly closer and whispered.

“So…did you delete it?”

That finally made him look at you properly..really look at you.

His expression barely changed, but something heavier settled behind his eyes.

Joel exhaled once through his nose, gaze dropping briefly toward the grass.

“Thought we agreed not to talk about that again.”

“We didn’t agree,” you whispered back. “You avoided answering.”

A muscle moved in his jaw.

“You’re persistent, I’ll give you that.”

“Joel.” Your voice came out quieter than you meant it to.

He looked over toward the yard automatically, checking your father wasn’t nearby before lowering his voice too.

“No,” he said finally.

Your breath caught a little.

“No….?”

Joel rubbed the back of his neck, suddenly looking irritated with himself for even admitting that much.

“Haven’t gotten around to it.”

“That’s a lie.”

His eyes snapped back to yours.

You watched something change there briefly but it was there.

Because the truth was obvious now, a man like Joel Miller didn’t “forget” things.

Especially not things he wanted to keep.

“You should probably delete it,” you said softly.

“Probably.”

But he still hadn’t moved or looked away.

You swallowed. “So why haven’t you?”

Joel stared at you for a long moment before answering, voice low enough you almost missed it.

“Didn’t seem right lookin’ at it again just to delete it.”

Your chest tightened.

That was not an answer and it was definitely not the truth, what he said was worse.

Joel seemed to realize that too, because he immediately grabbed his beer and took a sip like he needed the distraction.

“Then delete the whole thread? You won’t even happen to open the message” you insisted when suddenly Josh’s voice came up behind you.

“Hey’d you get lost?” Josh laughed making you softly gasp. Joel kept his eyes on you as you turned to smile at Josh.

“No, I got it. Got caught up talking about something he needed me to help with Sarah.” You lied. Josh looked down at Joel who had his eyes narrowed on him.

“Well-“ you cleared your throat but before you finished your sentence Joel was grabbing drinks from the cooler and handed them to you.

“Thanks” you spoke softly, you and Josh turned back to your friends but you looked back, Joel was on his feet just about to walk away… but not before his gaze dropped once more to your dress.

The first time you had sex with Joel Miller, it had been borne out of one too many whiskeys and a Christmas party that the town of Jackson was hosting. You had worn your best and only dress and had even shaved your legs. Somewhere in the night, Maria had convinced you to take to the dance floor and somehow Joel was there. His hand had been hot and large on your waist, and before you knew it, the two of you had been tangled together in a storage closet, tucked away from everything and everyone else. He had held your hips down as he had entered you, hot and throbbing and oh so good that you had to muffle your moans against his shoulder, mouth pressed open against the soft material of his flannel. There had been a wet spot on the collar of his dark shirt when you had pulled away, after you had come so hard your legs had trembled with it.  If you hadn't been tipsy, you might have felt shy. And you had thought it was a one time thing. Something that stemmed from the remnants of the before the world had gone to shit, when people could get tipsy and hook up and then never see each other again. But this was Jackson. There was no avoiding anyone, even if you had wanted to and although you suspected it might be awkward afterwards, surprisingly it hadn’t been. For as serious and silent as Joel had always been around others, he hadn’t shied away from you after that. 

And to your surprise, it had happened again. And again. And again. And so somewhere along the way, you and Joel became acquaintances with benefits. Patrol partners with perks. Which is why you’re currently lowering yourself onto him in a shoddy cabin a few miles away from a patrol path. 

“Fuck,” Joel grunts as you slowly sink your way down. Even now, after countless times together, he’s still so thick. It always feels like a lot, like he’s reaching a place inside of you that you didn’t know existed. 

“Joel,” you whimper, looking down at where he spears you open. You’re glistening, coating him in your own wetness and when you look up, you meet his dark eyes. His pupils are so blown you can barely see the hazel brown of his irises. There’s sweat beading on his forehead and you don’t think it’s from the warm spring day. He gives you some time to adjust, and you shift your hips, adjusting your knees so you can move. You can feel the callouses of his fingers against the soft flesh of your hips, and he squeezes gently as you begin to move.

“Attagirl,” he says when you begin moving your hips with more vigour. It feels so good. He leans forward, pressing his plush mouth to your sweaty collarbone, licking at the saltiness there before he cranes his neck lower. You flutter around him when he takes your nipple into his mouth and he groans against your hot skin.

“Joel,” you say again, unable to say anything else. This is how it mostly goes. Sometimes you’re more talkative, telling him about all the ways you like how he makes you feel, watching as his eyes become lidded and heavy. But for the most part, you’re pliant in his hands. As surly as you thought he was, Joel Miller has a surprisingly filthy mouth when it comes to sex. He pulls away from your sensitive nipples, wrapping a big arm around the small of your back and pulling you closer so your stomach is pressed against his. You can feel the hair on his chest against your sensitive skin and it makes you whine.

“You always get like this,” Joel says, mouth against your ear. “So desperate for me, ain’t ya, sweetheart?”

You nod against him, feeling your cheek brush against the side of his face. His hands anchor you, guiding your movements. His hips move as well, thrusting up into you in a steady rhythm. Your hips move faster, chasing the hot feeling of pleasure building in your stomach. You feel dizzy with it, flushed and needy. This time, it was your idea. Joel had said something about taking a break in the cabin to cool down and that had been your intention, truly. But then you had seen the flex of his arm and the now greying curls of his hair, messy against his tanned skin. You had followed the line of his strong shoulders, the crook of his nose and you had felt ravenous. So you had pushed him onto the rickety old couch, and he had let you gaze heavy as he watched you step out of your jeans and pull your underwear down. He had continued to watch as you unbuttoned his pants and pulled him out of his boxers, half hard already. And only when you had aligned the flushed tip of him against your wet folds, had he cracked, his hands coming up to grip you. 

“I’m close,” you say, voice breathy. Joel hums, pulling you even closer now. You tuck your head against his neck, allowing the waves of pleasure to consume you. The tightness in your stomach releases and you shudder. Your walls flutter around him and you hear Joel curse. He grips you tighter, his hips speeding up as you swivel your own. You move back so you can look at him. It’s when your eyes meet his own that you feel his hips stutter, and then he’s pulling you up and off of him. Your thighs grow wet as he comes between them and you feel yourself pulse again. 

The two of you take a minute, catching your breath. The heat feels even more stifling now, Jackson far too warm for so early in the spring. Eventually, you stand up on shaky legs and shuffle away, looking for something to wipe yourself with. You rifle through your pack, eventually finding some toilet paper. Joel clears his throat and you look at him.

“Here,” he says, holding out a checkered handkerchief. It looks soft and worn. “It’s softer.”

Something warm cracks open in your chest, and you tamp it down quickly. 

“Thank you,” you say instead, reaching out for it. Your fingers brush and you turn away, wiping between your legs. You can hear Joel shuffling around, zipping up his pants grabbing his pack. You slip into your clothes as well, the material feeling too thick for the weather. When you’re ready, you turn back around to find Joel near the door. He’s pushed his hair back from his weathered face which is still slightly flushed. His navy t-shirt stretches over the muscles of his shoulders and chest. Even at sixty, he’s one of the strongest men you know. 

“Ready?” Joel asks and you nod. The two of you make your way back towards the main path. It shouldn’t be more than an hour back to Jackson but it’s definitely going to feel longer with the sun beating down on you. 

“Are you going to the karaoke thing on Friday?” you ask him. 

“Ellie wants me to,” he says, sounding defeated. 

“Oh come on,” you say. “It could be fun. Jesse got the machine working and everything.”

A scouting trip earlier in the week at an electronics store hadn’t yielded much but a few batteries and a karaoke machine. When the news had spread that it worked, The Tipsy Bison decided to host a twenty-one and over event which, after the insistence of Ellie and Dina who had argued that the legal age in the rest of the world was lower, had become a nineteen and over event, instead. 

You watch his mouth pull into a frown and it makes you chuckle. He glances at you and then shakes his head, still unamused. 

“I don’t wanna hear a bunch of teenagers get drunk and sing. When you’re my age, you’ll understand,” Joel says and you scoff.

“You’re not that old, Joel,” you say and this time the scoff comes from him.

“I’m twice your age,” he says, but there’s an edge to his voice. You would’ve missed it five months ago but now, you know him well enough to hear it. It’s not that you and Joel are close friends or anything, but having sex at least once a week for five months lets you know a person, even if that isn’t the intention of it. 

Knowing you can’t win this argument, you change tactics. 

“I heard Seth found some fancy whiskey,” you say. “Glen-something. And he said it was really old too. Twenty one years or something like that.”

And just like that you watch Joel’s interest suddenly pique. You’re not even sure why you want him to come so bad, really. Or at least, that’s the lie you tell yourself even though it’s unconvincing. Somewhere along the way, you’ve grown to enjoy Joel’s company and it’s not even because of the mindblowing sex. You’ve started looking for him in crowds and wanting to speak to him more and you know it’s bad. The one rule of all this, although unspoken, is that it’s casual. No strings attached and just for a release. Somewhere along the way, you lost sight of that and now you’re nursing a crush on the man you’re sleeping with who’s given you no inclination of the same feelings. 

“Glenfiddich?” Joel says, voice drawling. 

You hum. “That’s the one.” 

“Well damn,” Joel says, sounding impressed. “I never had that even before the world went to shit.”

It’s rare for him to bring up his life from before. You understand. You had been far too young when the world had ended, and even then, the idea of thinking about your life from that time is too heavy. There’s no one left who knows you from when you were just a pre-teen and you’re most definitely not the same girl who had posters on her wall and loved cheap jewellery from Claire’s. And you doubt Joel is the same man he was back then too. So you get it and you never press for too much information, and neither does he. Some wounds split open at the gentlest suggestion of pressure and both you and Joel have your fair share of them. 

“Was it expensive?” you ask and he nods.

“Went for around three hundred a bottle, back then,” he says. “Didn’t have that kind of money.”

“All the more reason for you to come,” you say, hoping you don't sound too eager.

“That so?” Joel says, looking at you more directly now. His dark eyes trace over your face, as if he can read you and you look away. 

“If you want,” you say. You look past the trees, now covered in green leaves, hoping you’re playing it cool. The air smells rich with spring, wild jasmine and hyacinths invading your senses. When you glance back at him, Joel is still watching you. 

“Alright,” he agrees. “Maybe I’ll stop by.” 

You say nothing but you do look away so that he doesn’t catch the small smile that you can’t seem to hide. 

Tommy Miller is singing a song you’ve never heard before and frankly, hope you won’t ever hear again. He doesn’t sound bad per se, but it’s some old country song with strummy banjos and a crooning tune. You watch him point at Maria, who laughs in delight, as he sings about his girl on the ranch and how he’d die for her. When the song ends, he walks towards her and she pulls him into a kiss. The next song starts up and now it’s Jesse and a friend of his you’ve seen a few times but whose name you don’t know, singing into the mic. The evening’s been progressing into something a bit more rowdy now that almost everyone here is tipsy, at the least. It’s a pleasantly cool evening thankfully, but even then, the inside of The Tipsy Bison is hot from all the bodies and liquor. 

“Don’t think the whiskey was worth listenin’ to my brother butcher that song,” a voice says, and suddenly, Joel is standing next to you. He looks good, hair slick as if he just showered. The apples of his cheeks are flushed and his eyes are glossy in the dim light of the bar. 

“I dunno,” you say. “I kinda enjoyed it. I liked the part where the banjo sounded like a screeching cat.”

To your delight, Joel grins. His cheeks bunch up, dimples denting the side of his face and his crows feet become even more prominent. 

“Country music don’t do it for you then?” he asks and you crinkle your nose. You hear him chuckle. Before you can say anything, a voice interrupts you. 

“Are y’all gonna go up and sing then?” Tommy asks, looking between you and Joel. His cheeks are flushed, likely from the whiskey. Maria’s standing next to him, a big smile on her face. Her eyes are glassy too. 

“No way,” you say, too quickly. The idea of standing in front of half of Jackson let alone singing in front of them leaves you feeling queasy. Maria chuckles, shaking her head. 

“What about you, big brother?” Tommy asks, voice teasing. He looks at you again, a twinkle in his eye. “Did you know he wanted to be a singer?” 

Now this, you didn’t know. The news delights you and your face breaks into a smile before you can stop it. You look up at Joel to find him glaring at Tommy, the apples of his cheeks red. 

“Shut your mouth,” Joel grumbles, although he doesn’t sound too annoyed. It’s the tone he always has when Tommy pulls his leg and you imagine it’s what he always sounded like, even when they were younger and Tommy was his annoying kid brother. 

Tommy chortles, shaking his head. Maria says your name, and your attention shifts.

“So there’s someone I thought you might like to meet,” Maria says, cryptic as ever. You know why. She’s been trying to set you up with eligible bachelors for the last few months and so far, you’ve managed to evade her but now, there’s no getting away. You know she doesn’t mean anything bad by it. Really, she’s doing it because you had grumbled to her a while ago about how lonely you felt sometimes but after your thing with Joel had started, those feelings had disappeared. Of course, you hadn’t told her that, since this thing between you and Joel was purely physical. 

“Maria,” you say but she keeps going. 

“His name is Adam,” Maria says. “Came to Jackson a few weeks ago. He’s kind and smart, and honestly, pretty easy on the eyes. I think you’d get along.”

It’s only after she finishes speaking do you realize that Tommy and Joel have gone quiet too. You glance at Joel through the corner of the eye and he’s already watching you. 

“He’s doin’ shifts at the clinic, pretty good medic from what I’ve heard,” Tommy chimes in, and  Maria nods. 

“I really think you’d like him,” she says and you can feel your face growing hotter. The three sets of eyes on you suddenly feel like too much and you don’t want Joel to hear this. You don’t want him to think of you with a man unless it’s himself. 

“Maybe,” you say, quickly. “I’ll think about it.”

Maria nods, looking satisfied. “Just let me know, and I can introduce you two.”

You nod, giving her a weak smile. Needing to change topic, you ask her about the new craft centre and some of the tension in your shoulders ease as she tells you about how helpful the supply run you were on last week was, when you had stumbled upon art supplies. It had been a good haul. There were bags of crayons that, shockingly, hadn’t broken down yet, and even some acrylic and gouache paints that had somehow stood the test of time. You had also found watercolour paper and sketching pencils. When you had brought them back into town, Maria and the rest of the council had been elated. They had been pushing for a creative outlet for the children and teenagers in Jackson, wanting them to have some semblance of creative outlets and freedom, even in this version of the world, as unwelcoming as it was. 

“I could keep an eye out for beads and stuff,” you say once Maria’s done telling you about the set up. “Used to love making jewellery when I was younger. Could be fun for some of the boys and girls.”

“You shouldn’t be puttin’ yourself in harm's way for things like that,” Joel says, voice low. 

“Oh, I don’t mind,” you say and it’s clearly the wrong thing to say, given the way his teeth clench, the sharp line of his jaw bone becoming prominent. 

“I know,” Joel says, sounding less than pleased. You bristle at his tone, almost condescending. Looking back at Maria and Tommy, you find that they’re watching you and Joel curiously. 

“Well,” Tommy says, cutting through the sudden tension. “I’m goin’ to dance with my girl.” 

“Have fun,” you say, giving him and Maria a real smile. Your annoyance at Joel’s mood swing still simmers but it’s no fault of Tommy and Maria that he’s so crabby all of the sudden. Once they’ve rejoined the crowd, who are now doing some sort of line dance, you turn to Joel.

“I’ll see you,” you say, rather shortly. You’re suddenly tired from the long day, and the evening has felt even longer. The alcohol now feels sluggish in your system and all you want to do is sleep. You stand up, shrugging on your flannel before stepping past Joel’s broad frame. A warm hand snares your wrist, stopping you from walking towards the door. You glance down to find Joel’s big palm on you.

“Wait,” he says. You meet his eye and he still looks tense but there’s something else on his face. You cock your eyebrow at him and his shoulders grow rigid.

“M’sorry,” he says, words rumbling. “Shouldn’t have gotten like that.”

“No, you shouldn’t have,” you say. “I’m not a kid, Joel.”

“I know,” he says, quickly. “Didn’t mean to be condescendin’ or anythin’.”

“Could’ve fooled me,” you say under your breath and you watch as Joel’s mouth twitches. 

“I just don’t want you gettin’ hurt for somethin’ as silly as beads,” he says, the confession tumbling out almost like he doesn’t mean for it to. You open your mouth to say something, but you’re unsure of what. You feel the annoyance you had bleed out, replaced by something else entirely. Before you can think of anything, he speaks again.

“If you’re still headin’ out, I’ll walk you home. S’late,” he says and before you can think, you’re nodding. 

“Alright,” you agree. You lead the way, pushing past giggling couples and around the rowdier bunch of crowd, Joel’s presence like a wall behind you. You’re not touching but you can feel the heat of him, hot on your heels. Outside, the coolness of the air is a fresh relief. The chilled wind is pleasant against your hot face and you shiver at the sensation. 

“Did you have fun?” Joel asks, once the two of you are on the side street that leads to your house, sitting nestled among similar one story townhomes.

“It was alright,” you say. “It was nice watching everyone let loose. Not so sure I enjoyed the singing as much though.”

Joel lets out a huff, an almost laugh. 

“Was the whiskey everything you dreamed it would be?” you ask and this time, he does let out a laugh. 

“Surprisingly, yes,” he says. “Tasted damn good. I get why it was three hundred a bottle. Did you have any?”

“Yeah,” you say. “I think I might’ve had the wrong one though, because it tasted awful. Burned my throat.”

This time, he does chuckle. You look at him, taking in the dimple in his cheek. 

“Just don’t think you like whiskey much,” he says and you hum.

“Beer’s better,” you say and Joel shakes his head, scoffing. 

“Beer’s basically a loaf of bread,” he says and you snort.

“Aren’t they made from the exact same things?” you ask and Joel shrugs, a smile still playing on his plush mouth. 

“Whiskey’s stronger,” Joel says. 

“And it tastes like ass,” you say, just to see him grin again. When he does, you look away, your own smile threatening to break across your face. 

“We’ll agree to disagree then,” he says.

“Seems fair,” you say, just as you reach the walkway that leads to your porch. “Thanks for walking me home.”

“I’ll walk you to your door,” Joel says in answer and you want the extra time with him so you let him. It seems silly, walking the few steps to your porch together, as if something bad could happen in the short distance, but you’ll take the extra couple of seconds it gives you in his presence. You like knowing he’s nearby, like hearing the low drawl of his voice and the huff of his laughter. You like it even more when it’s directed at you. At your door, you face him. His eyes are so dark in the dim porch lighting, as they trace over your face. 

“You thinkin’ of going’ out with that guy?” Joel asks and the question throws you off. Your brows furrow, momentarily confused as to why he’s even bringing it up. 

“I don’t know,” you answer honestly. “Probably not. Maria’s been trying to set me up for a while now but I’m not really interested.” 

Joel nods, mouth pursed. Suddenly, you feel the warmth of his palms against your face. 

“Can I?” he murmurs, so much closer than he was a moment ago. The suddenness of it all leaves you dizzy. You nod, eyes wide. You can feel your heart beating against your ribcage, pulse quickening. His mouth presses to yours hotly. Once, twice and then he’s prodding at your lips with his tongue. You let him in. It’s a reflex now, after so many times. His broad frame traps you against your door, his tongue hot in your mouth. You moan, arching into his chest and pushing your hand into the soft curls at the nape of his neck. You tug just to hear him groan against your mouth, his hips bucking into your stomach. He’s hard beneath the denim of his jeans. 

Joel pulls back, his hands still framing your face. He rubs his thumb across the soft skin below your eye and you lean into it, like a cat. His hand moves lower, down your chest and towards the button of your pants. You watch in a daze as he undoes them, slipping his hand so that it cups your mound. Even through the fabric of your underwear you know he can feel how wet you are. He pets you through the soft cotton, his eyes trained on your face. You can’t seem to look away from him either, hypnotized by his dark stare.  

“Let me make you feel good,” he murmurs, breath hot against your mouth and you nod. You like being so close to him, like breathing the same air as him. He pushes the gusset of your underwear aside, plunging fingers into where your cunt and you whimper, bucking into his touch. He’s slow, as he curls his fingers, gently petting the spongy part inside of you that has a pressure building between your thighs. His palm is still almost entirely covering you and you move your hips, brushing your clit against the rough skin of his hand.

“Joel,” you say, moving your hips. You’re not sure what you’re asking for but he seems to know, given the gentle smile he gives you. 

“It’s okay baby,” he says. “Fuck my fingers, just like that. You’re doin’ so good for me.”

You nod, your forehead brushing against his mouth. He moves his fingers faster now, and you shift your hips in tandem, the pressure of his hand perfect against you. You’re so wet that you can hear the squelch of it as he moves, but you can’t bring yourself to care. Everything feels too good and you can feel yourself slipping closer to release.

“C’mon sweetheart,” Joel urges, now circling your clit with his thumb. He curls his fingers just right and you buck up, your orgasm crashing into you. Your moan is muffled against his mouth, as he kisses you frantically. His fingers keep moving, petting inside of you until it’s too much. Your thighs are trembling as you reach for his wrist, holding him in place so he doesn’t move anymore. He listens, stilling his fingers. 

“Wow,” you say and you can feel more than hear his laugh, against the side of your face.

“Okay?” he asks and you nod. 

Gently, he pulls his fingers out of you and you watch with a lidded gaze as he brings his fingers up to his mouth and sucks them clean. Your cunt throbs and you shiver. You glance down to where he’s hard before reaching for his belt buckle. His hand moves, stopping you. 

“That’s alright,” he says. Your brows furrow in confusion. 

“Is something wrong?” you ask, but Joel shakes his head. He doesn’t seem upset or anything, and you know he’s turned on so you wonder why he’s stopping you.

“You’re tired,” Joel says. 

“I want to,” you say, even though he’s right. Your eyes feel heavy with sleep, and so does your body. Joel hums.

“S’alright,” he says, voice gentle. “I just wanted to make you feel good.”

“Joel,” you start but he shakes his head again. He reaches back into your pants and for a second you’re confused until you feel him fix your underwear, pulling it back so it covers you. Your cheeks burn but Joel seems unphased, button your pants.

“Go to bed, sweetheart,” he says, his hand still resting on your hip. He rubs your hipbone once, twice, and then steps back. Something cracks open in your chest. 

“Okay,” you say. “Goodnight Joel.”

He nods and watches as you unlock your door. It’s only when you’re inside your house do you watch as he heads back down your porch and towards the direction of his own home. 

Once you lie down, sleep takes you almost instantly. Your last thought is of Joel’s eyes. 

There’s a frantic knock on your door. It’s so sudden that you jolt, dropping the book you’re reading with a thump. It’s almost midnight and the only noise that fills the air is the hum of the grasshoppers and the occasional rustle of the window. You stand up slowly, making your way to your door. You glance through the peephole and your heart stutters. You swing the door open, greeted to the sight of Joel. He looks rough. His hair is wet from a shower and his face is tired. There’s a bruise on his cheekbone, harsh and purple.

“Joel?” you say, stepping aside. He comes in. His hands are clenched into fists as his side. “Is everything okay?”

“Had a rough patrol,” Joel says, voice tired. It’s all he says. You say nothing, instead taking his hand and leading him towards the kitchen. 

“Sit down,” you instruct and Joel acquiesces, taking a seat at the breakfast bar. You put the kettle on, pulling out two chipped mugs. You know what it’s like. To almost see death and then to come back and have to act as if you were unperturbed. To have to seem strong all the time because that’s the way the world is now. It’s odd how quickly humans can learn to live with the new, and so now there’s no space to be scared when you have run-ins with death. It’s the norm. So you get it. The kitchen is silent except for the slow build of the kettle whistle. When you suspect that it’s sufficiently hot, you pour the water into the cups, now holding chamomile tea bags that you had made yourself. 

“Do you want to talk about it?” you ask, as you hand Joel a cup. He looks up at you, as if your voice has broken some train of thought. He holds himself stiffly, shoulders rigid and tense. 

“Not much to say,” Joel says, sounding defeated. “Was supposed to be a regular patrol. Me and a few others. A new kid named Kai, just turned eighteen and it was his second patrol. Clicker came outta nowhere, got him before I could even draw my gun.” 

“Oh Joel,” you say. The grief settles over both of you heavily. You reach towards him, and to your surprise, he doesn’t flinch when you cup his face. Instead, he leans into it, a shudder running through his body. 

“I didn’t hear it,” he says. “Because of my ear. I didn’t hear the goddamn clicker because I’m half deaf.”

You shake your head, moving closer. 

“It’s not your fault,” you say. “Even if you had heard it, clickers are fast, Joel. And you weren’t the only one there. If the others couldn't get it in time, then it had nothing to do with your hearing.”

Joel scoffs, turning his face away from you with a clenched jaw. You don’t let him go too far, gently tugging his head so that he’s facing you. When he meets your eyes, they’re glossy. 

“I mean it,” you murmur. You lean forward, pressing your forehead against his. It’s like it breaks something in him because suddenly, he’s wrapping an arm around your waist and tugging you closer so that you’re between his thighs. He presses his face to the crook of your neck, breathing in deeply. You feel him shudder when you run your nails against his scalp. The two of you stay like that for what could be hours. He’s so warm against you, so human. You hold him until you feel his shoulders relax, the tension slowly bleeding out of him. Eventually, he pulls back, his hands still tight around your waist. Your hand is still in his hair, gently raking through the greyish brown curls. 

“M’sorry for showin’ up and mopin’,” Joel murmurs, voice rough. You shake your head almost immediately. Your hand moves so that it cups his jaw again.

“You don’t have to apologize,” you say softly, not wanting to break the quietness between the two of you. You’re not sure which one of you moves first but the kiss isn’t frantic, not like the times before. This kiss is soft and wanting. You prod at his mouth with your tongue and he yields for you, groaning against your mouth. You’re not sure how long you stay like that. Eventually, Joel stands up, hands now moving to your hips. You kiss him once more before you pull back. Tugging on his arm, you lead him to the couch. Along the way, you lose your soft sleep pants and Joel his sweats. When he pushes you against the worn cushions, you’re naked except for your baggy t-shirt and Joel is in his boxers. 

You pull them down, wrapping your hand around where he’s hot and throbbing. You tug and his hips twitch with it. He pushes your shirt so that it bunches up against your armpits. He leans down, taking one of your nipples into his mouth. You shudder, arching into the wet heat of sensation. He stays like that for a bit, lavishing your breasts with attention. When he pulls back, his mouth is red and wet. 

Joel’s hand joins you, covering the base of him. The two of you look down as he swipes the head of his cock through your wet folds, and you let out a noise. Your legs widen even more, suddenly needing him to be as close to you as he can. He’s here and alive and okay. You push your hips up so that his tip breaches you and you both groan. You’re both still looking down at where you’re connected, speared open for him. You shift your hips even more, wanting to take him further in and when he realizes what you’re doing, he pushes in, so slow that you can almost feel every ridge and vein of him. When he bottoms out, he grunts. 

“I needed to see you,” he says, slowly moving his hips back. “When I was out there, all I was thinkin’ of was how I had to get back and see you.”

The confession spills out of him, unbidden. It makes you clench around him, your walls fluttering. 

“I’m glad you did,” you say, moving your hips. “I’m glad you came to me.”

His grip on your waist tightens, and he holds you firmly as he begins thrusting more frantically. This time feels different. You reach for his face, meeting his gaze. Suddenly, he’s lifting up, so he’s on his knees and your hips are resting against his strong thighs. A curly lock of hair falls against his forehead, and the new angle has him reaching a place so deep inside of you that you see stars. 

“Fuck,” he grunts, his hips pushing in and out. He’s looking down at where you take him and so are you. His cock glistens with your wetness and you’re split open, leaking and flushed. 

“You’re so good, Joel,” you say. “You make me feel so good.”

He moans, pressing your hips down and thrusting into you again.

“Just me,” he says and you nod. He leans forward so his mouth is against yours. It’s a hairsbreadth away from being a kiss, his breath hot against your own. “I’m the only one who gets you like this.”

You nod, your hips moving frantically against his own. One of his hands snakes down to your clit, rubbing circles in time with his thrusts. 

“Say it, darlin’” Joel says, voice commanding. He moves his thumb away from your clit and you whine, arching towards his touch. He tuts but doesn’t make a move. 

“Just you,” you agree because it’s true. There’s no one else. There won’t be anyone else. No one has had you like this and no one will. Surely, Joel must know that. “It’s always been just you, Joel.”

He circles your clit once more, moving faster now. You can feel yourself crashing towards your orgasm as his thrusts pick up the pace. He leans down, biting at your chin and that’s when you snap, feeling something wet between your thighs. For a second, you think he’s come but when you look down, he’s still hard and moving inside of you. The wetness is from you. It’s never happened before and you can feel your ears burn.

“Attagirl,” Joel says, looking down at the mess you’ve made. You flush, suddenly feeling shy. As if sensing it, Joel shifts, pushing a finger under your chin so that you’re forced to look at him.

“You’re perfect,” he says, almost reverently. His eyes are so full of something – devotion maybe? You can’t be certain and your mind is still clouded by your orgasm. You only come back to yourself when you remember that Joel’s still hard and wanting. You clench around him, watching as he shudders. 

“C’mon Joel,” you murmur, pulling him down to kiss him. It’s filthy and frantic, and so are his thrusts. He presses down so that his stomach is against yours, and you flutter your walls, just to hear him groan again. 

“You’re gonna be the end of me,” he says against the corner of your mouth and you smile, pressing a kiss to the side of his face. He pulls out just in time to come on your stomach, his face pressed to the crook of your neck. The two of you stay like that for a few minutes, catching your breath. 

Eventually, he sits up and tucks himself back into his boxers. You watch him head towards the kitchen and when he comes back, there’s a damp paper towel in his hand. You reach for it but he shakes his head, instead wiping your stomach down himself. When you’re clean, you pull your shirt down and slip back into your underwear. Joel’s already dressed by the time you’re done tying the drawstring of your sleep pants.

The air feels heavy now, with a new sort of tension. You’re not sure where it came from but it doesn’t feel good.

“Feeling better?” you ask Joel, but it sounds off. Your voice catches and he looks torn when you meet his gaze. 

“You should go out with that guy Maria was tellin’ you about,” he says instead, and he might as well have thrown a bucket of ice water on you with how shocked you feel. It must show on your face, because he continues. 

“I think we should stop this,” he says. You feel sick all of the sudden, like you might just throw up. 

“What?” you say, unable to think of anything else. Had you just imagined the last hour? Had you not just had sex?

“He’s your age, seems decent,” Joel explains like that’s what you’re asking. You feel anger ignite in you, something bitter and sharp. 

“Right, and you’re a matchmaker now, are you?” you ask, and the words are heavy in your mouth. They come out sharp and angry. Joel runs a hand through his hair. 

“I just mean, he seems like he’d be good for you. Like the kind of man you deserve,” Joel says, voice gentle. You scoff, feeling your nose tingle in a telltale sign that you’re going to cry pretty fucking soon. 

“Get out, Joel,” you say, but there’s no firmness in your tone. You sound as hurt as you feel and he must see it. Surely he can tell that he’s breaking your heart. You want him to fight, to say that he’s sorry and that he didn’t mean any of it. So when he nods, shoulders slumped and eyes tired, it hurts even worse. You hear the door shut behind him and it’s only then that you allow the tears to fall. 

Joel Miller might be a masochist. It’s the only reason why he’s sitting at The Tipsy Bison, tucked in a corner booth away from the rest of the crowd, and watching you on your date with the new medic. He hadn’t planned to be here, not really. But it’s been a long week and patrol was tiresome today. Whiskey sounded like a good idea when he had returned from patrol but now he’s not so sure. He watches as you nod along to something that man says, a small smile on your face. You look as beautiful as always, your hair pulled into a braid and your face bright in the golden light of the bar. He doesn’t think you’ve seen him and he hopes you don’t. 

God, what was he thinking? Starting this thing with you all those months ago knowing damn well how strongly he felt about you. But he was a weak man after all, and when you had looked at him that night, with glossy eyes and a gentle smile, he knew he had to taste it. Had to have you, however you’d let him. And then he had gone and fucked it all up. 

“You’re an idiot,” Maria cuts through his thoughts, sliding into the booth. She nudges another glass of whiskey towards him.

“Evenin’,” Joel greets, ignoring her words. 

“What were you thinking, Joel? Really? What was the game plan, the big idea. Because to me, it seems like you’re dumber than  a bag of rocks,” Maria says and he can’t even argue because he knows she’s right. 

“She tell you anythin’?” he asks instead, and Maria scoffs.

“She didn’t have to,” she says. “Anyone with a working pair of eyes could tell that there was something up between you two and I’ve seen the two of you come out of supply closets. You’re not as covert as you think, you know. I had to beg Tommy not to get involved because I was hopeful you would tell her how you feel.”

Joel slumps against the booth, taking a sip of his drink. When he meets Maria’s eyes, her glare softens into something gentler. 

“Why didn’t you?” she asks, voice softer now. Joel looks down at his worn palms, full of scars and callouses. He thinks of your soft hands, gentle and seemingly untouched by violence. 

“She deserves better than a weathered old man. I can’t give her what she deserves,” Joel finally says and Maria sighs. 

“You can’t just decide things for people, Joel,” she says. “And you can’t just write yourself off because you think something that isn’t even true.”

This time, it’s Joel who scoffs. 

“If you’re implyin’ that I’m not old then that’s mighty kind of you, Maria,” he says, but the joke falls flat. 

“I know how you care for people,” Maria says. “I know what she deserves too.”

“I might have messed it up too much already,” Joel says. When he looks back to where you are, something curdles inside of him. You’re no longer there and neither is your date. Maria follows his line of sight.

“You have to try,” Maria says. “You have to try or else you’re going to regret it for the rest of your life.” 

The sharp knock on your door brings a terrible sense of deja-vu. You think of that night a week ago and how Joel had shown up. And then of how he had left. You had found Maria the next day and told her you were open to the date with Adam, fueled by rage and something sadder. And the date had been fine, really. Adam was sweet and nice and smart and all the things that Maria had said he was. But you had felt nothing but a vague interest in friendship. Your cheeks had hurt by the end of the night, from all the put-on smiling you had done. It had been a relief when he had mentioned that he had an early shift the next morning and so he had to head home. You had nodded in understanding and gently refused his offer to walk you home. 

When you swing the door open this time, the deja-vu is even worse. Joel stands there, in a dark t-shirt and faded jeans. It’s like you’re dreaming. Or maybe it’s a nightmare and what happened last week is going to replay again and again until you wake up. 

“Howdy,” Joel greets and any other time, the greeting and the drawl of  his accent would make you smile. Now it settles like a heavy weight in your stomach.

“What do you want?” you ask, voice sharp. Joel looks down at his hands, rubbing his thumb against the meat of his palm. 

“I was hopin’ we could talk,” he says.

“I think you’ve said everything you wanted to,” you say even though your heart stutters in your chest. Joel shakes his head, stepping forward. 

“If you want me to leave after this, I swear I will. Just please let me explain, sweetheart,” he says. The term of endearment softens something in you and you contemplate for a few seconds, before you nod. You step aside to allow him to come in, his boots heavy against the wooden floors. You make your way towards the living room, sitting on your armchair so that you’re far enough away from him not to do something stupid like crawl into his lap. 

“I owe you an apology,” Joel says once he’s seated on the couch. “I should have never said those things about endin’ things or about that kid you went out with.”

“Adam,” you supply and enjoy the way Joel clenches his jaw at the mention of his name. But he nods.

“Adam,” he echoes. “Did you enjoy your date with him?”

He sounds genuinely curious, even if his jaw is still clenched.

“It was fine,” you say. 

“Would you go out with him again?” Joel asks and you snap.

“What is this, Joel? You came over because you want a review of my date? What do you want me to say? That it sucked because all I could think about is you? That you broke my heart? What do you want?” you say, voice raised. You can feel your ears heat up and your vision blurs with unshed tears. You look away, swiping at your eyes. 

“Sweetheart,” Joel says, suddenly sounding closer. When you open your eyes, he’s in front of you, kneeling. His eyes are wide with concern. 

“Don’t say things if you don’t mean them,” you say, voice catching on the last word.

“I’m so sorry, baby,” Joel says. “I messed this whole thing up.”

“Why did you end things?” you ask, suddenly feeling small. “Did I do something wrong that night?” 

And really, that’s the thought that’s been plaguing you. Was it how you had confessed that it was only ever him? Was it how you had clung to him? 

“No,” Joel says quickly. “You did nothin’ wrong, darlin’. It was me. I got in my head about this. Thought I was too old for you, that I’d be holdin’ you back.”

“So you just ended things,” you say. “You didn’t even give me a chance to say how I felt. What I wanted.”

Joel nods, mouth pulled into a frown. “I know.”

“You hurt me, Joel,” you say, a tender admission. You’re not the type to ever say things like this. You know how much strength is valued in the world you live in. But your heart feels tender and raw. 

“I know,” Joel agrees, again. “I hate that I did. I should’ve talked to you instead of runnin’ off.”

“Why’d you change your mind then?” you ask and Joel looks sheepish now. You watch a light blush form across the tops of his cheekbones.

“Maria said I was bein’ mighty foolish,” he says. “Said she knew the whole time. Saw us, uh, comin’ out of supply closets.”

“Oh,” you say, feeling yourself grow warm. You had thought you and Joel had been rather stealthy, really. 

“I really am sorry, darlin’,” Joel says. “I was bein’ a coward. I like you. Hell, I more than like you and it scared me because I haven’t felt like this in so long.”

The confession blooms inside of you like a flower in spring, and the grief in your heart seems to dissolve into nothingness. 

“You were being a coward,” you agree. “I don’t care that you’re old, Joel. Really. I don’t like you in spite of it or anything like that. I just like you.”

A gentle smile graces his face and he shifts so he’s closer. You spread your knees to make room for him, sitting up straighter. 

“I can’t promise I’m goin’ to be perfect, but I’m going to try. If you’d let me and only if you want this,” Joel says. 

You let his words sink into you and finally, you nod. You watch his soft smile turn into a grin. You tug him forward, pressing your forehead to his own. The two of you stay like that for minutes, eyes closed and listening to the soft sound of each other's breathing. Eventually, you yawn and Joel chuckles.

“Let’s get you to bed, sweetheart,” he says and you nod. He stands up, his knees creaking and you smile. He helps you up. 

“You can stay, if you’d like,” you offer. Joel nods, wrapping an arm around your waist and leading you towards your bedroom. You find a shirt for him to sleep in and take turns brushing your teeth. You let him use your toothbrush and the whole thing feels so domestic. It settles warmly in your chest. He pulls you towards him once you both lay down, pressing a gentle kiss to your mouth. When you pull back, he follows, giving you another slow kiss. You curl around him, giving him access to your mouth. There’s no intent to these kisses, no build up for a quick hook up or to let off some steam. You’re kissing just to kiss. Like lovers do. You smile against his mouth and he pulls back, pressing a kiss to the corner of your mouth. 

“I wanna take you out tomorrow,” Joel says, murmuring into your mouth. 

“Like a date?” you ask and he hums in affirmative. 

You are rushing along an empty suburban street caught in a warm summer rain. Soaked strands of hair are sticking to your face and you brush them off, feeling your clothes getting wet too. Drops of water are trickling down your naked thighs as your skirt rides up and your shoes squelch with every hurried step.

The rain isn’t too heavy and you might have enjoyed it some other time but not now, not when you’re running late for your lesson at Professor Miller’s house. You could have waited it out under a tree but by the look of it, the pouring won’t stop soon.

You didn’t want to make Professor Miller wait. He is already doing you a huge favor, tutoring you a few hours a week in preparation for another year at college.

You decided to switch majors and, being a good friend of your mother, Professor Miller agreed to help you so you could catch up on what you had missed and get more confident in the new field.

Frankly you wouldn’t be late if you hadn’t been running circles in your room, trying to decide what to wear. Of course, you had a crush on Professor Miller. He was handsome, intelligent, nice and much older than you. But you’d never act on it because you couldn’t even imagine him looking at you like that. So you weren’t choosing anything to attract him that day. All you wanted was to look nice. You always wore formal clothing out of respect for him. One time you put on a band tee and a pair of ripped jeans for your lesson and felt terribly out of place next to the perfect Professor Miller. After that you swore to yourself to look presentable at his lessons.

You’re looking very far from presentable when Professor Miller opens the door to you now. Yet there’s not a trace of displeasure in his warm gaze.

“Oh, sweetheart, you’re soaked!” he exclaims, eyes widened behind his black-rimmed glasses.

“Forgot my umbrella, so sorry,” you mumble, stepping inside. You take off your wet shoes and put on the slippers you always wear in his house. Seeing that you’re dripping water on the floor, you silently curse.

As a striking contrast to you Professor Miller looks impeccable. Beautiful dark curls are combed back, a black sweater over a white dress shirt and black slacks make him look like he’s on a red carpet rather than in a suburban house on a Saturday.

He rushes away, mumbling something about towels, and you peek into the hall mirror to check the damage.

What you see makes you want to jump out of the window - your mascara is running, the hair’s wet and disheveled but what makes your heart drop to your stomach is your white blouse, soaked, stuck to your torso and completely see-through. Your chest is fully exposed except for your white lacy bra which isn’t much help either as you can definitely see your nipples.

Your hands dart to cover yourself but you don’t want to attract more attention to it, so you try to cross your arms over your breasts as casually as possible.

“Here.” You jerk, hearing Professor Miller’s beautiful voice and take a towel from him with a quiet ‘thank you.’

“Can I use the bathroom?” You ask, hugging the towel close to your chest.

“Of course, take your time. Join me in the office when you’re ready.”

You love Professor Miller’s guest bathroom. All of his house actually. It’s always neat and feels warm and cozy. Every piece of furniture seems thought through, the colors are rich but calming and you often find yourself wishing to stay here longer.

You clean your face up and dry yourself as well as you can. Your hair is still damp, but the skirt is not that wet. On the other hand your blouse still makes you wanna cry. At some point you contemplate asking Professor Miller for a spare shirt but this seems very inappropriate.

So you take a deep breath and decide that you can cover your almost exposed breasts with a book or something else.

You walk to the office and hastily join Professor Miller at his desk. A cup of hot tea is waiting for you next to a stack of books.

“Take a seat, sweetheart,” he says, patting the chair next to him and you plop down awkwardly, trying to hide your indecency. “Drink this. It’ll help you to get warm.” His gaze slides over you fast, not sticking to anything in particular, and you ease up a little.

He starts the lesson by checking your homework and explains your mistakes. You nod but hardly listen to him. So close to Professor Miller you feel disappointed in yourself, looking like an idiot who forgets to check the weather before leaving the house.

A light breeze hits your back and you shiver.

“Oh, I’ll close the window.” Professor Miller rushes to stand up, but you stop him with a hand on his arm. As if electrified by the feeling of his firm muscles under your touch, you dart your hand back, as your cheeks burn and you say,

“It’s ok. I love the sound of rain.”

“But you must be cold? Here, take my cardigan.” You object but he doesn’t listen, grabbing it off his chair and putting it over your shoulders.

“Thank you,” you breathe out, wrapping yourself in it as his scent envelops you. He smells of vanilla and cardamom and you can’t help but take a deep breath of him. He smiles, but you don’t notice it.

A couple of times during the lesson Professor Miller seems to lose his train of thought and you blame your look for it. He must be thinking that you look like a stray wet dog and your mood gets worse.

When he stands up to get a book from his home library you use the pause to apologize,

“I’m sorry again for looking like this. I should have waited the rain out but I was running late.”

He turns to you, standing at the wall full of books, and shakes his head, a warm smile on his handsome face,

“What are you talking about? You look great.”

“Ehm…I doubt it. I bet I’ve left a puddle in your hall like a wet dog.”

He chuckles, then grabs the necessary book and returns to the desk. He sits down and turns slightly towards you. His knee touches your naked thigh and you press your legs together, feeling the tingling between them. With a new wave of embarrassment overtaking you, you close the cardigan over your chest. He doesn’t look down but instead searches for your eyes.

“You look amazing, sweetheart, you always do. And I don’t want you to feel uncomfortable. It’s just rain.”

The sun peeks through the clouds for a second, and when its golden rays fill the room, you notice how beautifully Professor Miller’s eyes sparkle behind the glasses when the light shines on them. It takes your breath away and you lower your gaze with a smile. His praise makes you feel warm and fuzzy and your heart sings at the sincerity in his voice.

“Thank you.” Your quiet words are barely audible because of the sound of the rain outside.

Professor Miller takes a deep sigh. “Sometimes when I look at you…I wish I was younger.”

Your jaw nearly hits the floor as you look up at him and stumble, “W- what… why? Really? Why?”

He chuckles. “Yeah, my back wouldn’t give me so much grief.”

You’re nodding with a fake smile, disappointed by his answer. He’d never look at you this way, in a different way. He’s perfect and you’re …well, you. He interrupts your self-deprecation saying softly, “Sweetheart, you worry too much. You, young people, don't understand how lucky you are. You have the whole life ahead of you, you’re free of regrets, sorrows. And the youth passes so quickly.”

You’re staring at him now, lips half parted, and then suddenly blurt out, “I am afraid. Almost all the time.”

“Of what? Why?” He asks, looking concerned.

“I don’t know. Of… everything.”

You turn slightly to him on the chair but quickly avert your gaze and stare back at the open window. The thrumming of the rain outside makes it easier to talk, as if it is accompanying your words.

“I’m afraid of my future. How wonderful it can be or how unhappy I might become. I study hard thinking …wishing the result will give me happiness but what if it doesn’t. I worry about my future career, but I’m not even sure I want it. I.. I don’t know what I want. I don’t know what I’m doing.”

You feel wetness coating your eyes and glance at him. He’s looking at you with intent, his brows slightly furrowed in thought.

You sniff, turning back to the desk, and stare at your fingers fumbling with the corner of Professor Miller’s cardigan.

“Sweetheart, no one knows what the fuck they’re doing.”

Your head whips up and you gawk at him with widened eyes. You’ve never heard him swear and never thought you ever would. He smiles, as if finding your reaction amusing.

“I might look all put together but I’m just like you. Scared, unsure… hell, we all are. No matter the age, I doubt it ever goes away,” he says placing his heavy hand on your shoulder, giving it a light squeeze, “But you can try to focus on the present, enjoy the moment, enjoy yourself.”

The sadness in your eyes makes him chuckle bitterly, “My intent was to help but it seems like I’ve done the opposite.”

“No, it’s fine. I appreciate you telling me this but I doubt I can do that.“

He watches you for a few moments and suddenly his face lights up and a charming lopsided smile twists his lips. You almost giggle at how mischievous and joyful he looks.

“I know what we should do.” He gets up and offers you his hand.

You look up at him confused but so much joy is radiating from him, you can’t say ‘no’. You take his hand and your whole body vibrates with skin on skin contact. You’re overwhelmed by his and your confession, by the unexpected turn your lesson took, and your heart is fluttering in your chest.

You follow him to the living room, your hand in his, and come up to the French windows which lead to the back yard. He lets go of your hand and you fix his cardigan that’s slipping off your shoulders.

Professor Miller opens the windows and a flow of humid slightly cold air rushes into the room and you wrap the cardigan tighter around your torso. The rain got heavier and you see little puddles on the patio.

He turns to you and says, louder than usual, so you could hear through the drumming of the shower.

“You know what I want to do now? What will make me happier?”

He starts walking backwards out to the wet patio and you open your mouth and giggle,

“Oh my god, Professor! What are you doing?”

He shoots you a wink and steps under the heavy rain. Then he tilts his head up, closing his eyes and exposing his face to the drops, falling from the sky.

“Please, come back inside!” You walk up to him, still standing under the cover of the roof. You place your hand on his shoulder and grab him lightly. “Come back inside, you’ll get cold. I’m not sad anymore, I promise.”

Just a few moments under the downpour are enough to drench him and when he looks at you, his glasses are all wet, curls are stuck to his forehead, his sweater is soaked.

“Do you like walking in the rain, sweetheart?”

“Well, sometimes yeah, I guess, but…”

“Great!”

With that, he grabs your hand on his shoulder and pulls you out onto the wet grass. You gasp, feeling the rain drops on your face and body again, your clothes and slippers getting wet slowly but surely. You try to get back inside but he quickly closes the windows and stands in front of you, not letting you through.

“Come on, sweetheart, enjoy this summer rain with me.”

“I will but maybe inside the house?” you plead, trying to cover your head with your hands.

“And where's the fun in that? C’mon,” he returns your pleading gaze with his own, placing his hands on your shoulders, “Let’s enjoy the moment. Do what you want. Don’t worry about the future. Live now.”

His hands leave your shoulders and he steps up closer, making you walk further from the cover of his house. Watching him prowl towards you like that, with a charming smile, his hands in the pockets of his slacks, sends a surge of arousal through your core and you feel yourself getting wet not only from the rain. You stop and he does too, an arm length from you.

You two are standing in the middle of the backyard, smiling at each other, while the heavy rain is soaking your clothes, drawing wet paths down your faces.

You follow his lead from a few moments ago, looking up and closing your eyes. You feel the drops caressing your skin, kissing your eyelids, nose, lips and then sliding down your neck. For a moment you let go of your fears and hopes that weigh on you rather than motivate you and just feel, taking a deep breath.

When you open your eyes a few moments later, there’s something different about the way Professor Miller is looking at you. His cheer is gone and he’s serious again but not in his usual ‘I’m a professor’ way. His gaze is focused on you, dark eyes tracing your features with quiet hunger.

“What would you like to do right now?” He asks you, tilting his head to the side. The answer comes to you like lightning and you act on it immediately.

You take a step, reach up and kiss him. It’s just a peck but you stay there for a few seconds pressing your wet lips to his.

He breathes in sharply against your mouth and the realization of what you’ve just done hits you like a freight train. You part from him and step back, your eyes filled with terror.

You’re staring at each other for a few long moments, only the sound of rain and your pounding heartbeat breaking the silence. You open your mouth to dump all possible apologies on your tutor but you have no time to do it because in the next moment Professor Miller kisses you.

One hand on your neck, the other on your arm he’s kissing you, keeping you close, but not grabbing you. You can stop it any second. You don’t. You revel in the feeling of his lips gently caressing yours. They taste like rain. His thumb is sliding along your jaw and your pussy aches with need. You’re cold from the rain but burning up inside for him at the same time. A shiver runs through your body and his lips leave yours.

“Let’s go back inside. You are freezing,” he whispers, pressing his forehead to yours. You curse your body for interrupting the most beautiful moment of your life but follow him when he takes your hand in his and leads you back into the house.

You’re dripping on his carpet in the living room until Professor Miller brings towels and you dry yourselves. He takes off his sweater and you swallow loudly when he rolls up the sleeves of his white shirt exposing his big forearms. His tousled wet curls take your breath away. One curl falls on his forehead and your heart hurts from how handsome he looks. He places his glasses on the coffee table and asks you,

“Would you like to change? I can give you my shirt. Or find something of Sarah.”

After discarding his soaked cardigan, you look down and see your sheer wet blouse sticking to your breasts but you don’t feel uncomfortable or embarrassed any more. You shake your head, wanting him to see you, all of you. The realization makes you gush and your pussy tingles, making you press your thighs together.

“God, you’re shivering, you can get sick,” he fusses over you and he’s right, you’re trembling all over, but not only because of the rain-drenched clothes. Your whole world is upside down. You shoved your crush on Professor Miller into the furthest corner of your heart, being scared of it. You were always good at limiting and controlling yourself, at making yourself feel less, not acting on your desires.

Until today.

Shaking legs bring you to the sofa and you sit down. He takes a blanket from the side of it and wraps you in it, rubbing your arms and back over the material, trying to warm you up.

He’s so close to you. You stare at his wet face, lashes stuck together, lips shining with the rain or your saliva or both.

It feels like a dream that you don’t want to end. His hands leave you and you look at each other. His gaze slides down to your lips and your heart flutters. You wonder if you have enough courage to kiss him again.

Suddenly you hear a loud thunder and jump in your seat. You look around and it’s like you finally woke up. Your heart freezes at the thought, ‘You kissed Professor Miller! You kissed your fucking tutor! Your mom’s friend! Fuck!’

Your head whips back to him. “I’m so sorry,” you mumble, trying not to burst into tears, your throat getting squeezed with embarrassment. “I…I don’t know why I’ve done it. I must have lost my mind. I’m sorry. Thank you for taking pity on me, Professor.”

His hand darts to your shoulder but he swiftly puts it away.

“First of all, call me Joel, please …and what do you mean by pity? I didn’t take pity on you. I acted inappropriately but… I wish you could see what I see when I look at you.”

You drop your head and murmur under your breath, “A complete mess?”

He sighs and takes your hand in his. His big warm palm engulfs it completely and you look up at him, not being able to contain yourself anymore, as tears well up in your eyes. His voice is warm and soft and so pleasant you wish he’d never stop talking.

“You’re a wonderful young woman. Intelligent, kind, capable of anything you’ll set your mind to. Your future is bright, I'm sure of it.”

You smile and tears roll down your cheeks.

“And you’re very beautiful. I hope someone tells you this.”

You sniff, eyes downcast, and shake your head, making your tears fall. Joel gently takes your chin between his fingers and tilts your head up so you would look at him. His face is blurry with all the wetness in your eyes. He cups your cheek and brushes a tear away with his thumb.

“Well, then let me do it. You’re the most beautiful woman I know.”

Your heart stops. At least you think so because what you’re hearing can not be real. You died and went to heaven otherwise it’s unbelievable that Professor Miller… Joel is telling you this.

You’re gawking at him and he chuckles before taking his hand away.

“I love that I can see all your emotions on your face.”

You hastily close your mouth and try to collect yourself while a whirlwind of feelings swirls in your stomach.

“And I don’t regret kissing you.”

You search his face for a sign of a joke, but find none. He looks and sounds serious and you feel yourself lean closer to him.

“Me neither, Joel,” you whisper, his name sweet on your tongue, and lean forward a little. It takes him a second to meet you halfway and kiss you. He takes the lead and moves his lips slowly and gently against yours but you feel that he’s holding himself down by the way he breathes, the way his lips move faster and with more vigor until he stops himself. You feel hot wrapped in the warm blanket so still glued to him you unwrap yourself and it pools at your feet.

“You’ll get cold,” he mumbles against your lips and you shake your head no, still kissing him. You don’t want it to end so you desperately cling to him with only your lips touching.

Another thunder shakes the house and you feel his hand on your naked knee. You part your legs and scoot closer to him and his thumb brushes your inner thigh. Your whole body erupts with chills.

“Sweetheart,” he whispers as his lips leave yours, “Your legs are ice cold.” He puts his hands on your arms, “And you’re still shivering, poor thing.”

You’re about to explain that it’s not because of the rain or wet clothes, at least not only. It’s him, his plush lips on yours, his warm hands gliding over your skin, his eyes looking at you so differently from what you’re used to. All of it makes every cell in your body vibrate, your stomach churn, your core burn with arousal.

But before you can tell him all that, he says something that makes you stop in your tracks, “Would you like to take a bath?”

For the hundredth time today you’re staring at him with your mouth agape.

“H-here? In your house?” you stumble, blinking at him.

“Yes. There's a nice tub upstairs in my bedroom.” He hears himself and hastily adds, “It’s not like that. Ehm… You can take it and I’ll wait for you here. I’m afraid you’ll get sick because of my carelessness.”

His beautiful brown eyes are pleading you to agree. You don’t want to leave him but your sodden cold clothes make the offer of a hot bath sound better with every second.

So you nod and he beams at you. In a second he’s walking upstairs and you’re trailing behind him, your hand in his. He leads you to his bedroom and you quickly look around, seeing that it’s perfect like the rest of his house, simple but cozy. You follow him to the en-suite bathroom and he starts the water. He explains to you how to make it colder and hotter like you’ve never seen a bathtub before but you don’t get offended or annoyed. He’s nervous, it’s visible and it makes you jittery too. Suddenly the idea of being alone without him makes you sad and your heart aches.

The tub fills up fast and while he’s telling you about the bath salts and towels you interrupt him,

“Can you stay?”

Now it’s his turn to gawk at you.

“When…until it’s full?” He asks and you shake your head.

“No, when I take it. Can you stay with me?”

He swallows loudly and takes a step closer to you.

“Sweetheart, I’ve crossed so many lines today. I’m not sure I can cross this one.”

“You told me to do what I want right? And I want you to stay with me, Joel,” you say louder, trying to feign confidence, before taking a step to him.

“Are you sure?”

You look deep into his eyes, so close that you can see your own reflection in them and reply,

“I'm not sure about anything in my life… but I'm sure that I want this,” you say, drawing an invisible line between your hearts with your finger, and add, “Really badly.”

His dark eyes are darting between yours as if he’s looking for a trace of doubt in them. He won’t find any. He’s reading your features and they probably tell him something because in the next moment he slowly leans to you. The kiss is soft but the more you taste him the more confident you get.

So you press your body to his and he groans when your lower belly touches his bulge. Your heart and pussy flutter when you realize how big and stiff he is. Is it because of you? A part of you can’t believe a man like him can be interested in you but his body can’t lie.

“Sweetheart,” he whispers, pulling away but, in an attempt to interrupt something you don’t want to hear, you raise your hands and start unbuttoning your wet blouse.

Joel’s eyes are glued to your fingers, working their way up your top. Soon your belly is revealed, then sternum and your breasts, covered by the bra. You slide the blouse off your body and it pools at your feet.

“You’re so beautiful,” Joel whispers, as his hand slowly lifts to your breast and he brushes your nipple through the thin lace of the bra with his thumb. It’s already perked up from all the kissing and the cold and you whimper, your body vibrating with desire at the slightest touch of his big hand.

You get impatient and take your skirt off too. You’re standing in front of him wearing nothing but a lace white set and Joel growls like a hungry wolf. You bite your lip, hearing the sound of his desire for you.

His gaze slides from your face to your breasts, belly, hips, legs and up to your face again. He seems to make a decision because soon he starts unbuttoning his shirt too.

“I’m going to hell,” he mumbles as the expanse of his chest is revealed to you and you salivate seeing his golden skin, soft belly, happy trail that leads down. Your clit twitches when he unzips his pants.

Soon his clothes join yours on the floor and he places his hands on your waist. You try not to look at the huge tent in his boxers but fail miserably. He smiles and pulls you into his arms and you hug his middle. He’s big and hot against your cold skin and your whole body erupts in goosebumps.

“Still shivering, poor thing, let’s get you into the hot water,” he whispers and his hands slide to your back. He searches for your eyes and after you look up and nod, he unclasps your bra and takes it off you.

His chest is heaving when his gaze moves down to your naked breasts but he doesn’t stop stripping you. With his fingers hooked in your panties, he waits for your permission and then slides them down. They fall on the floor around your feet and you step out of them.

His eyes are completely obsidian now and his hands dart to you but he stops himself.

“Could you help me?” You ask and turn around before offering him your hand. He takes it and you step into the full tub. The water feels scolding hot at first but all your senses are focused on Joel and you lower yourself into the hot water. Sitting in the middle of the tub you look at his bulge, which is at your eye level now.

“Join me, please,” you plead and he mumbles soft “yeah,” before pulling his boxers down. His cock springs free and your pussy buzzes with anticipation and fear because he’s really big and thick.

Joel gets in the water behind you, his legs bent at the knees by your sides. He puts his hands on your shoulders and pulls you to lie down against his chest.

You rest your back on his warm broad chest and he wraps his arms around your waist. You feel his cock twitch against your lower back and a quiet whimper escapes your lips, “Joel.”

He almost purrs hearing how you said his name. You feel his heart beating hard at your back. His body, so big and strong, envelops you, warms you up better than the hot water around you and you feel like it’s where you belong, in his arms, reveling in his warmth, his softness, ready to give him anything he’d wish for.

The ache in your pussy gets harder to ignore and you squirm between his legs. He takes a sharp breath and bucks his hips against your butt. You feel his lips at your temple as he plants a kiss there.

“You’re so hot,” he praises you as his hands slide up your body and he cups your breasts. He palms your pebbled nipples and you moan, pressing your thighs together.

Then you tilt your head to the side and back and look up at Joel. His face is twisted in pleasure, eyes blown, and he lowers his head and catches your lips with his. This kiss is different from the ones you’ve shared before. Craving, impatience in every stroke of his lips, every swipe of his tongue, and you drown in pleasure of his caress.

Suddenly it’s not enough for the both of you. Without saying a word to each other you sit up and turn around while he helps you shift in the tub with his hands on your waist. You’re facing him now, standing on your knees, and he takes in your wet naked body before whispering,

“Let me make you feel good, sweetheart.”

You breathe out a soft ‘ok’ and in a second he lifts you up and sets you on the edge of the tub in the corner. You lean your back against the cold tile wall and shiver. Joel notices your reaction and starts pouring the water over you so you’d warm up again.

When you say that you’re not cold, he stands on his knees in front of you, his hands planted on the edge of the tub by your sides. He cages you in between his broad torso and the wall and your pussy pulsates for him.

“Could you spread your legs for me, please?” he says, sitting down on his heels, as his chest is pressed to your knees.

You slowly do what he asked and your pussy blooms for him, folds opening up to his view and Joel’s breath hitches and he llicks his lips at the sight.

“Oh, my,” he mumbles and glances up at you, "You have the most gorgeous pussy, sweetheart." That word on his lips sends a fiery wave through every inch of your body and you whimper, when he moves into the space between your legs, spreading your thighs wider with his broad torso.

His plush lips parted, eyes blown and restless, he takes you in - his gaze hastily runs over your face, breast, belly, cunt as if he can't get enough of you. He reaches for your face and kisses you deeply and passionately. His hand brushes against your aching pussy and you moan.

"My sweet girl," he whispers against the corner of your mouth and his soft lips move down to your neck, collar bone, chest. He's swirling his tongue over your nipple, his hand kneading your breast while you are running your fingers through his damp curls.

Soon he gets to your pussy and when his hot lips touch you there you almost come against his mouth.

“You’re sweet all over, honey,” he mumbles against your twitching clit, hunching down. Then he grabs your ankle in the water and lifts your leg.

“Put your foot on the edge, yeah, like that, good girl.” You’re completely exposed to him now but your desire shuts all your insecurities and you ache to show him every inch of you without any shame.

Soon you’re moaning and writhing on the edge of the tub as his tongue is dancing over your clit before his lips close around it and he gently sucks on the bud, keeping your folds spread with his thick fingers.

You’ve never felt more euphoric in your life and he approvingly hums against your pussy, when you whisper his name again and again, alternating it with whimpers and soft ‘yeah’s’.

“Damn, I can come just from hearing you, honey. What are you doing to me?” He says, looking up at you from between your thighs, eyes glistening. He looks completely pussy-drunk and it must be taking everything from him not to spill his seed into the bath water right now.

You give him a little apologetic smile and he continues pleasuring you. Joel’s caresses are slow and gentle, he’s almost edging you but when you start moving your hips, searching for more friction, he reads your signal immediately.

“Need more, sweetheart?”

You nod eagerly and with his hands on your inner thighs he starts devouring your pussy, his growls full of lust. The flat of his tongue is rubbing against your clit, then the warm muscle plunges into your crying hole as his nose nudges your clit and soon you’re screaming, shaking with the hardest climax of your life.

Joel laps at your juices, generously dripping into his greedy mouth as you’re digging your fingers into his broad shoulders, clenching around his tongue when he slides it inside you.

“Yeah… like that. Oh, my good girl,” Joel mumbles, his words muffled by your pussy.

When your climax dissipates, you rest your head back against the wall and he stays between your legs, peppering kisses on your inner thighs. His palms glide up and down your legs as you’re catching your breath.

When you look down, your eyes well up with tears when you see this big, gorgeous, intelligent, hot man on his knees in front of you. A voice inside your head reminds you that he’s much older, your parents will kill you, you’re fucked. But you push all your fears away when he gently helps you get back in the water and sets you on his lap.

Straddling him, you look into his eyes. You’re feeling a myriad of emotions but the brightest one makes your heart sing - you finally feel like yourself, confident, free, happy.

“Thank you,” you whisper with a smile, grateful for the pleasure but also for the self assurance he gave you.

“Thank you, sweetheart.” He returns your smile with the warmest grin and pulls you into his embrace before kissing you. His big arms envelop your torso as you melt against his chest.

His cock twitches between your bodies and the fire in your core ignites with a new force.

“I want you inside,” you whisper, nuzzling his neck.

“Oh, darling… I wish for nothing more but … I’m afraid to hurt you.”

You sit up straight and drop your gaze into the water. His cock looks painfully hard and huge and you take a sharp breath, imagining it piercing you.

“I wanna try,” you say with confidence.

He searches for any doubt in your eyes again and then nods. Joel helps you to stand on your knees in the bath, holding you steady with his hand on your hip, the other holding his cock at the base.

“Start slowly and if it hurts… stop any second, ok?”

You agree, positioning yourself right above his waiting cock and begin lowering your hips.

You feel his hot tip bump into your clit and, feeling a burst of pleasure, you grind against it a few times. You both moan at the sensation and Joel tightens his grip on your body.

His handsome face twisted in pleasure might be the most beautiful thing you’ve seen. You don’t tear your eyes off him, wishing the image got sealed in your memory forever.

You shift a little, nudge your hole with his fat head and start sinking on his throbbing member.

He’s big. Really big.

You widen your eyes as his length parts your folds and slides inside you, surprisingly easily thanks to your recent orgasm.

Joel leans back against the tub and watches your pussy swallow him in the water, his brows furrowed, half-lidded eyes set on the place where you two are slowly joining.

You lower yourself further as your walls spread, trying to accommodate his member inside you. It hurts a little but you’re so aroused you hardly notice it.

Joel moans when you’re finally flush with him, his cock filling your wet heat perfectly.

“Fuck, ohhh, fuck… I’m sorry for all the cursing, honey, but your pussy feels fucking incredible.”

You smile at the praise and clench around him making him squeeze his eyes shut.

“You’re not a virgin, are you?” he asks with his eyes still closed.

You shake your head, but hastily add ‘no’, realizing he can’t see you.

“I’ve had a boyfriend. But he dumped me pretty quickly.”

He looks at you, brows furrowed, as he hears a slight sadness in your voice.

“His loss, sweetheart,” he says, gently taking your neck between his palms.

His gaze slides down your body to your pussy.

“Hnggg, you’re so tight.”

“Sorry. “

“What? No, it’s .. Gosh, I can’t think straight when you …look like this, wrapped around my cock. I’m in heaven.”

His warm hand rises to your face and he cups your heated cheek. You nuzzle into it smiling against his palm. Then you move your face a little and when you feel his thumb at your lips you part them and take it into your mouth.

His cock throbs deliciously inside you, and he moans as your tongue swirls over his thick finger.

“Oh my god, you naughty thing. You’re going to be the death of me.”

You smile around his finger and roll your hips a little. You both almost scream at the sensation. His thumb slips out of your open mouth as a wave of pleasure rushes through you. You seem to feel his cock everywhere. You can’t stop now, not with the way his thick length massages your pussy on the inside, sending bolts of ecstasy through your body.

You start fucking yourself on his stiff cock and you both fill the room with groans and whimpers, adding them to the soft splashing of the tub water.

He tilts his head back and squeezes his eyes shut while you feel another climax building.

“Oh, Professor,” you moan and he groans, clenching his teeth,

“Don’t.”

“What?” You ask and bite your lip, seeing that he’s deep in the pits of lust just like you are.

“Because I won’t let you stop calling me that,” he groans and your heart sings at the implication of you two doing it again in the future.

Not giving him any respite you breathe out, “It feels so good, Professor,” and start bouncing on his throbbing cock.

Joel moans but then holds you down.

“Baby, are you on the pill? I can’t… I’m gonna come soon.”

“No,” you reply through panting and he furrows his brows,

“Shit… not sure I have condoms,” he says, his eyes darting between yours. He clears his throat and adds, “I haven’t been with anyone for …some time now.”

You feel like he wants to apologize and you shut him up with a kiss.

“It’s ok. I’ll get Plan B. I want…want it inside me,” you whisper against his lips and sit up, starting to move again. You roll your hips, feeling your clit rub against his soft belly, and whimpers escape your parted lips again and again.

“Fuck, look at you,” he mumbles, watching your body slowly move on him. He’s almost drooling as his palm slides from your neck to your chest, over the swells of your breasts, brushing against your erect nipples, caressing the soft skin of your belly. He dips his hand in the water and presses it to a lump right over your mound and moans,

“Oh, fuck, I can feel my cock right here… do you feel me deep, baby? Tell me.”

“Yes, Professor,”

“Shit, I’m not gonna last, gonna fill you up.”

Looking down, you see it, the bulge in your belly moving up and down, his cock inside you stretching your skin.

With a loud moan, you clench around him and it sends a chain reaction making your pussy vibrate and contract, as another climax starts shaking your body.

“Yeah, baby, just like that… squeeze my fat cock, my good fucking girl.”

Not being able to hold any longer, Joel erupts inside your core, jets of cum spurting against your walls. You feel hot from the water and his heated body and now there’s warmth inside you too, your pussy’s getting filled with him.

You’re fucking yourself on his exploding cock while he’s sucking on your neck, and then he holds you so tight, it gets difficult to breathe. Every cell in your body is screaming with pleasure and you wish this moment never passed, he was inside you forever, holding you close.

When you both feel your climaxes subside, Joel leans back against the wall and pulls you to lie on his chest. You stay like this for a few minutes, plugged by his cock and full of his seed. You breathe in the scent of his skin, your hands on his chest as he rocks you like a big strong wave, slowly breathing in and out. You feel an immense affection towards him, and your throat gets squeezed with upcoming tears. You try to hide them from him but when you sniff he gently cups your cheek and makes you look at him.

“Are you hurt? Did I hurt you?” he asks, looking you over with worry in his gaze.

“No, I’m just… I’m just happy. I’m sorry.”

You smile at each other until he takes your face in his big hands and plants kisses on your eyes, cheeks, nose, chin, lips. You giggle when his facial hair tickles your delicate skin and he laughs with you.

Your bodies relaxed, hunger satiated, you stay in the bath for a few more minutes while he’s pouring water with his hands over your shoulders to keep you warm.

When the temperature lowers, he gets out of the tub and brings you a big fluffy towel while you shamelessly watch him move naked and wet around the bathroom. He helps you to get up and you bite your lip when his cock twitches at the sight of your body on display for him. He clears his throat and starts gently drying your skin. The memory takes you back to him drying you in his living room, before you crossed the line with him and you marvel how much changed between now and then.

You feel happy for the first time in a long time but also scared of what happens next. What if he goes back to being just your tutor, what if he doesn’t want to see you at all, what if your parents find out… The thoughts rush through your mind and he reads your face again and asks, “What is it, sweetheart?”

You shake your head, driving away your fears. Joel wraps you in the towel and you gasp when he lifts you. He laughs, carrying you to his bedroom, and then lowers you gently on the bed.

“Get under the duvet, sweetheart.”

You listen to him and get comfortable in his bed. The sheets smell of him and you can’t help but gush again. He brings your clothes and you sit up reaching for them so you could put them on but he stops you.

“Stay here. I’ll go get you the pill,” he says and makes you lie back down. After getting dressed in a black t-shirt and jeans, Joel tucks you in and kisses you gently before leaving.

You hear his car drive off and fall into the comfort of his bed. You close your eyes for a second suddenly feeling tired.

You wake up from soft kisses to your forehead, cheeks, lips.

“I hate to wake you up, honey, but your parents are worried.”

You sit up rubbing your eyes and holding the duvet over your naked breasts. You see the pill and a glass of water on the nightstand and take it.

“They called?” You ask, swallowing Plan B.

“Yes, I told them you needed to do some extra exercises.”

You giggle but he looks upset. Your fears come back again.

“You regret it,” you whisper, as your eyes well up with tears.

In a second you’re in his big arms and he whispers against your cheek,

“Never, baby. I don’t. But I can’t help but feel guilty. I should know better. I feel like I’m robbing you of your time. You should be someone young, someone who can give you more.”

You search for his eyes and take his face in your hands.

“No, I don’t want anyone else. I want… I need you.”

You kiss him and pull him to lie over you on the bed. You’re making out holding each other close. The rain has stopped and you can hear birds chirping outside through an open window.

“Fuck.. I need to go,” you whine, parting from Joel and reaching for your clothes at the foot of the bed.

“Language, young lady,” he scolds you with a smirk. You bite your lip and purr with a sultry tone, “Sorry, Professor.”

You love how this word makes him shiver with arousal now.

He adjusts himself, cursing under his breath and his dark eyes are watching you while you’re giving him a little show while putting on your clothes - gliding your hands over your body, slowly slipping into your panties and bra. When you slide your arms into your already dry blouse, he gets up to button it up for you. Soon your lips gravitate towards each other and it takes a lot from you to part from him again.

You go downstairs and Joel offers to drive you home but you politely refuse.

“I’ll walk. I love the smell of the air after rain,” you smile ready to leave, standing at the door, “besides someone told me to enjoy myself more so I’m gonna follow his advice.”

You smile at each other and he gives you a farewell kiss, hugging you, before whispering in your ear, “My sweet girl. Thank you.”

You look deeply into his eyes and ask,

“See you on Thursday?”

“Yes, but you’re going to study.” Your widened sad eyes make him chuckle as he adds, “Among other things.”

You beam at him, peck his lips and walk out of the door, feeling wings behind your back.

*****

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Good Girl extra || Masterlist

Tag list: @milla-frenchy @harriedandharassed @survivingandenduring @missannwinchester @iamasaddie @nervousmumbling @bbyanarchist @stevie75 @puduvallee @auteurdelabre @mountainsandmayhem @senoratess @flamingochick55 @theoraekenslover @schnarfer @littlemisspascal

You tell yourself that it’s Joel’s fault. He is the one that started this stalking game, after all, so he is the only one to blame when you shove both soup containers in your bag and casually strolls by the new-ish apartment complex at the edge of town— You’re not certain this is where he moved into but it seems like the obvious choice, most of the condos are still empty because nobody really wants to move to your town and the people already living in it don’t really want to move out of the houses they’ve been living in for decades. You tell yourself that you’re not staking, that you’re going just a little crazy because your period is late and you’ve never had to deal with that before and you’re hormonal and all that bullshit people say when they want to demean a woman’s actions.

Truth is, you miss his steady odd presence, and Tommy’s words about being one of ‘Joel’s people’ has been stuck in your mind ever since. His truck isn’t parked anywhere in the small parking lot of the condo complex and you tell yourself that it’s fine, it doesn’t necessarily mean anything. He could be at work, or maybe Tommy left with his truck, and a myriad of other reasons as to why Joel wouldn’t be home at seven pm on a Thursday. 

Tommy had said Joel was indisposed. Maybe he’s at the local clinic, getting treatment for whatever ailed him. So, on your way back home, you walk past the clinic just in case. His truck isn’t there either, and you try to tell yourself that this is a good thing. Maybe Joel skipped town. Maybe he got mauled by the wolf and Tommy and Sarah left and you didn’t hear anything about it because you haven’t watched the news since they announced they’d be hunting down your wolf. 

Maybe he is hiding, because you told the black wolf that he should.

When you finally get home it’s close to 9 pm and the streets are entirely empty, the lamp post near your driveway flickering, cicadas screaming from the woods even though it’s not warm enough for them to be making so much noise. The full moon is high in the sky, so bright it bathes your living room with its pale, silvery light. 

There is a dark mass in the middle of your living room. It looks like a small nest, animal pelts and thick blankets and pillows arranged in a circle formation; your couch has been pushed back along with your coffee table, the nest placed above your rug, just under the TV. The entire room smells of pine trees and something warmer, muskier and comforting that makes you think of the inside of Joel’s truck. You pause, front door still open, half expecting Joel to pop out from somewhere but there is no one other than you; you have no idea how he got in, every window closed and the back door properly locked and for a ludicrous moment you think that, maybe, he knows about the spare key you keep on your back porch. It’s probably too easy to find but you’ve kept it there for the past two years, after one too many times locking yourself out of the house, and you’ve never had any trouble with it until now. 

You don’t take away the key.

Instead you simply shut your curtains, turn on the TV and lay down in the nest: It’s warm and comfortable and smells like him. It lulls you into a state of half sleep, the uncomfortable cramps and lower back pains you’ve been getting for the past week or so melting away as if you were wearing a heating pad. You stay there in your work clothes for over an hour, too tired to get up and shower until your hungry stomach protests so loud you drag yourself into the kitchen. You know there’s leftover green beans casserole that your grandmother made and, while it doesn’t taste much of anything, you don’t really have the strength to cook anything else. 

An entire tray of lasagna awaits you inside your fridge. It’s covered in plastic wrap and in a deep dish you know is not yours but that is not the only thing that calls out to your eyes: The fridge is full. Orange juice and milk and little containers of sliced figs and peaches, small round packets of Baybel cheese and yogurt cups and soft drinks. The freezer is packed with glass containers of homemade meals, all of them labeled with best by dates and small descriptions of what is inside— Steaks, roasted vegetables, all sorts of rice and pasta and some shit you’ll have to Google to figure out what it is.

He just got a weird way of takin’ care of his people. The whole ordeal makes you want to cry. You don’t remember the last time anyone did anything for you, and you certainly don't think anyone has ever gone through such lengths— Your grandmother used to cook, sure, but feeding you was more a byproduct of her having to feed herself than actual concern for whether or not you were healthy. You eat the lasagna, which you presume it’s what he wants you to eat first considering it is the only meal not frozen, and then you take a hot shower and lay down on your nest, a rerun of Full House playing on TV that you’re too tired to pay any attention to.

Your period finally comes at some point throughout the night and you drag yourself out of the nest, terrified that you might’ve stained it. Everything is clean and in order, however, so you just put a pad in place before climbing back into the nest— From the living room window you think you catch a pair of glowing eyes in between the trees but it’s already gone by the time you crane your neck to get a proper look.

You think someone would arrest you for loitering with how much time you spend on your Sunday afternoon prowling the grocery store parking lot. Joel isn’t at church that morning so, after service, you walk to the only grocery store in town that sells the brand of frozen raspberries you found in your freezer— The fancy, chocolate-covered kind that you had never eaten before because of how expensive it is and that almost made you cry when you first tasted it. You tell yourself that you’re going in because you just want to check if there are any sales on the dog treats you got for the wolf but, in the end, there’s no need. Joel walks through the doors just as you’re gathering the courage to go inside, pushing his cart with one hand and holding his phone to his ear with the other. 

The only tell he gives to make you think he’s noticed you is the way his chest puffs a little, coming to his full height as he walks towards his truck, mumbling something that sounds angry into his phone. You jog to catch up to his long strides, squeezing yourself between Joel and the truck before he can start loading up with his bags. 

“I gotta go.” He says to the phone, one brow quirked at you as he pockets it. 

“What the fuck is going on?”

Joel maneuvers around you, placing the grocery bags in the bed of his truck with the sort of nonchalance that makes it seem like you’re talking about the weather but you can see how his lips tighten into a stern line. 

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Cut the shit, Joel. Showing up to my doorstep with food and period advice is creepy enough, but breaking into my house? The weird little nest and the food in my fridge—” You blink, a thought striking you for the first time. “And the bear skin. That was you too, right?” 

You feel a little silly at how long it’s taken you to figure that out, because it makes a lot more sense than assuming the wolf had brought it to you— Which had been your first thought and, now that there is a more plausible explanation, you’re more than a little embarrassed.

He shrugs, not answering at first, unloading his groceries with care as you tap your foot and puff. Joel walks the cart to its proper location before he comes back and opens the passenger door. You’re floored when he motions for you to get in, your fingers tightening into fists to keep yourself from shoving at his chest— His broad, thick-looking chest. 

“Get in, ‘m drivin’ you home.”

“I’m not going anywhere with you.” You hiss through clenched teeth. “Now answer me.”

“It’s goin’ to rain, you’ll catch a cold walkin’ home.” Joel looks up to the sky, weariness on his face as he stares at the heavy dark clouds. “Get in.”

“Fuck you.”

“Get in the truck.” 

Your body moves on its own even as you think that you really, really shouldn’t be getting anywhere near his car. But it’s almost as if you can’t control yourself, as if the need to follow through with his orders has hijacked the logical part of your brain. Joel helps you inside, leaning a little too close as he clicks your seatbelt into place before he settles on the driver’s seat. 

There is something very wrong. It’s as if you’re not driving your own body, as if with those four words Joel has taken a hold of every muscle, tendon, sinew and bone inside of you. You’re on the verge of tears, your stomach tight and your entire body feels like it’s been dunked inside an ice bath but Joel simply turns the radio on and drives away. 

“What did you do to me?” This time, instead of angry, your voice sounds every bit as scared as you feel. 

“You’re stubborn.” Joel responds but he’s a little pale, his eyes a little too wide as he, too, is afraid. “I’m sorry, but I can’t have you gettin’ sick.” 

“Why? Why are you doing this?” You turn to face him, tears blurring your vision and Joel turns to stare at you for so long you think he might crash but his eyes fly back to the street just in time. “The gifts and the stalking me at work and— And the food? It’s fucking weird, man.”

Joel doesn’t answer for a long time, his fingers tightening and then relaxing over the steering wheel exactly nine times before he finally speaks up. 

“You told me you couldn’t afford the steak. You can’t take proper care of yourself, but I can.”

Your breath stutters, chin wobbling as you think back to the wolf, the same eyes and the scar and the fucking Pup-peroni that you bought on discount. You click off the seatbelt and, before Joel can protest, you open the truck’s door and throw yourself onto the busy street.

You wake up to dark wooden ceilings and voices arguing down the hall. You recognize Joel’s voice right away but it takes you a moment to place the other man’s voice as Tommy. Or at least you think it might be him, based on how thick his accent is— Thicker than Joel’s, and even his is a lot harsher than anything you’ve ever heard. 

You sit up from the bed you’re laying on and your head spins, stomach churning at the movement. Your arm burns just a little, and there is a thick white cloth wrapped around your forearm— You know it is hiding a nasty case of road burn, had seen the strip of skin that peeled from your forearm as you rolled onto the hot pavement just before your head hit the curb. You’re surprised that your head isn’t hurting considering how hard the blow to your temple was and when you touch the side of your face it’s just slightly tender, like an old bruise that is already half healed.

You know you’re in Joel’s bedroom without needing to be told— The furniture is old but well maintained, dark tones and little wooden trinkets spread on top of the dresser intermixed with a couple picture frames. There is a mirror and a leather chair in one corner of the room, a dark blue flannel thrown over it. But, most of all, the room smells like him. Like the inside of his truck and the nest he made in your living room, warm and woodsy and so comforting you’re tempted to lay back down onto the red comforter.

He walks into the room before you can do something you’ll regret, giving the door a single knock before he comes inside. 

“Am I kidnapped?” You ask, your voice holding more tiredness than anger. You’re not as scared as you ought to be, you belatedly realize— Mostly you’re just exhausted, and the scent of Joel’s bed is calling to you like a siren’s song. 

“No, of course not.” He frowns as if the idea is preposterous, and you hear something like ‘fuckin’ told ya!’ coming from Tommy somewhere down the hall. “You got hurt, I needed to take you somewhere you could rest. I’ll drive you home whenever you want.”

You want to say you want to leave right now, but the words don’t really come out and Joel gives you a small smile as if he knows exactly why. “Supper’s almost ready. Eat with us and then I’ll take you home.” 

“Okay.” The word is barely a whisper before you’re laying back down. Joel nods, once, but you can see the satisfaction on his face. You don’t think you can sleep, considering the weight and meaning of Joel’s words before you jumped out of the car but his smell envelops you like a hug, the comforter pulled all the way up to your nose and you’re unconscious before you can think about how the only living being that is supposed to know the truth about your financial situation is the killer wolf.

Supper is a quiet affair for the most part. Joel serves you and Sarah with a plate of smoked brisket, cornbread and roasted vegetables— Tommy skips the vegetables, shoving his brisket slices inside the cornbread, which Sarah tries to imitate and ends up with crumbled cornbread and shredded meat on the ground. You keep your eyes on your plate but your chest warms with Joel’s low laughter, the soft tilt of his voice as he speaks with the little girl. He calls her pup again and, while you had first thought it to be just a petname, the word brings dread to your stomach now. 

“Y’know, I reckon you would’a run screamin’ by now.” Tommy speaks over Sarah’s soft babble and you snap your head towards him. He has an easy grin on his lips but you see the worry in the scrunch of his brows. 

“I tried,” You reply in a voice that sounds like your own but doesn’t feel like it. You raise your arm a little bit, motioning to the bandage. “Didn’t work.”

Tommy barks out a laugh and from the corner of your eyes you can see Joel tense, his attention now on the both of you. 

“Funny girl.” Tommy points at you with his beer bottle. “I like it.” 

It’s not a joke and, by the pained look on Joel’s face, he knows you mean it. You go back to staring at your plate, shoulders drawn tight, and finish your meal in silence. 

True to his word, Joel drives you home as soon as your plate is cleared. He brings Sarah with him and you think it’s more for your benefit than anything else, her squeaky toy in the backseat filling up the heavy silence. Joel doesn’t live in the apartment complex as you expected, but in a two story home with a craftsman architecture that you had never seen before because of how deep into the woods it is, with a twenty-five minutes drive through gravel and dirt just to hit the main road and then another forty minutes before he parks in front of your house. 

“At what time do you drop off from work tomorrow?” He asks as you struggle to take off your seatbelt, your fingers shaking so badly you can barely unclick it. 

“Fuck you.” You say, only then realizing you probably shouldn’t curse in front of the child but Joel doesn’t seem bothered by it. He just hums, his fingers tapping repeatedly against the steering wheel. 

“I’m workin’ at the Johnson’s house until four, then I’ll stop by the pharmacy and pick you up. Not safe for ya to keep walkin’ around by yourself.”

You don’t want to answer him, already climbing out of the truck, but his words make you see red. 

“And why is that, Joel? Because I might run into the wolf that’s been murdering people?”

His upper lip curls into a snarl for a brief moment before his face slacks back into nothingness. 

“Animals gotta eat, darlin’. ‘S how nature works.” 

“I hope the hunters shoot you dead.” You hiss, slamming the truck’s door with a lot more force than necessary before stomping all the way to your front door.

The injuries are all almost gone. It’s been, at most, twelve hours since you jumped out of Joel’s moving car but the bump on your temple is entirely gone, replaced with a bruise that is already starting to fade back into your normal skin tone and the road burn on your arm — the one you watched the flesh being ripped off of — is tender and slightly discolored but your skin is perfectly mended together as if the injury had happened weeks ago, not just hours. You stare at yourself in the mirror for so long the shower runs cold even before you get in but it feels like the sort of penance that you deserve.

You’re pretty sure you blew it. Life goes on as it usually does, but without Joel’s presence: The wolf’s body count keeps stacking, townsfolk keep trying to hunt it down with no success, but you don’t see him anymore. Not at church, not at the grocery store, not in the woods. 

You feel like you’re going crazy, your entire body craving him as if a piece of your very soul is gone. Your house doesn’t smell like him anymore, Jenny moves on to different gossip, the food in your fridge dwindles back to frozen mac and cheese and discounted candy. You drink and smoke more often, coming in late for work so often that you know you’re on the verge of getting fired and you really, really can’t afford that but you also can’t find it in yourself to care.

The timing with Céline’s call is abhorrently terrible. You’re high and just a little tipsy when your phone lights up late at night as you try to bury yourself in a pathetic attempt of imitating the nest Joel made for you— It’s not as comfortable or as calming, doesn’t have his scent and the pillows aren’t stacked as comfortably as he made them and it somehow only makes you feel worse. You almost don’t pick up, but it’s been so long that you’ve seen your best friend’s face and you’re so, so alone. 

Céline smiles bright and wide when you finally pick up the FaceTime call, her eyelids covered in glitter and, from the reflection of the mirror behind her, you can see her fiancé skipping from one side of the room to the other, halfway through putting on a sparkling drag outfit. You try to imitate her smile but it feels like a cheap copy of it, much like the nest you’re on. Céline’s smile wavers a little when she sees you and you can only guess what she’s looking at: Your hair a mess, deep-set bags underneath your bloodshot eyes, the cracked skin of your lips where you’ve been picking at for days now. To her benefit, though, the concern on her face never swerves into pity. 

“How are you?” 

You’re not sure how to answer. I’m great! You think of saying, The man I’m in love with is a flesh-eating monster that has been wiping out junkies and racist from our town! Oh, by the way, he also ate the pedophile that almost ruined my life and he’s been breaking into my house to make sure I don’t starve to death! Isn’t that sweet?

You know Céline is understanding, but even she would send you to a mental hospital for that. Your lips quiver, and you shrug, trying to steer the conversation towards the fishnets that you can see her fiancé trying to squeeze into from the mirror but Céline has always been smart — too smart, which is why she skipped town and you didn’t. It’s why she’s going to drag shows with her fiancé and living in a beautiful high rise apartment in Jackson and it’s why she’s going to become a very successful doctor while you’re rotting away in the small town you were born in, with a dead end job, no prospect of ever getting a better life and a stalker that turns into a giant people-eating wolf and even he gave up on you. 

It feels like a whole new level of pathetic.

Still, somewhere between talks of drag shows and Céline’s exhaustion from her residency at a trauma center, you tell her about Joel. You don’t tell her that he all but admitted to being a werewolf, but you tell her about the break-ins and the homemade meals — making sure to hide the fact that he’d done it because you couldn’t afford groceries — and, in the end, it slips out from your mouth that you think he’s the one killing people. It feels good to admit it, even if it’s a censured version of the truth, the admission lifting a weight from your shoulders.

“I thought it was an animal attack.” Céline frowns at that and you bite down on your already chewed up bottom lip. 

“That’s what they’re saying, but…” You shrug, your brain rummaging for a reason to hang up. “I don’t know, Cél. Things are weird right now. Maybe I’m just freaking out.”

“Send me an e-mail with all of this.” She says, pragmatic as ever. “Detail every break in and the creepy things he’s doing. If anything happens, we’re going to need proof it was him.”

“If I end up on the evening news mauled by a wolf, you mean?”

“You’re not going to die.” She says but you can see the concerned look she exchanges off camera with her fiancé. “Maybe you should come spend a few days in Jackson with me. It’ll do you good to get some fresh air and meet some new people.”

You snort, because you could never afford a trip like that; you don’t tell her that, though, choosing the next best excuse. “I’d get fired.”

“Use your PTO.” Céline insists. “I can ask my dad to let you borrow one of the cars.”

You promise you’ll think about it, but you already know the answer is no— Not just because it seems crazy to take a vacation when you can barely afford food, but because the idea of being away from Joel makes your stomach tighten.

Three more people die in the following week: A hunter that had been in the woods searching for the animal, a nurse that worked the nightshift at the local clinic and a teenager that had been spraypainting the buildings by the train tracks. 

The teenager changes things— His body is not as mangled as the others and you hear it through the grapevine that it’s because one of the hunters managed to interrupt the animal halfway through feeding. The hunter talks about a big grey wolf, smaller than a bear but not by much, and you’re seething that people now believe what you’ve been telling them for months. He doesn’t kill the wolf, says the animal was too fast and far more intelligent than other wolves he’s encountered before and that anger you’re feeling turns into absolute dread.

The reward for the wolf’s head doubles, and you find yourself sitting on your back porch almost every night, collar and leash in hands, just in case. 

But you don’t see him, and you don’t hear his howls.

Your next PMS hits you like a freight truck. You barely notice almost a month has gone by until you’re crying in pain, lightheaded and shaking as you get out of bed to go to work. You’re just about to leave your house, at exactly eight-fifteen, when you notice Joel’s truck parked in your driveway. You don’t even hesitate to step outside, your heart beating wildly in your chest and the weight of the disappointment in your face when you see Tommy in the driver’s seat is something you can barely hide. He smirks, just a little, as if he can see right through you. 

“ ‘M driving you to work.” He says, head poking out of the window. “Joel’s orders.” 

“He has some balls, thinking he can boss me around after an entire month of radio silence.” You say, your gut heating up with anger but you climb into the truck anyway, slamming the door so hard it makes the windows shake. Tommy on his part seems unfazed by your little outburst. He drives carefully, slow but not enough to make you worry about being late; your fingers tap against your thighs and, for a moment, you think about throwing yourself out of the car yet again. 

“How did he do it?” You ask before you can lose your courage. “The road burn on my arm was pretty much healed by the time I got home that day. Not even a scar.” 

Only after you ask the question do you realize that, maybe, Tommy didn’t know about his brother’s condition— But if you were right about it, and apparently you were right about a lot of crazy shit lately, Tommy had the condition himself. A black wolf, smaller than his brother, that pushed and prodded you into safety one dark night. 

“Saliva.” He answers as if it’s nothing, turning on the blinker before turning the car into the pharmacy’s parking lot. “It’s healin’ for our… Partners.” 

The handful of words only makes your head spin and raises a thousand different questions. “He… He just licked my arm? What do you mean partner? Where is he?”

“The wolf did.” Tommy answers, his eyes bouncing from your face to the windshield. It’s the first time you hear someone speaking about it so openly and it gives you whiplash, not really expecting Tommy to be so blunt about it. “It’s not— The abilities are different when he’s human and when he’s not. And he didn’t come pick you up ‘cause he’s indisposed.”

He doesn’t answer the partner thing but the use of that same damned word that made you so worried the first time around has you into a different direction. 

“What the fuck does that even mean? The full moon comes around and suddenly he’s too cuckoo to see me?”

Tommy chuckles. “It’s a certain cycle that has him goin’ cuckoo, ‘lright, but it ain’t the moon one.”

The looks he gives you makes your face burn so much it borders on painful. “Are you fucking—”

“You’re going to be late.” He interrupts you, pointing to the store with his chin. “I’ll pick you up after your shift. Can’t answer much more, though. Joel will explain it all once he can be ‘round you again.”

Your manager has to lecture you twice during the day which is not something that happens often. Despite how miserable you are with this job and your life in general you try to be a good employee because you need it; you’re too distracted, though, Tommy’s words swirling around your head and making you more confused and more nervous than before. 

You’re a little giddy, too, the word partner making its way to the forefront of your mind even as you try to distract yourself, trying your best not to focus too much on that. You find yourself drawing bits and pieces of the wolf on the back of receipts all day long, nothing but rough sketches, nothing fully formed or shaped enough to let other people recognize but you know.

You leave work half an hour early, giving your manager an excuse of a doctor’s appointment that doesn’t exist but you manage to avoid Tommy altogether, instead taking a bus with a bit of pocket change that you swiped from the pharmacy’s register during Jenny’s lunch break. The bus takes you to the next town over in a trip that is just a little under forty minutes and you find yourself in the local church with just a few minutes to spare before the 6pm mass. 

In all truth, you’re not sure why you gravitate towards the church, sitting on one of the very end pews. You don’t enjoy going to church; maybe you did at some point as a kid, when you could spend your Sunday mornings with your friends running amuck because the nun that handled Sunday school had never been able to reign any of the children, but that’s far in the past. 

Nowadays, you only attend because your grandmother would never let you live it down if you didn’t but there is something peaceful about it this time around, the golden sun shining through the windows as people slowly start to fill the pews at the front— There’s not a lot of folks this time in the day, mostly old ladies like your grandmother that seem to live more inside the chapel than outside of it. 

The sermon is about the story of King David and Bathsheba, and the priest goes on and on about the dangers of lust and the deadly consequences that came from it, how King David had to lie and hide and eventually order the death of Bathsheba’s husband to hide her pregnancy— You think it’s funny to hear such a sex negative story in a room that is basically filled with old ladies that probably haven’t slept with anyone since the Reagan administration but it’s the consequences part that hits you the most. How one bad decision spiraled into the death of an innocent man, how your life can change because of one small action. 

Your life has been a string of bad decisions, one after another, that has led you to this very moment. 

You leave the church before the end of the sermon, feeling somehow even worse than you did before.

Joel is at your front door by the time you get home — close to eight pm —, pacing from one side of your porch to the other, hands behind his back.

“You’re okay.” He says, relief coating his tone as he crosses the yard in just a couple large steps, engulfing you in a bear hug before your brain can catch up to it. Your arms hang limp beside you for just a second before they come up to wrap around him— The action is instinctual, something your body does before your brain can decide whether or not it’s a good idea. Joel’s chest is warm, his soft tummy pushing against you as he holds you close, your nose smushing into his sternum. He sniffs at you, nosing the side of your head and behind your ear and down your neck, inhaling deep and fast; the action tickles and you giggle, squirming as Joel tightens his grip on you. 

Joel’s chest rumbles and, at first, you think it might be a silent laugh but you’re quick to understand that it’s not— It’s deeper, coming from the depths of his sternum and it’s more of a purr than anything else. The sound melts something inside of you, your eyes fluttering close and, for the first time in forever, you feel like there is nothing wrong with the world. 

You blink, trying to shake yourself from the fogginess of our brain, still unable to pull away from him. “Tommy said you’re not supposed to be here.”

“ ‘M not.” Joel responds, his blunt fingertips digging into the fat of your sides as he crowds over you, still nosing your neck. “But fuck— I was so worried.”

“I—” 

His teeth scrape against the soft skin of your collarbone and all thought flies through the window, the word you were about to say melting into a whine. Joel growls in response, maneuvering you so fast you can barely understand what he’s doing but one moment you’re standing on the grass as he folds himself over you and the next one your feet are being lifted from the ground.

“Inside.” He explains when you yelp. “Need’ta get you inside.” 

Joel’s kiss is, at the same time, exactly what you expect and nothing like what you expect at all. He pins you to the wall of your entryway, the door shut behind him, and he devours your mouth like a man starved. His hands knead and tug at every bit of skin he can reach, fingers flexing against you as if he can’t believe you’re real and all you can do is take it, your own hands digging into the soft curls at the nape of his neck. 

Your brain only seems to catch up with your actions when your leg is already hiked up to Joel’s waist, your other foot barely touching the ground— You can feel Joel’s hardness pressing against your core, his teeth nipping against your jawline. He ruts slowly against you, the seam of his jeans catching on your clit every single time.

“Joel—”

“Fuck, you’re so wet.” He mumbles, his voice low and rough, wrecked in a way you haven’t heard before. “I can smell it— So damn sweet.”

“Joel—” You try again, this time splaying your hands on his chest, trying to push him away even though all you want is to fall to your knees. “We shouldn’t.” 

“I’m sorry—” A whine rips through his throat but Joel pulls his hips away immediately, his hands falling to your waist, his forehead on your shoulder. “I— Fuck, this— This is why— I—” 

His chest rumbles underneath your fingertips before he pulls away entirely. His pupils are blown wide, hair a mess from where you tugged, his neck and face flushed; you don’t look down, keeping your eyes away from the erection straining his jeans even as he adjusts himself, trembling fingers running through his hair. Joel licks his lips, once, before he turns around and bolts through the front door into the night.

Neither your fingers or your toys are enough to get you off, and when you’re still wet and aching after three orgasms you drag yourself to the shower and try again with the shower head, something you hadn’t done since you were a teenager still discovering your body; you pass out eventually, exhausted and unsatisfied, your hands still toying with your nipples as you burrow yourself under the covers. 

Joel texts you the next morning. You’ve never given him your phone number but considering how many times he’s been inside your house without your knowledge you can’t say you’re surprised that he found it out somehow. 

Good morning. Tommy is asking if you’ll allow him to drive you to and from work today. – Joel. 

You giggle at the formality of the text, every punctuation and upper case in its proper place, and it makes him seem older than he really is. 

nope

You don’t ask him where he got your number from, or tell him to lose it or stay away or call him a creep like you think you should. It’s cute, almost, that he’s concerned about you like that. 

Do you know how to drive? – Joel.