Ahhh! I Loved This So Much!!!

Ahhh! I loved this so much!!! 😍😍😍😍

The Laredo Javi gifs made me do this. I was powerless against them.

Main Masterlist

The Secret Place

Pairing: Javier Peña x best friend f!reader

Rating/Warnings: E - 18+ only! Post S3 Javi, Laredo, no age gap, friends to lovers to no contact to friends and lovers like no time ever passed, filthy fluffy smut, Chucho being the best and also a troublemaker, brief mentions of narcos and sex workers (Javi uses the word whores, paraphrasing the people who bother him about Colombia), drinking questionable whiskey, oral (f and a tiny bit of m receiving), boob in mouth action, PIV with a condom *and* on the pill good job guys, sex in an old treehouse probably not a great idea irl. Reader is described as having dark, prominent nipples and genitalia, grown out black pubic hair, heavy hanging breasts, thick dimpled thighs and a fleshy waist and belly. Her hair (on her head) is not described, nor is her skin tone (she does not blush or redden). Both Javi and reader speak Spanish, which is in italics.

———————————————————————————

“Javier Peña. Long time. Back for good?” You reached out for a friendly handshake.

“Nah, for evil.” He winked, holding your hand in his a little more firmly, a little bit longer than he would anybody else’s. You acknowledged it with a fond squeeze, undetectable to curious eyes.

“Sounds about right. Catching up with everybody?”

“Trying to avoid it.”

You laughed, hand on your hip. “No surprise there either. Well, I just came over to your table to ask the handsomest man at the wedding for a dance.” You smirked.

“I’m not sure that’s me, cariño,” Javi said, eyebrow quirked and jaw tensing skeptically.

“Never said it was, Javi. I was talking about Chucho.” It was your turn to wink.

He huffed out his nostrils and shook his head with a smile as you turned to his father with outstretched arms, yelling, “Take me for a spin, viejo! Let’s remind your boy where he got all those smooth moves.”

“He won’t know what hit him, mija,” Chucho laughed, standing to take your hands. “Watch my beer, Javier.”

“You got it, Pop.” He nodded at the older man, whose eyes were crinkled shut in laughter at the way you twirled onto the dance floor and beckoned to him. Javier nursed his own drink, dark eyes following you under heavy lids as you and Chucho spun around the floor.

After several songs, Chucho bowed out, making his way back to the table, and Javi lost track of you.

“You’ve still got it,” he murmured to his father around the lip of his beer bottle.

“Damn right!” he crowed. He took a long sip of his beer, looking out at the wedding reception, and sighed. “Listen, I know it’s been a long time, but—”

“—Pop, don’t.” Javier cut him off, shooting him a stern look.

Chucho raised his palm. “Let me finish, son. You know it was always her. I know it was always her. Hell, all of Laredo knows it was always her.” He stared intently at Javi’s face. “Folks weren’t as surprised as they acted when things went sideways with Lorraine. Doubt Lorraine was.”

“Yeah.” Javi looked at the table, ran his thumb along the label of the bottle, the condensation on the glass making the paper ball up and peel as he rubbed over it. “Everyone knew. I was an idiot, fucked it up.” He swallowed the dregs of his beer and stared through the empty brown glass, his own frowning distorted reflection wobbling back at him.

“You got that right,” Chucho chuckled, running a weathered hand along the brim of his white cowboy hat. “Was saying, mijo, it’s been years. Don’t you think you’ve punished yourself long enough?”

Javi scrubbed his hands down his face, careful not to muss his hair and ruin any of the photographs, incur the wrath of a coven of tías like he had at Danny’s wedding. “The shit I’ve done? A life sentence wouldn’t scratch the surface, Dad. Things change, life goes on. Looks like your dance partner left, anyway.”

“She sure did, pendejo!” Chucho laughed from deep in his belly. “Why the hell d’you think I’m talking to you about it now? Our girl fue al lugar secreto, she told me to tell you.”

Javi’s guts stuttered, and he tried to school his features into a convincingly stoic look. “The secret place, huh? Not sure I even remember where that was.” His eyes were pulled to the clock on the wall. 9:40.

“No manches, Javier. You know exactly where it is.” Javier avoided his gaze. Of course he knew exactly where it was.

Chucho turned to chat with a relative while Javi rolled his empty bottle on the tablecloth. Several songs played through, the party still boisterous. From across the dance floor, Javi locked eyes with Lorraine, who smiled brightly. She waved, and Javi groaned, feeling obligated to stand and cross to his ex would-have-been wife.

“Lorraine.”

“Javier. You look good.”

“Thanks. You too.”

“Oh gosh, you think so?” Lorraine tucked a lock of loose blonde hair behind her ear and flushed. “The kids make me feel so haggard sometimes. They sure keep me busy!”

Javier gave a half smile. “Sounds like it. I’m glad you, uh, got the life you wanted. I’m sorry, for… all of it.” He pursed his lips and glanced at the clock again. 9:57.

“Yeah, I know,” she nodded. “I forgave you a long time ago, Javi. Lord knows I wasn’t entirely innocent. And now I have Randy; I have the kids. It would’ve been wrong, the two of us.”

“Definitely,” Javi snorted, dimple deepening in his cheek. “Well, just… thought I’d say… something. You really do look good, Lorraine. I’m glad life’s treating you well.”

Lorraine smiled soft and a little bit sad. “Thank you. I hope you find what you’re looking for.”

Javi gave her a tilt of his chin in farewell as a blur of a child crashed into Lorraine’s legs before striding back to his table.

“Taking a piss, Pop,” he muttered to Chucho, who was still deep in conversation with whichever cousin. He clapped a hand to his father’s shoulder.

“Sure you are, son,” he replied, patting his son’s hand without looking back at him. “Dile que I owe her another dance. See you in the morning. I’m cooking breakfast.”

Javier rolled his eyes and bit back a reply, just squeezed gently and made his way out of the reception hall into the night. 10:10.

———

“Took you long enough, Peña.”

“Mierda. How the hell did we used to do this every day?” Javi grunted, swinging precariously on the old knotted rope as he clambered into the treehouse.

“For starters, we weren’t fucking old,” you laughed, taking a drag of your cigarette. You offered it to Javi as he pulled the last of his body through the hole in the floor and flipped the hatch shut, sending the hanging lantern swinging.

“Nah. Tryin’ the gum thing.” He flopped onto the wooden floorboards and tried to find a comfortable way to angle his wide frame in the small space. Their lugar secreto.

“¡No mames!”

“En serio.”

You spit on the floor and stubbed the cigarette into it. “Well shit. Good for you, Jav. Must’ve taken a lot of willpower — I don’t imagine you have any less need for vices now.” You grinned at him.

“Yeah, no fucking kidding,” he sighed. His fingers tapped on the ground, antsy.

“You’ve always been a stubborn asshole, though, so if anyone could do it, it’d be you,” you said with a cackle.

“Vete a la chingada,” Javier grumbled warmly.

“Quite the mouth you’ve got on you, Javi,” you tutted, turning to sit with your back against the opposite treehouse wall and stretching your legs out parallel to his.

“You know better than most how true that is,” he said, eyebrow quirking suggestively.

“Sucio,” you chided. “Glad to see some things haven’t changed.”

Javi smirked, sat silent. He let his head tip back against the wall, looked up at the stars through the open hole in the roof of the old treehouse. The wood there had rotted through years before the two of you found the place, when your necks and shoulders had ached from sunburns and monkey bars instead of tension and grief. Back then, before Laredo was haunted, you’d climbed up here and patched each other’s hurts with bandaids, hugs, shitty liquor, and eventually, after some years, soft touches, kisses, hot skin sticky and desperate against hot skin.

“You’re not gonna ask me about Colombia?” he said eventually, leveling his eyes back at you.

You shrugged. “Do you want to talk about Colombia?” you asked.

“No.”

“I figured as much. No, I’m not going to ask you about Colombia.” The treehouse was silent again.

“I came home, few years ago. Went back.” Javi said, eventually.

You hummed thoughtfully. “Why?”

He cracked his knuckles. “Got in some shit. DEA told me to leave. Then they asked me to come back. So I did.”

“You done now?” you asked simply.

“Yeah.”

“Feel like a hero?”

Javi gritted his teeth. “Feel like a piece of shit, usually.” He clenched his hands into fists, released them, repeated the action without looking up from the toes of his boots alongside your knees.

“Well, hey, at least you don’t look it,” you offered, and Javi couldn’t help but laugh. “You’re much better looking than you were in the 70s, even if your clothes haven’t changed.”

“Fuck you,” he snorted. “You didn’t seem to have any complaints back then.”

You scrunched your nose at him and stuck your tongue out. “I didn’t know any better back then. You’re not the only one who expanded their horizons, Peña.”

The smile slid from his face and he bit at his lip, a sneer creeping into his expression. “You too with the brothel shit, huh? Christ. All anybody fucking wants to talk about, what narcos I shot and what whores I fucked.”

“Did I say any of that, Javi? Jesus. Don’t try to pick a fight with me, it won’t work. I’m glad you were fucking around down there. I’m sure it was hell. Sounds like burying your traumas in warm pussy helped bring you back alive. I’m grateful for that.” You looked at him plainly, like it was the most obvious reaction in the world for you to have, like his confusion at your response was the strange thing.

“Besides,” you added, “I’m sure you treated them well. I know better than most, right?” You waggled your eyebrows at him and his frustration and surprise melted away, dripped out of his mind.

“So, I was memorable?”

“Stop fishing for compliments.” You whacked one of his boots with the back of your hand, and he tipped it back toward you, pushing at the hem of your skirt with his toe.

“You were memorable,” he said quietly.

When you glanced at him, moonlight brightening the piloncillo brown of his eyes, his expression was softer, less closed off. Echoes of a younger Javier, your playmate and closest friend and confidant and co-conspirator and lover, here in your secret space like he’d never left, never grown out of Laredo, never been hardened by the cruelties of the world.

Your Javi.

“So you definitely remember what we used to get up to in here, then?” you teased, reaching for a lidded crate shoved into the corner and pulling out an ancient bottle of whiskey.

Javi’s mustache twisted up at the corner. “I remember you were a handsy drunk,” he said, grabbing the bottle and twisting off the lid, taking a slow pull from the mouth of it and wincing. “God, this is awful.”

You laughed and took the bottle back from him, taking a sip of your own. “Beggars couldn’t be choosers! We didn’t have many options for sneaking liquor.” The whiskey warmth flowed through your body like bitter sunshine. “And handsy, hm? I don’t think I was usually the one to start anything.”

Javi pawed at the bottle, downing another gulp, and you watched his Adam’s apple slide down his taut, tanned throat. “Hm, maybe not,” he mused, rocking his jaw to the side and letting his eyes rake down your body. “But I always made sure you finished,” he grunted.

You grabbed the whiskey for a final slug and capped it, sliding it back against the wall before pressing yourself up to your knees. “Is that a habit you’re still holding onto, Peña?”

You leaned forward and placed your palms flat on the ground, crawling, partly seductively and partly pragmatically because you couldn’t stand upright in the treehouse, along the length of Javi’s legs. You knelt immediately next to him and reached out to smooth the red and blue plaid collar of his flannel, then cupped a hand to his cheek.

Instinctively, Javi turned into your touch, letting his eyes close for a second and giving a gentle kiss to the meat of your thumb. He looked back to you and let his face rest in the cradle of your palm.

“Still holding onto it. Held on to everything that had anything to do with you.” He worried at his plump lower lip with his teeth, then tongued at the plush cleft there.

You swung one leg over his lap and sat in a straddle across the tops of his thighs, denim of his jeans scratching against the bared skin under your dress.

“Should’ve held on to me, Jav.”

Javi placed his hands at the flare of your hips, splaying his wide thick fingers to knead at the flesh there, more plentiful and pliant than the last time he’d touched there. Where the world had made him rough, shattered, sharp, you’d been tumbled like sea glass. Smoother, softer, light shining right through you, spilling onto him.

“I should’ve.”

“I could’ve held tighter too.”

“I wouldn’t have let you.”

“You’re right.”

“That’s a first.”

You both snickered, and you let your body rest against Javi’s chest. He threaded his arms around your waist and pulled you tight to him, pressing the bridge of his nose into the shelf of your collarbone to inhale deeply.

“It was always you. You know that, right?” he breathed against your skin.

“I do. I knew then, I know now. Things happened how they happened. It’s been a long time.” You spoke the words into the dark waves of his hair, tickling at your mouth and chin.

Javi’s voice was smaller than it had been, more hesitant. “Do you think…” He paused for a beat. “Do you think it’s been too long? Or, not long enough?”

“I don’t know. Me vale, Javier. I don’t give a shit. ¿Sabes?” You ran a finger in a small circle around the top button of his shirt.

“I don’t know if I do,” he answered honestly. His grip on your hips tightened slightly, and he scooted you just an inch or two further up to the apex of his thighs.

“I think it’s a series of miracles that you’re here and I’m here and we can still manage to squeeze our ancient asses into this treehouse,” you said frankly. “I don’t need to figure anything else out right now. Tonight? It’s enough for me to know we’re both still here, that this is still here.” And when you said this, Javi knew you didn’t mean the treehouse, but the real lugar secreto, the secret place that lived inside you both, where neither of you had ever let go of the other.

“Lie back against the wall, cariño,” Javi ordered in a soft, even husk.

You climbed off his lap and crawled back to the place you’d been sitting before, legs out in front of you.

“Knees up,” he rasped. You obeyed, skirt of your dress slipping down your raised thighs to pool at your waist. “Let them fall open nice and easy for me, baby. Just like that,” he murmured, coming up onto all fours and rubbing a thumb on your ankle bone as you let your knees drop outward.

Javi failed to bite back the moan that fell from his mouth as you spread before him, only a slip of your black thong visible as the thin wet gusset nestled into your sex, dark lips and an Eden of black curls devouring the fabric. He, too, wished to be devoured.

He reached his hands up under your ass, hooking his fingers into the floss of your underwear and peeling them from your center, wiggling them down your legs and tossing them aside. Javi carefully lowered himself to his belly, flat across the floor, his body longer than he used to be so his knees were bent and his feet rested against the opposite wall. He looked up with wide, curious eyes, asking silently for permission.

“It was always you, Jav. Still is.” You carded your fingers through his thick hair and he growled.

Javi slid his hands along your thick thighs, trying to memorize the feel of every new dimple and stretch mark on the once-familiar canvas. When he reached the end of your legs, that divine join, he used the breadth of his shoulders to press your knees even further apart, sliding his forearms under your legs to grip around your hips.

Your folds pulled open languidly as your legs spread, stretching glossy strings across your entrance, the long dark sticky swollen petals of you blooming like something rare and tropical, heady and intoxicating. Javi nudged forward, nose brushing through the course hairs as he nuzzled its strong curve against you, dragging it in a lazy back and forth over your clit. Your pussy fluttered and you drew in a sharp breath through your nose.

“Looks like she remembers me too,” Javi chuckled darkly.

He pressed sloppy open-mouthed kisses to the creases of your thighs, over your puffy mound, running up and down along the seam of you, puffing hot wet air over your asshole to see it clench and quiver.

“She wants you to stop teasing,” you whined, but your complaint was cut short with a gasp when you felt a broad lick along your slit, Javi sliding the flat of his tongue through you and flicking at your clit with its pointed tip.

Your legs fought to fold closed on Javi’s head, but his arms kept them pinned open, on display for him, bisected and dripping. He ran his tongue over and around every fold, prodding and sucking and nibbling, stretching you gently with his teeth and slotting his lips with yours in an intimate, hungry kiss.

His tongue moved through you instinctually, patiently, reverently. A disciple, attending to the temple of his deity. Javier Peña did not believe in God. He believed in worship.

Javi slid one thick finger, then another, through your shining slick, swirled them at your clit before pressing them inside of you up to the knuckles. He relished the groan that clawed out of your throat, the clench of you around his digits, as he pumped them in and out, fingertips dancing on the spongy spot that made you writhe for him. He watched your face, lips parted and panting, brow glistening, both exactly as he’d remembered you and more perfect and beautiful than you’d ever been before this moment. And you’d always been perfect and beautiful.

He dropped his face again to suck the bead of your clit between his soft lips, alternating slurping around the hood with laves of his tongue as he continued to thrust and curl his hand inside you. The obscene thick wet sounds of your pleasure wove with mingled moans and soft gasps. Javi felt, sensed, the small escalations in your as they built on each other — the flickering tense of your leg muscles, the tightening of your stomach, your affrettando breathing. He increased his efforts, dribbling a stream of spit onto you, into you as he stuffed his fingers into your pulsing cunt over and over again.

“Oh, oh, Javi. Fuck, Javi. I’m…” Your legs began to shake, some overwhelming and impossible pressure building deep inside you. Javi didn’t slow, just lavished prayers into your pussy and ground his hips against the old creaking floorboards.

“I know, baby, I know,” he chanted over you, “I’m here, baby, it’s me, I’ve got you.”

Your fingers were thrust into his hair and twisted around the soft dark strands, and you tugged, pulling a guttural roar from Javier’s chest. “Dámelo, mi vida,” he snarled. You felt the irresistible urge to bear down on Javi’s hand, walls seizing up around his fingers until that delicious pressure burst. You arched and shrieked as a dizzying pulsing gush erupted from your cunt, cascading over the man between your thighs as he groaned, swallowed and suckled desperately as he rutted into the floor. The sensation continued to crash over you, waves smashing against a cliff without end. Your vision was flashing, teeth chattering violently as you keened and bucked at the overstimulation. Javi withdrew his fingers from your channel and slid them around your clit, using your release to slip rapid circles around the swollen pearl until the world around you exploded, a razor sharp orgasm ripping through you on top of a final wave of warmth that poured out from your wrenched body.

Javier looked up through long lashes, his pupils blown and lips swollen and red. He was dripping with you, drenched and devoted, as though he’d been dunked in a baptismal font.

You gestured faintly at him, not able to move your hands beyond a small wave up your body. Javi got the message, clambered up over you and let you throw your sagging arms around his neck so he could roll with you onto his back and drape you over him. You melted against his chest, still panting, and he ran his hand over your shoulders, down your spine, over the curve of your ass. His cock throbbed against the zipper of his jeans, straining painfully in the tight denim, but he tried his best to ignore it. To just hold on to you.

“I think I owe your informants a thank you card,” you wheezed finally, breath slowing closer to its normal pace. Javi snorted into your crown, kissed your forehead at your hairline.

“Quite the mouth, huh?” he teased softly, and you pinched at his waist through his shirt with a chuckle. “Mierda. That was…” Javi trailed off, running a hand through his sweat-curled hair.

“Yeah. It was,” you agreed, neither of you needing to finish the sentence. You reached up to touch his face, the deep furrows that creased his skin there smoother and shallower now. “So. Mi vida, huh Peña?” You smirked up at him.

Javi’s cheeks pinked and he bit at the inside of his mouth, bashful as if he hadn’t bathed in you minutes before. “Too much?”

“Nah, I liked it. Did you mean it?”

Javi paused before answering, looking down at you almost meekly. “If I did?”

You smiled against him. “Then I like it even more. Kind of how it’s always been here, right? How it’s always been for us.”

He smiled back with relief. “Yeah,” he huffed out. “Yeah, it has been. Could still be, maybe? It feels like… like we… fuck. It feels like this is the first time in a long time I’m where I belong. Here, with you.”

“Between my legs?” you said with a laugh playing at your eyes.

“Sí, yes, Christ, forever.” Javi groaned again, licked the taste of you from around his lips, nostrils flaring when his dick twitched insistently. You clocked it.

“Enjoyed yourself, guapo? Need some attention?” You rolled your hips slightly, pleased when Javi sucked in a breath through his teeth and shivered.

“Are you… can you…” he stuttered out, and you shushed him with a finger to his lips, which he kissed.

“Can I stand? No,” you chuckled, shaking your head. “But I want to stay right here in your lap and let you fuck me, Jav. Te quiero.”

Javi sat bolt upright, holding on to your body as he scooted to the wall and leaned back against it. “We’re gonna be so fucking sore tomorrow. Fucking in the treehouse.”

“We don’t have to,” you offered breezily, teasing. “If it’s too much for you in your old age.”

“Don’t you dare. Pinche chiflada. Yes, we fucking do,” Javi objected immediately. “Besides,” he jabbed with a pointed finger, “we’re the same age.”

You laughed at his urgency. “Ahí está. ‘Atta boy, Peña. You’re overdressed, in that case.” You moved to unbutton his flannel, revealing more of his smooth, freckled chest. “This is a nice shirt, by the way. You looked handsome as hell tonight.” You undid the last button and slid his shirt off his shoulders, running your hands over the firm rounds of his muscles.

“Not the handsomest, though?” he smiled, leaning forward to nip at your collarbone.

“Nope, sorry. That’s always gonna be your pops,” you said with a shrug.

“Pendeja,” Javi muttered. “Can we stop talking about my dad right now, please?” He fumbled at your dress clumsily. “This needs to go.” You guided his hands to the buttons that ran down the back and chuckled against his ear as his fingers flew over the closures and he yanked the thin cotton up over your head and discarding it to the side.

“Fuck, querida. These tits…” Javier lunged toward your chest, starved, pulling one brown nipple into his mouth and moaning around it while he palmed the weight of your other breast in his hand, lifting and squeezing. You tipped your head back as he swirled his hot tongue around and over, coaxing you to a peak, then pulled off with a slurping pop. “Gorgeous. Even better than I remember,” he groaned, wiping spit from the corner of his mouth with his thumb.

You wriggled your naked body back on Javi’s legs, eliciting a whine of protest before he realized your hands were deftly unfastening his belt. He reached down to assist and you swatted him away with a laugh. “Let me have my fun, huh?” you chided, slipping your finger through a belt loop and giving his jeans a firm tug before undoing the button at his waist. You smirked at the thatch of hair peeking out from the fly. “No chones? Hussy!”

Javi’s dimple deepened, his lip curling. “Always prepared, baby.”

You shook your head. “You’re still a menace, Peña. Pero, speaking of prepared, I’m on the pill, but…”

Javier cut you off. “Tranquila. Wallet.” You reached into his bulging front pocket and slid out the weathered leather, opening it and fishing through until you felt the telltale foil square.

“Thank god. I’m sure we have some stashed up here still but I don’t know I’d trust them to hold up,” you huffed with a smile, and sat back on your heels in front of him. With practiced ease, you tore open the packet, wiggling it at the man in front of you. “Now you can take your pants off.”

Javi didn’t break his gaze, just lifted his hips and slid his tight jeans down his thighs. You pulled his boots off for him, one at a time, then yanked his pants the rest of the way down his calves and over his feet, socks coming with them. You hurled them into the corner and let your eyes rest on Javier’s nude form. He brought one fist to his base and gave himself a few slow tugs, watching you watching him.

You crawled your way up over his body and relished the way his thick cock bobbed in anticipation, the way Javi’s stomach muscles quivered under your hungry stare. Glancing down at the blushing tip of him, you couldn’t resist when you saw the gleam of precome beading at his slit, and you dipped down to taste him, his distinct salt and musk making you dizzy with want. Javi’s hips bucked wildly at the unexpected touch of your tongue. You flicked your tongue over his frenulum, licked down his shaft to the seam of his balls, and back up along a delicious pulsing vein before taking his fat head into your mouth, giving a firm, but brief, suck.

Javi gasped, biting back a moan and sucking air in through his nose with a shiver. “Can’t… do… that…” he managed, his voice graveled and tight. He grabbed your chin between his thumb and forefinger to and pulled your head up level with his. “Need you too bad. Need to be inside you, cariño. Now.”

You pulled the condom from the foil and pinched the tip, then unrolled it down Javier’s throbbing length til the ring was snug around his base. His eyes didn’t leave your hands until you finished, and you reached up to his shoulders and eased yourself to straddle across his strong thighs, his latex-covered cock wedged between your stomachs. He was breathing heavily, sweat starting to pool at the dip of his throat. He brought both hands to the sides of your face, hooking his thumbs under your jaw, and looked into you with his big dark glassy eyes. They reminded you of the night sky that shone through that hole in the roof, the way if you let your vision unfocus it felt like you could see the deep blacks and browns reveal themselves to be layers and layers and layers of stars. You felt like you could see on forever, see the whole universe.

Javi brought your forehead to his, his nose pressed next to yours, and gently rolled his hips into you, the slight friction reawakening your still-sensitive clit and releasing a fresh stream of slick. You lifted up and brought your hips forward, bringing one hand from his shoulder to grasp him firmly and slide him through your folds before angling him at your entrance. Faces still flush together, breathing each other's air, you let yourself sink down onto him, both exhaling soft whimpers of pleasure as you stretched around his girth until you were fully seated in his lap, your channel squeezing around him greedily.

“Oh, fuck,” you whined. “Oh Jav, oh fuck. I missed this. I missed you.” You let your face drop to his neck, dangled yourself from his broad shoulders, and ground your hips in slow circles against his belly. Javi dropped his hands from your face and grabbed onto your sides, guiding your movements and digging his fingers into your skin, like he needed to be sure you were really there, needed to mash into your flesh and bone to know you weren’t an apparition, not some whiskey-conjured ghost in his empty apartment in Bogotá.

He let his head fall back, giving you space to lick and kiss at his neck while you rode him lazily. “You feel so good, baby. Christ,” he rumbled, words crawling out from deep in his throat. You pressed your open mouth to his collarbone, dragging your warm wet lips over the slice of it, sighed deeply. Javi could feel your legs shaking as they bracketed his own, fatigued from your earlier pleasure, and he slowed you to a stop before lifting you from his cock.

“Acuéstate,” he whispered, grabbing his forgotten flannel with one hand and fluttering it over the floor before turning you in his arms, nudging you onto all fours facing away from him and encouraging your cheek and forearms to rest on the brushed cotton.

“Mm,” you hummed sweetly, closing your eyes and wiggling your hips invitingly. Javi had to squeeze himself tight at the root, tried not to lose his mind when you presented your glistening pussy, swollen and stretched and desperate for him. “Need you, Javi.”

He sat up on his knees and pushed into your fluttering hole with a single thrust, crushing into the ring of your cervix and forcing a sob from your throat.

“¿Estás bien?” he panted, quaking with restraint as he held himself flush to your ass, letting you catch your breath.

“Oh fuck, yes. Cojeme duro, Javi,” you rasped beneath him.

He wasted no time. Javi withdrew quickly and slammed back into you, a deep wail spilling from your open mouth. He set a breathless pace, one hand clenched around your hip and the other spread possessively over the base of your spine. The brutal snap of his hips would’ve driven you forward across the floor if he hadn’t been holding you in place with such bruising force. His heavy balls swung and slapped against your bare skin with every thrust, and you could feel his sweat puddling at the sway of your lower back as it ran from his face and chest. The air was thick with the lewd squelching sounds of your bodies smashing together and the chorus of your breathy, rattling prayers and curses and cries.

Javi’s hips began to stutter, and he tensed his thighs and ass to try to control his thrusts. “Not gonna last. Need you to come, querida. Give me another, come on my fucking cock. Please, baby,” he rambled, an edge of desperation tinting his words. He slid a hand between your legs, bringing the rough pad of his finger to your clit to press and swirl frantically as he pounded into you. He could feel when you clenched around him, so strong he could hardly stay upright. When Javi hunched over you and pressed a hot, panting kiss between your shoulder blades, you broke apart with a hoarse scream. A burning climax crashed through you, your body going rigid with electricity, the overwhelming squeeze of your cunt ripping a howl from Javi as he came so hard his vision went white. He spurted with staggering jolts, thrusting weakly until your body went limp in his hold.

As the last of his seed dribbled out, Javier lowered you both gently to the floor, curling around your body as he pinched at the bottom of the condom and slipped his spent, softening cock from your clutch. He tied it off, set it aside, and laid back down to wrap around you again. You wriggled back into him and he tucked his arm into the plush fold of your waist, hand splayed over your panza and fingers tickling softly, no sounds but the breeze of your breaths and the thrum of your heartbeats in your ears. Eventually, you rolled over to face him, wincing as you turned.

“Won’t even have to wait until tomorrow to be sore,” you griped, rubbing at your neck. Javi reached out and covered your hand with his, dwarfing it, and massaged the knot that had started to form there with a firm thumb. You melted under his touch. “No regrets though,” you added with a reassuring snicker.

“Good,” he smirked, brushing his knuckles over your cheek. “Probably should put some clothes on before I get a splinter in my dick, though.” You snorted and nodded, sitting up to let him extricate himself and re-dress. Javi pulled his jeans up, not bothering to button them, and shoved his arms back into his shirt, leaving it hanging open. You scooped up your dress and pulled it over your head, your underwear nowhere to be seen. Javi sat back down against the wall and stretched one long leg out in front of him, bending the other at the knee. “Come here,” he said, his words lazy and syrupy.

You walked on your knees to the vee of his legs and turned to sit between them, letting your back rest against Javi’s warm, wide chest. He hooked his chin over your shoulder and nuzzled at the base of your ear with the tip of his nose, looped his arms around your ribs and squeezed you tight to him.

“My dad said to tell you he owes you a dance,” he muttered, dragging his teeth lightly over your trapezius muscle, his mustache ticklish against your overstimulated body.

“Ha! I knew it,” you said with a clap.

“Knew what?” Javi sucked at the thin skin at the base of your throat, just enough to make a small bruise begin to blossom there.

“We had a bet about you.”

He stopped peppering your neck with affections to look at you curiously. “A bet? What kind of bet?”

You cackled. “When I told him to tell you to meet me here, Chucho said you’d come running after me right away. I said you’d try to play it cool, sulk for a while, then when you got too desperate you’d tell him you needed to take a leak and disappear. If he was right, I’d buy him a six-pack. If I was right, he had to take me dancing.”

“Shit,” Javier chuckled under his breath. “That’s… yeah, that’s pretty much exactly what I did,” he sighed, running a hand through his hair.

“You’re predictable, cabrón, what can I say?”

“I did talk, a little bit.”

“To Lorraine?”

“Damn,” he laughed. “How’d you know?”

You grinned and turned your face to rub your cheek against his skin, closing your eyes. “Like I said, predictable. Did you brawl?”

Javi hummed thoughtfully. “I apologized. So did she. It was… fine. It’s okay between us, I think.”

“That’s good,” you murmured, not moving from where you were snuggled into him.

He took a few deep breaths, and you waited patiently for him to say whatever it was he needed to work up to. He pressed his face to your shoulder again and kissed it softly. “I owe you an apology, too,” he exhaled against your skin.

You turned to look at him, to cup his face in your hand. “You don’t, Jav. You don’t need to apologize to me.”

His mouth began to move in protest. “I should’ve—“

“Basta.” You pressed a finger to his lips to still them, shaking it at him admonishingly when he tried to nip at it. “No should’ves, none of that. Everything brought us back here, right?”

Javier ticked his jaw, licked at his lip thoughtfully, before conceding with a half nod. “Nuestro lugar secreto survives,” he said with a soft smile.

“It does,” you agreed, running your thumb soothingly along the lines of his face, over the two creases permanently etched between his eyebrows. “You were gone, but you were still here, you know?”

“I thought about you. All the time.” His voice was quiet, somber.

“I know,” you grinned.

Javi huffed and snorted. “Oh, you already knew that, huh? How so?” he teased, pinching at the underside of your arm.

You squirmed away from his fingers, giggling. “You’re too predictable, ¿recuerdas?”

He sighed dramatically, quickly gave up his game in favor of hugging you close again. “I think you just knew me too well. Still do.”

“I know because I thought about you all the time, too,” you admitted, sitting back against him and tilting your head to look out the roof and up at the night. Javier did the same. “Eres mi vida también,” you said towards the sky.

“I fucked up tonight, though,” he rasped against the shell of your ear.

You stilled, raising an eyebrow in question. “¿De qué manera?”

Javi pressed a palm to your cheek and turned your face to his once more. “I didn’t kiss you yet.” You threaded your hands through the curls at the nape of his neck and pulled him to you, your mouths melding as easily as your bodies had. The kiss wasn’t heated or frantic; there were no clashing teeth and wanton cries. It was slow, soft, familiar. Two parts of a whole, slid back together where they were meant to be.

“So…” Javi breathed into your mouth between slips of tongues. “Pop is cooking a big breakfast. Want to come by the ranch?” He drew back enough for his eyes to focus on your face.

“Mm, a famous Chucho breakfast sounds great. What time should I come over?”

Javi grinned devilishly. “Right now.”

You rolled your eyes, shoving at his chest before kissing him deeply once more. “I don’t know what I was expecting,” you snarked. You both stood, joints creaking, both hunching over to avoid smacking into what remained of the ceiling. Your eyes scanned the treehouse for your missing thong while Javier pulled on his socks and boots, then fastened his clothes and tucked his wallet back in his front pocket.

“Missing something?”

You turned to answer him, seeing your underwear hanging from the tip of his index finger. He spun them around and smirked. “I’ll trade you for one of those cigarettes.”

“Keep ‘em,” you said with a wink. “We quit. We’re gonna try the gum thing.”

Javier beamed at you, sliding your panties into his back pocket. “Don’t have to tell me twice. You ready?” He lifted up the hatch.

“Mhm. But take that condom with you - there’s a trash can by the fence.” When he’d grabbed it, you flicked off the lantern, plunging the treehouse into darkness, moonlight just catching on the rough fibers of the rope below.

“Let me go down first,” Javi said, lowering himself through the hole, his boots finding a sturdy knot a few feet down, descending a short way before hopping to the dirt.

You grinned down at him from the treehouse. “You want to help me down? Tan caballeroso.” You dropped a pair of sandals to the ground and started to clamber down the rope barefoot.

“Of course, mi vida,” Javi said warmly, looking up at you with a wide, crooked smile. You’d made your way down a few knots when he added, “I’m also appreciating the view.” You shook your head and let go of the rope, jumping into Javi’s waiting arms and falling into another languid kiss before your feet found solid ground. When you bent down to grab your sandals from the dust, your skirt suddenly flew up, a hand cracking sharply over the bare flesh of your ass cheek, and you squealed, flying upright and glaring back over your shoulder.

“Shameless,” you tsked.

“Claro,” Javi shrugged, unapologetic. “But you love me.”

“Yeah,” you mused, slipping your sandals on and closing the short distance between your bodies to ruffle his hair. “I sure do. Always have.”

Javi leaned into your hand and purred, content for the first time in a very, very long time. “As long as I’ve loved you,” he said, quiet and firm. He nosed a kiss to your cheek and laced his fingers through yours. “Ready to go, mi vida?”

“Been ready for a lifetime, Peña. Take me home.” You walked hand-in-hand down the winding dirt road that led to the ranch, your path together lit, as it always had been, by a sky full of stars.

—————————————————————————

Some random taggies:

@timelordfreya @mothandpidgeon @hellfire-state-of-mind @maggiemayhemnj @beefrobeefcal @yourcoolauntie @jolapeno @whocaresstillthelouvre @schnarfer @jennaispunk @wordywarriorwrites @ameerawrites @survivingandenduring @freelancearsonist @artsy-girl-76 @goodwithcheese @javierpena-inatacvest @bluestar22x @carusolikey @beldroxramscal @tonysopranosrobe @toxicanonymity @for-a-longlongtime @luxurychristmaspudding @magpiepills @gasolinerainbowpuddles @oliveksmoked @sp00kymulderr @rebel-held

AAAAGGGGHHHHH!!!!!!

HE DRIVES ME INSANE AND I STILL WANT HIM!!!!

What the fuck is wrong with me?! 🫠

Kick and Scream

Self Esteem Part 3

Pairing: fuckboy!Joel x f!reader

Summary: Joel catches you on a date and communicates how he feels about it (the only way he knows how).

Warnings: fuckboy!Joel, dub con, smut, pwp, unprotected piv sex, fingering, creampie, dirty talk, public sex, blow job, reader is still sippin' on some dumb bitch juice for Joel (me), jealous!joel, possessive!joel, emotionally manipulative but sexually proficient Joel, toxic breadcrumbing Joel fucks, smash and dash, no use of y/n, AU no outbreak, special guest appearance by date night dave, OOC Dave bc I don’t know that man so I made him single, rich, hot, and pervy idc idc idc, more i might be forgetting rn,  

Notes: please leave feedback! open to constructive criticism or delusional inspiration

Thanks: to EVERYONE who read part 1 and 2, but ESPECIALLY  @auteurdelabre for inspiring, I hope you enjoy it bb. I'll try to tag those who were interested in more brb

WC: 9.3K (idk it got long and horny heheh) 

AO3: HERE

Part 1: Self Esteem

Part 2: Want You Bad

You stare down at the hand that just landed on your thigh, cocking your head in assessment. You can feel the scowl tugging at the corners of your mouth. As you work out what expression you should paste onto your face instead, the man sitting next to you seems unbothered. Maybe even encouraged? He continues his lecture about the benefits of indoor rock climbing. You sigh, staring across the park as he continues without pausing to breathe. 

You watch the couples milling around the park, wondering if that’s what you look like with this guy's hand on your leg. You stare back down at it, his long fingers shifting slightly as he continues his animated speech. Sweat beads at the back of your neck, and you feel fidgety. Trapped under the weight of his limp hand. He doesn’t seem to notice when you squirm and readjust. He’s circled back to his earlier lecture about how you just have to learn to play an instrument. If he’d let you get a word in, you could verify that you already do, but he seems to prefer the sound of his own voice. 

This guy should get a podcast. The kind where a guy with a microphone talks to himself for three hours about whatever he wants. He’d crush it. You laugh to yourself, unintentionally encouraging him with your smile. He’s not not good-looking. But you’d prefer someone interested in asking you at least one question. 

You stifle a laugh at the intrusive thought of taking him home and stripping his clothes off while he prattles on about amateur bird-watching, sorry–birding, or unicycling. 

Eventually, you extricate yourself from the disappointing date, accept an awkward hug, and turn down dinner. You haven’t left the parking lot yet when your phone buzzes. 

Unsaved number: had a great time with u

Unsaved number: would love to see u again :) 

It’s not that your skin crawls, but it is a full-body no. 

You: thanks, I’m glad I got to know you more 

It’s not technically a lie. You’re glad you learned he’s not a fit for you. You feel okay about leaving it at that for now. You watch the sunset from your parking spot. The park is filled with couples laying on blankets being romantic. You roll your eyes at them and then at yourself for being bitter. Your phone buzzes again, and you wince, hoping it’s not your long-winded date again. It’s not. 

Joel: what you doing?

Fucking Miller. You scoff aloud in the private space of your front seat. By now, he should be on your blocked list, but the quick hit of euphoria that floods through your bloodstream, warming your cheeks, keeps you hooked. He’s a filthy drug that blinds you from logic or survival instincts. Your eyes dart to the pedestrians in the parking lot. Worried. As if the milling strangers know what you’re up to and are about to shame you. A little voice reminds you that if you feel guilty about something, you shouldn’t be doing it. You ignore that voice. Nobody in the parking lot catches on, coast clear, and you let yourself grin wide as a fool when you type your response. 

Later that night, you’re grinning again. Sprawled across your couch, sweaty skin plastered to the faux leather cushions. Sated. Bought and sold on your own lie, you tell the little voice that you didn’t want Joel to stay anyway. You convince yourself some form of compromise is happening, however twisted, when he shows up and leaves you wrecked. He comes to you. You don’t have to get to know each other to make each other feel good. Whatever puts you at ease. 

Sometimes it works. Some days, you feel hollow and anxious. Obsessively tapping your phone to see if he’s responded when you reach out first. Pacing around your home, stressing over whether you should stay up just in case and even in bed, you can’t help but stay alert for a knock at the door. 

The cycle leaves you with dark circles under your eyes most days. But, on the mornings after Joel shows up, you have a bright twinkle in your eyes and a knowing smirk that greets you in the bathroom mirror. Katie noticed the smirk one day and called you out. She demanded an explanation for the mystery dick fairy. 

You wouldn’t admit his identity to her, afraid of getting too involved with someone in her boyfriend's network. But you did admit to the toxic cycle, and your friend was not as amused as you when you tried to pass it off as a joke. She tried to convince you to look for someone to date, but you argued that wasn’t what you wanted anyway. She suggested at least someone who could commit to a plan or send a text back. You knew it didn’t sound great out loud. 

As the days of summer crawl along, you wonder if she’s right. At least, it was worth considering. It’s a feeble attempt to smother your spiraling thoughts about Joel. Still, when you start getting messages from the dating app Katie chose for you, it gives you something to interrupt your racing thoughts. At first. Somehow, it starts to feel even worse. Ignoring the sinking feeling you get when it isn’t Joel’s name in your notifications gets more challenging. 

You had accepted that it was a lost cause to plan anything with him, but you still can’t find the self-respect to turn him away when he shows up at your door. Sometimes, he sends you a grammatically inconsiderate text. You wonder if he somehow has a cell phone plan that still charges him by the message with the way he uses as few words as possible. 

He never stays. Never invites you to his. He evades any predictable behavior. Maybe he’s worried someone ordered a hit on him. Maybe that’s all it is, you muse. Not a contracted kill. The unpredictability. Chaos. That’s what makes him addictive. The brightness of the highs makes you temporarily forget the darkest lows exist. That, and the dirty little thoughts that pour from his mouth and drip into your psyche. That stupid, sexy voice burning into your memory, yeah, that’s definitely addictive. You snort at that. I am unwell, you think. As you pick up your phone again, you see a message from someone new. 

\\\///

Heat radiates off your face as you fling another shirt across the room. You’ve tried on the same three outfits over and over again. Ripping them over your head and tossing them into the pile of laundry purgatory. Maybe sweating and mouth-breathing is a turn-on for your date; if so, you’re gonna nail the first impression. You sigh and commit to option two: the little black dress. A classic, right? 

“Shit,” you curse at yourself when you stumble while attempting to pull your shoes on as you walk down the hall. This is what you get for agreeing to a late evening date on a weeknight; you feel like a mess. Scrambling to play it cool and classy, you pause to recalibrate before opening the door. What was his name? You can’t remember. He didn’t look like your usual type, but Katie had convinced you to branch out a little. More specifically, she told you it was a green flag already if he wasn’t your type. 

You swing the door open, hoping he introduces himself first. He looks expensive. The dark-washed denim, the boots, the jacket, and the watch. Like he walked out of an ad campaign for a brand out of your budget. Dave. He does introduce himself, thankfully. He’s more clean-cut than your usual type, but he speaks confidently and gives off an air of put-togetherness that intrigues you. His voice definitely stirs the butterflies in your stomach. 

Oh. You realize you’ve definitely been busy staring at him and have no idea what he actually said with his sultry bedroom voice. Your eyes widen a little. You don’t wanna fuck this up and embarrass yourself. Luckily, he seems unbothered. He tilts his head with a seductive half-smile. He’s enjoying the way you assess him. That definitely does it for you. Stupid, smug men making you weak in the knees. 

“You ready?” he asks, voice all smoky for no good reason. 

“Yeah,” you manage to say as you recall how to speak and act human. Until you see his luxury car waiting for you. He clocks your beat of hesitance. 

“Good.” 

His authoritative voice flips the right switch in you, and you let him lead. When he opens the door for you, it’s like the final component of his spell. You are bewitched. Under a thick veil, you didn’t even notice the truck that rolled by as you sank into the leather seat. You didn’t notice when the truck pulled over up the block, idling noisily on the quiet street. No, you were busy, focused on manually breathing and taking in what you’d describe as the interior of a spaceship. 

The good news is that Dave is charming. He is easy to talk to as he drives. Flirty and quick-witted. He asks you questions and pauses to consider your responses. You aren’t sure you have much in common, but you like his self-assured demeanor. 

When you walk into the club he’s brought you to, you hesitate once again, feeling underdressed. The club is split with a lounge on one side of the bar–full of intimate booths and plush chairs surrounding tiny tables and trendy mood lighting. Kind of like a swanky hotel lobby, you decide. On the other side of the bar is a dance floor, dimly lit with loud music blasting. Women in bodycon dresses and heels fill the room. You feel plain in comparison. 

“I didn’t know there was a dress code,” you mutter. 

“There isn’t,” Dave asserts, “besides, you look good in this.” He accentuates his statement by running his hand down your spine. It settles some of your nerves and lights up others. He ushers you, hand on your lower back, towards a small booth. And as you settle in, he’s undeniably charismatic. Dave doesn’t reveal much about himself but keeps you laughing and seems genuinely interested in you.  

Despite the loud music and people noise, it’s easy to feel like the room is only for you and him. You sip your drink and warm up to his affection. You’re quick to smile, and despite how serious he seems, he has a playful edge that has you on your toes. 

You can taste the chemistry between you, bright and sparkling. He spurs your confidence with his dark eyes when he not so subtly lets his gaze linger on your body. You stop shying away from attention and try to bask in it instead. It boosts your ego and stirs up your desire. 

When you let yourself look, really look, you decide Dave is handsome. His strong features, broad shoulders, and impeccable grooming work for him. He seems meticulous but not too uptight to have fun. A dark sense of humor flirts behind his twinkling dark eyes. You decide to let him know that you’ve determined he is a handsome man. He gives you a look. Like he already knew you thought that. Your cheeks warm slightly at that. Were you obvious? 

It’s not until he peels away from you to refill your drinks that you notice how close you have been sitting. You mourn the loss of his body heat as he walks away. You had low expectations after your last few dates, but tonight, this feels different. Your eyes trail along his path to the bar, and you lazily rest your chin in your palm before your breath hitches, and you freeze.  

You feel like you’ve swallowed a bowling ball. It’s lodged in your throat first, then constricting your chest, until finally, it sinks. A heavy, solid weight flipping your stomach. You’re locked on a different set of dark eyes. They’re glowering at you through lowered brows from across the room. Seated at the same bar where Dave ordered your drinks. 

Joel stares at you over his drink. He downs the glass without taking his eyes off of you. One quirked brow, asking really? 

Really what? Is he judging you? For what, being on a date? 

Another glass replaces his empty tumbler, but he doesn’t acknowledge the bartender or the rest of the world.

This fucking guy. 

The bowling ball in your gut mutates into something fiery. But, you have nothing to be guilty about. It’s not your fault he’s alone, bitter, and drinking at a bar full of people having more fun than him. In fact, you could say it’s his fault that you’re both here. 

A scowl forms on Joel’s face when Dave slides back into the booth beside you. Good. You hope he suffers. You hope he sees how easy it is for someone to treat you well. And how happy you look. 

You don’t hesitate to lean your body against Dave, giving in to your urges. You squeeze his arm when he makes you laugh, and your touch lingers. He preens under your admiration when you comment on his firm biceps. He is quick to match your advances. Finding excuses to brush your hair behind your ear and settling a heavy palm on your knee. His hand creeps a little higher up your thigh but doesn’t graze the hem of your dress. Respectful. That’s different. 

You don’t need to look again to feel Joel’s eyes burning into you. It incites you that he has the audacity. The gall to make faces at you for showing up on a date. You decide you’ll give Joel something to scowl about, feeling emboldened by your date’s touch.  

You slide Dave’s hand further up your leg, letting go when he gets the idea. You reach for your drink, feigning nonchalance, but your breath catches, and your hand trembles when he traces his fingertips around the crease of your thigh. He skirts beneath the hem of your underwear, drawing lines over your hip and back towards your center. 

The soft touch tickles deliciously, and you feel the anticipation building in your core. He watches your expression, hawklike, noting the tiniest details in the features of your face. He notes when your breath stutters or your eyelids flutter softly. 

“This what you wanted?” he husks, still watching intently. Yes, yes, yes! 

“Almost,” you toy. Something about having both men’s eyes on you has your skin itching with desire and your blood running hot. 

Dave scoffs softly, repeating your word choice and shaking his head. Almost. 

“You looking for more?” he taunts as he wedges his large hand fully between your legs to cup and tease your cunt. 

You can’t help the breathlessness of the yes that slips out of you. You roll into his palm, and your mouth parts at the friction and his boldness. He smiles wolfishly, flashing his teeth, when he feels you twist and rock against him. His look encourages you. And you tilt your hips and shift your legs to give him better access. 

“Dirty little thing, aren’t you?” he asks, still locked on your face. You swell at this. His eyes lower to your glossy lips before he sips casually from his drink, so composed. 

Your cheeks warm at his words, but he has his answer when he slips a finger beneath the damp lace between your legs and drags it through the pool of arousal gathering at your entrance. Your lips part at the contact, chest heaving, and you give him a nod and coy smile in response to his question. You’ll be his dirty little thing tonight. 

“That’s good,” he declares, pressing a kiss just below your ear before adding, “I’d like to do dirty things to you.” 

His husky voice and declaration stir an urgent need to be touched within you. He continues to agitate your nerves as his hand massages over your swollen sex. Your skin feels tight and prickly, tensing, ready to feel more. You’re unconcerned with the debased nature of being fingered in public. 

When your eyes are instinctually drawn back towards Joel, you shudder. You can feel the twitching of your clit as your cunt floods over Dave’s fingers. The depravity that another man’s glare eases the slip of your date’s teasing touch is not lost on you. Instead, it turns you on even more. Joel’s homicidal stare has you squirming. You’ve seen darkness in his eyes before, but not like this. There’s no twinkle of mocking, and it’s not cruel in a hot way. If looks could kill, then this room would look like the club scene from Blade. 

Dave murmurs something filthy in your ear that makes you gasp. Your hand flies to his thigh, gripping tightly to keep you from melting onto the floor. 

“Don’t be shy, dirty girl,” he croons darkly, “you can touch.” 

“Fuck,” you groan under your breath when you move your hand to find his hard cock straining against his well-fitted jeans. 

He chuckles lowly at the way your eyes widen in response before he plunges two fingers inside of you, and you stifle a throaty sound. Your mind still wanders to Joel, and you wonder if he can see your perverse display below the table. Judging by his clenched fists on the bar, you’d say whatever he can see is enough to fill in the blanks. The sick part of you that feels more turned on by his agony expands within you.  

“Oh god,” you whisper as you suck in air. 

Dave works his fingers lazily into you. You feel intoxicated by the attention of both men. A concern flashes through you that someone else in the club could catch on or see more than you’d like to show. But a feeling in your gut tells you that it doesn’t matter. Dave seems strikingly confident with a lethal attention to detail. And the ferocity on Joel’s face only eggs you on. 

When you think of humbling Joel, a sinister smile pulls at the corners of your mouth. He’s the one that unleashed the horny, risk-taking monster within you and then disappeared. Fuck moping about him. You’re getting yours, you decide. 

You shoot Joel a wink. Pouring gasoline on the fire, hoping it pisses him off. 

You lean into the salaciously tempting energy radiating off of Dave. Reaching to hold his jaw as your lips lock and you let him control your mouth. Kissing him riles you up more. You palm at his erection over his jeans, delighting in the noises that roil deep in his chest. You hold back whimpers as the pressure of his fingers curling inside of you finds the perfect spot. 

He pulls back from your kiss and looks down to watch your hand groping at him. You like watching him watch you. 

“You gonna take it out?” Oh. Fuck, you want to. It feels like more of a risk than you’ve taken so far. 

“Here?” you ask him softly.  

A wrinkle appears between your brows. Dave watches your swollen lips again just as your pink tongue darts out to wet them. He raises a brow at you, eyes dropping to where his arm disappears under your dress. 

“Oh, are you feeling bashful now?” he goads. His fingers curl against that sensitive spot inside of you as his palm presses firmly into your swollen clit. He makes it hard for you to answer. You try to pout at him, but the reflexive rise in your brows at the pleasure betrays you.  He chuckles again. “No? Just distracted, hm?” 

“Fuck,” is all you can mouth. It is distracting. Not the fingers inside you, well, not completely, but the urge. The craving to leverage your lewd new lover’s lack of regard for appropriate behavior into emotional revenge. The thought of Joel growing mad with jealousy as he watches you come overtakes your critical thinking. 

Eat your heart out, Joel Miller! You dare him across the room, letting your jaw fall slack and your brows knit in obvious pleasure. 

“Are you going to come for me?” Dave asks, “Here in this booth? Where anyone could see?” he tuts like he’s disappointed, and it works. The danger of it all does something to heighten your senses. It’s blinding. The bass from the music blaring from the dance floor rattling in your ribs, Dave’s designer cologne filling your nose, the sheen of sweat collecting on your chest, and the daggers in Joel’s eyes when you glance to confirm he’s still watching. All the sensations clash and shove you towards your release. 

“Yes,” you hiss quietly, “yes.” Your eyes slam shut as you try to remain composed while riding his fingers under the table. You flicker in and out of reality as your climax rolls through you. You’re drunk on the reversal of power when your eyes peel open, and you see the hardened expression on Joel’s face glowering at you. You wonder if his dick is just as hard in his pants, and the thought has you contracting again around Dave’s fingers.

“That’s a good girl.” Dave’s voice is somehow even deeper. It sends another ripple of pleasure to swirl low in your abdomen. You’d like to hear that again. 

With a touch more clarity after the violent edge of your arousal is dulled, your hand works at his belt, desperate to feel the heat of his cock in your palm. He assists, lifting his hips when you unbuckle his belt and pop the button on his pants so you can slide your hand beneath his underwear. His tension and urgency further stoke your power trip, and you feel overcome with the need to know how badly he wants you. When you wrap your fingers around him, hear the groan he makes, and feel the mindless buck of his hips, you have a more than good enough answer. He’s yours. 

Dave watches the way your eyes glaze over when your thumb smears the precome dripping from his head down his length. His hand stills distractedly between your legs, and his chin drops as he watches where your hand disappears under his dark boxer briefs. You’re constricted by the elastic waistband, but your grip is tight. Almost as tight as when he fucks his own fist. He’s mesmerized by the way you jerk his cock just right. 

You feel yourself salivating with the need to taste him. You’re getting frustrated with the limited space and want to see him in your hand. You sigh, wishing you could, until you realize you can, and grin. 

You pull your hand back out of his pants, and he snaps out of his stupor. Before he can comment, you cut him off. 

“Keep your pants on and take me to the bathroom so I can suck your cock right.” 

Your voice comes out lower than you thought it would. His eyes flare before he matches your devious look and obeys, spewing filthy thoughts you can’t make out under his breath as he does. He’s ushering you down the hall in seconds, and then you’re locking the door and dropping to your knees. Dave doesn’t wait a second longer, wrenching his belt open and dropping his jeans just enough for his cock to spring free. 

You don’t tease or start slow. He admires how you waste no time like you’re desperate to taste him. And you are. Only pausing for a moment to admire the way he looks, stiff and leaking for you, before you eagerly wrap your lips around him. You slide your tongue everywhere and bob up and down with vigor. Salty and vaguely sweet, precome teases your palette. You want more. The best you can do to express that is swallow around him and suck until he’s moaning and cursing above you. 

You let your saliva pool and spill from your lips so you can slide your hand down the rest of his length while you revel at the weight of him on your tongue. You find the moves that have his fists clenching and thighs straining and repeat them. You hum around him as pride blooms in your chest over how his composure cracks. 

You wonder if Joel has smashed through the bar with his fists yet. At least he didn’t break down the bathroom door before you could get on your knees. Would he strangle Dave first if he saw the two of you? Or would he drag you home and gag you on his angry cock instead? You moan obscenely as your imagination runs wild. You look up at Dave. He watches you with fierce eyes. You wouldn’t mind if they shared you, you consider, but that would take a miracle. 

You continue messily and enthusiastically until your knees ache, and you decide he has to come for you. You try to beg for it while he’s still in your mouth before you have the brains to pull off of him and tell him what you want. He’s endeared by your unrefined hedonism.

He grips your jaw in his palm when you get the words out. 

“You want to swallow my come?” he asks. 

“Yes,” you plead impatiently on your knees with a hoarse voice. You’re a pornographic sight on the tile floor with your wet lashes, swollen lips, and saliva glistening on your chin. You open your mouth for him and hold out your tongue. 

“Oh,” he strokes his thumb along your cheek, smiling down at you, “that’s a good girl.” 

Your eyes close at that, feeling the praise warm your skin before he slides back into your wet mouth. 

Guiding you faster and a little rougher, Dave doesn’t take long to come. Spilling onto your tongue as you groan around him until he stops pulsing in your mouth. You swallow, glowing for him with glassy eyes. He helps you to stand before tucking his softening cock back into his jeans and fastening his belt. You’re adjusting your dress and reaching for your bag on the counter. 

“What do you need?” He asks a little softer than you expected, causing you to pause. 

“Take me home,” you smile at him dopily before pausing and wincing at yourself in the mirror. You look like a freshly face-fucked mess. 

“Uh, actually, give me a few minutes to freshen up first, and I’ll meet you out front?” 

He nods, “I’ll pull the car up.”

“I’d like that.” You reply and lock the door behind him after he slips out. 

Once you feel more presentable, you pull your phone from your bag and tap the screen to check the time before opening the door. 

Seeing Joel’s name makes your stomach flip. You open the text. 

Joel: Miss me? 

It snaps something in you. Something that enrages you. He has to be certifiably insane, you think. It came through a little while ago, but you aren’t sure how long you’ve been in the bathroom. You begin to spiral, debating if you should march to the bar and throw a drink in his face or pretend like he doesn’t even exist. You feel your face burning hot, and the bathroom is suddenly suffocating. You need some air before you get into the car with Dave. Just long enough to breathe normally and look less like you want to break something. 

Leaving the bathroom you find an employee exit further down the hall. A faded sign on the door warns that an alarm will sound, but the rock wedged in the door jam holding it open a crack begs to differ, and you slip into the dark. 

A lanky, pale kid in a black apron sits atop a picnic table in the alley. 

“Oh, sorry,” you feel a little guilty interrupting his break, “just wanted some air.” 

“All good,” he responds before sliding off the makeshift seating. “Last call for the kitchen anyway. Have my seat,” he waves at the table like he’s offering a throne. You accept. Exceedingly grateful to have the air and the privacy to regulate. Just some slow, deep breaths. Then, you can walk out the front door and let Dave take you home. 

The door swings open again, and you tense, ready to hop off the table and find another space. 

“Sorry,” you start your apology, but it’s cut off. 

“You should be,” Joel accuses harshly. He’s in your space with two of his long strides. Rushing at you like you’re caught in a snare trap, and he’s starving. You briefly look the part with your eyes wide in the moonlight, shocked by his sudden appearance, until your barely dampened rage rips from your throat.

“Joel, what the fuck?” you spit out in disbelief, but he interrupts you– 

“I thought I already told you what happens if you’re gonna be a filthy tease?” his voice lowers as he ignores your question and paces in front of you with a dark, wicked stare. 

“What are you doing here?” you press, ignoring his threat. 

“What are you doing here?” he demands. Like he has some certificate of entitlement to your whereabouts. He towers over you. Your eyes narrow to slits. If you could shoot lasers out of them, you’d do it now. 

You laugh. Loudly. You’re still laughing when he grabs you and pivots your frame so your legs dangle off of the end of the table towards him. Closer. He gets even closer, standing between your knees. You tilt your face to look up at him. 

“You on a date?” it’s a growl carved from stone. You choose to remain ignorant to the shiver it sends through you that has nothing to do with the temperature. How dare he charge up on you like a territorial werewolf in the night? And how dare he look so fucking good with that snarly expression? No. You laugh again. Wild-eyed. Words start coming up before you even hear yourself.

“What is wrong with you, Joel? Why were you watching me? You looking for a show?” you jab. Gnashing at him with your words. He snorts dismissively at you, and a barbaric smile creeps onto his face. Like he’s in on some joke you don’t know about. He irks you so bad your skin crawls. 

“S’that what you call it?” he asks, “A show?” Continuing to ignore your other questions. He is so close to you that it burns your skin. 

“No, Joel. You were right the first time. I am on a date. A real date. You know what that is, right? Like, he asked me out, picked me up on time, bought me a drink,” you’re tallying on your fingers, “answered my–”

“And then what, you fuck him in the bathroom and hide out here? Alone in the alley?” 

It clicks. He knows exactly why you’re flustered. The asshole must’ve sent his text for his own slimy experiment. Trying to rattle you. What fucking game is he playing? Is he trying to win you? Like you’re Dave’s possession to lose? 

You scoff at his interjection, “No, Joel, I’m not alone. You followed me out here to make sure of it, right?” 

“Right,” he rumbles. His dark eyes glint even in the shadows of the alley. He leans lower and closer to you until you tip back, palms on the table behind you, then elbows. Exposing your cleavage to the moonlight. He pauses, eyes raking down your face, neck, and chest. How does he make you feel raw and vulnerable even when fully dressed? 

“You haven’t answered me,” you huff. Irritated and arched beneath him. 

“I asked you first,” he argues. A childish rebuttal for a grown man. You’re pretty sure you’ve asked why he’s here a hundred times, but of course, that doesn’t matter. He’s insufferable with his attitude and inability to communicate. Everything about you is taut, and you feel frayed. 

Joel dips his head and his lips brush your ear, tickling you, before he rasps, “I asked if you miss me, baby, and you haven’t answered.” 

A tremor runs through your body. 

It’s criminal. Your mind converts his voice directly into a hot coil of arousal. The throbbing between your legs causes you to wriggle beneath him.

“I need to know,” he croons, begging you to give in. 

His arm slides under your back, lowering you onto the table. Your restraint collapses terribly quickly for him. His voice. His touch. He knows all of your buttons. 

Laid on your back, your legs instinctively wrap around him as he bends to meet you. 

Soft puffs of air shakily flow between your lips as you struggle to concentrate. On what? You aren’t sure. Not good. You squeeze your eyes shut like maybe he’ll disappear. 

“I mean it, baby,” he continues purring with a sharp edge, “you tell me when you miss me.” 

You know it wouldn’t matter even if you did. If you texted him. If you called. It wouldn’t matter. It would probably make you feel worse. But when he says it, you feel your heart doing flips anyway. 

He slides his hands over your body, and you feel the last of your logic escaping as you tug him towards you. You’re grinding against him stupidly without a single thought. Just having him this close to you had you feeling desperate and needy. You could come again right now just by dry-humping like horny teenagers. 

The craving for him is so intense that you’ll surely die if he doesn’t keep moving. You lose any shred of composure that you were still clinging to and let out a needy whine for him. And when your fingers twist and tug at his shirt, it’s like a green light to Joel. 

He closes any and all gaps between you. His hand skates roughly under your dress, bunching up the fabric. He presses open-mouthed kisses against your neck and grazes his teeth enticingly along your jaw. 

Groping, grinding, grunting. All his movements dance a line between deliberate and frantic. 

You have tunnel vision, lost from time and space. When his low moan vibrates through you, your hand shoots to his belt. He rasps into your ear again, “That’s it, baby, I’m right here if you miss me, don’t need some jerkoff tryin’ to waste your time.” Your fingers fumble. What– “Oh, shit!” a voice yells. You freeze. “Don’t mind me!” The drunk guy slurs as he stumbles out the backdoor and sways down the alley towards the street. 

Your situation hits you like a bucket of cold water. Joel seems unfazed, still curled over you. You push at him and sit up. 

“What did you just say, Joel?” 

“Hmm?” he murmurs at you. 

“Joel, I’m serious. What the fuck?” 

He’s not listening. His hands are still searching your body. The scent of his faded deodorant is so familiar in your nose. The words are coming up again. Before he casts his trance on you. 

“No. I said I’m serious,” you repeat, “I’m not playing your games. Done with your weird shit.” Your body feels rigid, and your mind is clearing through the fog of lust. “Just because I have no self-esteem and I fuck you anytime you show up on my doorstep doesn’t mean you have any claim to me.” 

He blinks at you, finally registering your tone, expression shifting. “I actually tried, you know? I wanted to get to know you. You just bail. I keep suffering for it. Like an idiot. I keep thinking it would show I care.” 

“Baby–” 

“And now what? You see me on a date and decide it would be fun to ruin it? Ruin a chance at something better than waiting around wondering if you’ll show up looking to score?” You’re on your feet now. Livid. Ablaze in the dark. “No, you don’t even care enough to think about that,” you realize aloud. 

His features harden. Your head shakes slowly, exasperated with your burgeoning understanding. All you can hear is the white noise buzzing in your skull. Your next words are quieter and lower, forcing him to pay close attention. 

“You just wanted to prove something, right? Thought you’d fuck me on this table and run like you always do? For what, to prove you could?” 

His nostrils flare, and you don’t miss how he grits his teeth.

You don’t falter; he doesn’t scare you. You press on with your accusations prickly on your tongue. You back him against the wall next to the door as you continue. 

“You don’t like hearing it?” you cock your head at him, amused with his discomfort. “Were you going to leave me here in the alley full of your come like I’m some pathetic whore for you? Would you walk me back to my date after that? Was that your plan?” 

Joel snaps, manhandling you in a split second. Pinned against the brick wall, you can hear your heart pounding. It’s a paper-thin line between anger and lust, and you can’t tell which has your blood pumping. You can’t tell if he’s about to yell at you or fuck you. You hate that you can’t tell which you’d prefer.

His eyes are locked onto yours. Not revealing anything. You shift, uncomfortable with the scrutiny. He doesn’t keep you waiting. Joel shoves his hand into your panties, fingers slipping immediately into the fresh pool of arousal between your thighs. A shaky exhale comes out of you, but he doesn’t seem to need to blink or breathe anymore. 

He brings his glossy fingers to your mouth. Silent. He taps at your lip until you open and suck, tasting yourself. His mask slips a little. One brow twitches as he studies the scene of your lips wrapped around both of his fingers. But his eyes flick to yours when he pulls them out of your mouth and drags them down your bottom lip, smearing spit against your chin. 

“Tell me,” he says in a whisper that scrapes across your skin, “does it taste like you miss me?” 

You swallow tightly. A lump forms in your throat now, about as large as a civilization-ending asteroid. 

You can hear your phone buzzing. Forgotten on the table. Panic streaks over your eyes as you wonder how long you’ve been out here. You duck under his arm, dashing for your phone. You don’t look at him. You can’t. As you sprint down the hallway, you swing the door open, kicking the rock in the door jam, hopefully locking Joel outside. Cursing at yourself for almost letting Joel fuck you in the alley across from a dumpster.  

Dave sits in his car, idling along the curb near the front of the club. You’re surprised he didn’t leave. You hope it hasn’t been long. You don’t dare check your phone. Maybe it was only a few minutes, or it could have been an hour. You don’t think time functions normally when you’re around Joel. 

Dave is frighteningly observant, slinking out of his car to open the door for you before you get close enough to reach for the handle. 

“I was just starting to wonder if you’d snuck out the back door,” he chides. 

You feel the blood rushing to the surface of your skin. Hot with embarrassment over your behavior and his on-the-nose word choice. 

“I’m sorry,” you mumble, “I did step out for some air. Wanted to cool down.” 

“Don’t be sorry,” he assures you, tilting your chin towards his face with his thumb and forefinger. Your eyes dart around his face, wondering what he sees on yours. “Was it too much, dirty girl?” he coos. 

“What, this?” you lilt mockingly as you palm over his bulge, “I don’t think so.” 

“Good,” he snorts softly. “Get in the car.” He adds as he opens the door for you. 

He pauses before pulling away from the curb once seated in the driver’s side. 

“Is your boyfriend going to be following us home?” 

“My what?” you feel the blood drain from your face. 

“The one from the bar,” he continues, measured and eerily calm, “the one who followed us here?” Your head starts spinning at that, but Dave carries on, unbothered. “I assumed he likes to watch. You should’ve told me. It would’ve been easier than wondering if he’s a deranged stalker or–” 

“No.” You cut him off and struggle to continue for multiple reasons. “It’s not like that. I thought it was a coincidence,” you feel a confusing mix of emotions. 

“Followed us?” you’re curious. 

“When I picked you up. In the truck?”

“Oh god. No. He’s,” you pause, searching for the right words. 

“An ex?” 

“Not even that. Jesus Christ, I can’t believe he’d follow me.” 

“So he is dangerous?” 

“No.” Only to my self-respect. 

“You want me to take care of him?” 

“No.” You reply before putting any thought behind what that means. “No. He’s just an asshole with a staring problem.” 

You withdraw. You hadn’t thought about why Joel was here. How ridiculous it sounds to imagine Joel voluntarily sitting at the bar in a club like this alone. You feel the blood rushing to your ears. Stupid little butterflies flap their wings in your stomach before they’re reduced to ashes, and you begin to see red again tonight. How is Joel ruining your night without saying a word this time? 

“Take me home,” you say firmly.

He does. Dave walks you to your door. You invite him in, but he’s observant, noticing the clouds in your expression. He declines your invite but assures you he would be very interested in seeing you again. He gives you a chaste kiss that makes you laugh, considering how bold you both have been tonight. It lightens your mood. 

He lingers for a moment before he pulls out his wallet. 

“It was on the house this time,” you snark. Curious about what he’s doing. 

He hands you a sleek business card. A business card? Is this guy Patrick Bateman? 

Your face wrinkles in confusion. 

“I already have your number,” you flip the card over in case you’re missing something. It doesn’t say anything, just has a phone number. 

“I meant what I said, that I’d be interested in seeing you again for pleasure,” he smirks, “but if you change your mind, at least keep this.” 

You don’t understand why you’d need his work phone number but try to play it cool and nod. 

“If your stalker becomes a problem, you call me.” 

You’re still confused about what that means when he drives away. As you shut your door, you realize you have no idea what he does. 

You’re still in the middle of composing a text to Katie about how her green flag date included a bathroom blowjob and a business card when you hear a knock at your door. You swing it open, assuming foolishly that it would be Dave. 

Before you can blink, Joel kicks the door shut and backs you down the hallway. He looks like a man possessed as he hurtles towards you. It sends a chill down your spine that you think would trigger your fight or flight response, but yours seems to be reprogrammed to fight or fuck. Staggering backward, you yelp when the backs of your knees hit your mattress. 

“Can I fucking help you?” you snap at him as you realign with reality. “Jesus Christ, Joel, were you waiting outside the window or something?” 

You glare into his eyes, but a toxic part of you only wants to focus on his lips. And how close they are to yours. You also can’t deny the even more debauched part of you that flutters at the possessive look in Joel’s eyes. 

He laughs darkly, “Nah baby, I knew you’d send him on his way.” 

You roll your eyes at that. Cocky bastard. 

And he is. He emits a frenzied energy as he takes you in. Looking you up and down like a prize. Like he’s considering where to write his name on your skin. 

You roll your shoulders. Trying to shake off the idea that you’d like to be possessed by him, but it thrums persistently inside of you. 

“You didn’t know shit, Miller,” you accuse sardonically. 

Joel reaches for you. You think he’s going to tell you off. But his hands glide over the tops of your shoulders and up the column of your neck until he’s cupping your jaw in both hands. It feels jarring and vulnerable to be held by him this way. To feel like he just wants to look at you and to know you can’t look away. You wonder what’s going on behind his dark eyes. What he sees when he looks at you What he thinks. 

The longer he looks at you, the more the tension builds (of course, because it’s Joel). You start to itch, fingers twitching with the need to grab him and pull his full weight on top of you. Despite your building desire, he’s still quietly reading your face. Joel Miller, the enigma, you muse. 

Before you can flip him any shit, his mouth is on yours, and his hands drop to your hips to hold you firmly against his body. You want him to keep holding you there, but closer. You need him even closer. 

He groans into your mouth, and you kiss him back hungrily. Your bodies slot together in a twisted fate. You couldn’t care less about the date you just had at this moment. You can hear Joel’s words from previous encounters that have burrowed into your consciousness, and you’re starving for more.  

A selfish and greedy satisfaction warms in your chest at him being in your bedroom. He pulls your lower lip between his teeth before breaking away to tease bites along your neck and shoulder. You shiver. Your fingers dig into his shirt, pulling him closer and closer until your knees buckle, and fall into the bed with him on top of you. He doesn’t stop trying to taste you everywhere, trying to feel every part of you. You breathe out single-syllable praise as your thoughts become hazy.  

You still feel needy. You writhe and strain as you attempt to work his shirt up his broad frame. You’re insistent on feeling the blistering heat of his skin against yours. He leans back up, out of your grip, causing you to sigh in exasperation. Of course, it couldn’t be this easy. What does he have to say now?

“You want me to leave?” 

“What? Why?” you growl out. He is not about to body slam you into a bed and then walk away. 

“Thought you were done with my ‘weird shit’ or whatever you called it,” he taunts. 

“I am,” you huff.

“Tell me to stop.” You can’t. 

“Take your clothes off,” you answer instead. 

He does. Then, he’s pulling your clothes off and climbing over you. You aren’t sure you’ve ever both been fully naked like this. Definitely not while in a bed, at least. It’s more intimate than your relationship calls for. It makes time feel syrupy, but your other senses feel sharply tuned. Joel’s breath fans hot over your ear as he tucks his face into the corner of your neck and shoulder. 

“So,” he sucks at your delicate skin before continuing in his smoky tone, “your date couldn’t satisfy you?” 

“Shut up,” you snarl at him, uninterested in playing games. You’re too lost in the intensity of his physical presence. You need him inside of you, and you tug at his body, trying to pull him closer. It’s useless. His strong arms are braced like two stone pillars on either side of you. 

He’s such a pest. His mouth quirks, and he looks all too pleased with himself. You roll your eyes again. You know what he’s getting at. What he wants to hear you say. But, you’re reluctant to stroke his ego. He’s going to be unbearable if. The thorn of it that hurts the most, though, is that it’s not a lie. It’s an admission. A confirmation. 

He makes you feel so good in ways nobody else ever could, but the pain of knowing he’ll never be yours eats at you. It feels like exposing your beating heart in your chest to confess you want him so badly. You ache to hear him tell you he only wants you again. Even if it’s not real, you lie to yourself, you just need to hear it.  

While you wrestle with finding the words, he begins to torment you. The heat and arousal weigh heavily between your naked bodies. He lowers closer and closer to where you need him most but refuses to alleviate your painful want. Wickedly, he exploits your neediness. Teasing at your skin with his tongue, teeth, and breath. 

“Tell me, baby. Just let me hear it,” he says. But you can’t. 

When he blows air over your strained nipples, and you arch under him seeking contact, he darts down to kiss at your stomach and inner thighs instead. When he gets closer and closer to the apex of your thighs, grazing his nose over your mound, you could snap. 

You reach to dig your fingers into his hair and direct his mouth to your throbbing clit, but he’s stronger than you. Devilish man. He crawls back up to hover over your face. You know he’s enjoying it. Wondering how quickly you’ll break. It makes you want to kick and scream.

“Tell me it’s not true then,” it’s a challenge directed at you, but it feels like he’s also challenging himself. 

He drags the head of his cock over the slick lips of your cunt without precision or direction. You are so convinced he’s torturing you, but he looks like he’s in pain from restraining himself as well. It makes you crazy. You try to reach down to line him up with your entrance yourself, but he’s faster. He grabs your hand and pins it above your head. 

“Fine,” you grit out. Frustrated. You aim to smother your fear with sarcasm and puff your chest, hoping it works. 

“You’re right, Joel. It’s true.” He doesn’t move, waiting to hear more. 

“I missed your filthy mouth and your big fat cock.” You mock with an exaggerated whine. You keep going before you lose courage. “And my date couldn’t satisfy me.” You pause, steeling yourself. The corner of his mouth twitches.

“Because even when I had his cock down my throat,” you force yourself to look in his eyes, “all I could think about was you.” 

You tried to keep the snarky, biting tone in that last part, but your voice betrayed you when you met his eyes. It came out sounding as vulnerable as it felt to say. His expression flickers. You feel too honest. You should take it back. You want to curl up. He grins above you. 

“I know, baby,” he coos. You hold your breath. Of course he’s going to be a condescending ass about it, you start to bemoan internally–but when he finally sinks into you, it shuts off your inner monologue and slows down time. “All I can fuckin’ think about,” he says as he fills you as deeply as possible, letting a satisfied sigh fall from his lips. 

All I can fuckin’ think about. 

The words rattle around in your mind. Joel begins to rock into you, deliberately grinding his pelvis against you. All he can think about is you, too? Or fucking you? Or how he’s ruined you for other men? 

All I can fuckin’ think about. 

It echoes in your head as he picks up his pace, splitting you open with heavy, mind-altering thrusts. Suffocatingly intimate. Face to face. Skin to skin. Soul to soul. His voice isn’t just echoing in your mind; he’s also running his mouth about something. Muttering about how he knew you’d be waiting for him, how he’s going to fuck you until you forget your date's name, how nobody else can satisfy your needy cunt. 

Oh. 

He’s not wrong. You want to hear more. 

“Yes,” You can stoke this fire. You don’t mind finding out what happens if you rile him up while he’s inside you. “Only you,” you pant, “nobody else fucks me like you do.” 

He makes a throaty noise in agreement and shifts. Large hands wrap around the back of your knees and press them towards your chest, tilting your hips up. You choke and sputter as he slams into you with force. The new angle creates a blissful intensity. 

“That’s right,” he says, “nobody else.” 

He pounds into you like he could fuck you through the mattress, maybe even through the floor. The lewd sound of his thighs slapping against your ass fill the room. You tuck your chin to your chest to watch the way each thrust makes your breasts bounce. You notice that he’s mesmerized by the same sight, and you take the opportunity to shift your gaze, studying the look on his face. 

It’s more sensual than anything you’ve done together before. You can see the sweat beading on his chest from exertion. You’re nearly folded in half and unable to stop your soft cries and moans. It’s raw, sticky, and vulnerable. You feel warmed at the thought but also fragile. Breakable. Hypersensitive emotionally and physically. It’s all too bright and hot. 

You let his voice push you over the edge, and your climax rips fiercely through your body. You faintly hear him groan as your tight walls contract around him, but his voice is drowned out by the pleasure. Your legs tremble, still balanced over his shoulders. 

Your core muscles spasm as he keeps sawing into you until your hips are jerking at the sensitivity of your come down. He slows, breathing heavily over you. You can see the animalistic edge in his eyes. You have to push it. Play it out. 

“Make me yours,” you incite. 

You definitely just meant to imply, ‘fuck me hard and come inside me, please,’ but you worry he’s interpreted it differently when he drops your legs. Wrong. He turns you over, laying you flat on your stomach, pulling your arms behind your back, and pinning you to the bed.  He straddles your closed legs. Your shoulders strain a little as he leans into you. His heavy body compresses your prone form, and his cock weighs heavy against the curve of your ass; it feels right. A perverted comfort blanket, stealing your breath. 

“Repeat it,” he tells the back of your neck. 

“Make me yours.” You turn your head to the side. You can’t see his face, but you can hear the string of curses he chants when he lines up and wedges himself into you. The added constriction of your position unravels you both. 

“Mine,” he grunts. You muffle your own noises into the sheets, along for the ride. He doesn’t last much longer before you feel him still overtop of you. You close your eyes, focusing on the sensation of the pulsing and throbbing of his cock inside you as he fills you up. Breathing deep, your back rises against his chest before he slides off of you.

You roll onto your side. Facing each other, you still at the sight of him. Another breath shared between you, chests expanding towards each other. For the briefest moment, you think he might stay. You can see the soft edge of relaxation in his features. Your hand drifts toward him, an instinct based on nothing rational, just wanting to feel him. You feel the stupid, dreamy expression settling on your face. Before you can speak or figure out what you were reaching for, he’s snapped out of the bubble of tranquility. His walls are up. 

He’s dressed and leaving, walking towards the door as you can only sigh into your dirty sheets. 

He doesn’t even leave with a snide last word. Just the door closing. 

Excuse me?!

How dare you get me thinking about this as well!

🫠🥵🫠🥵

listen. i'm thinking about frankie morales in soft grey sweatshorts. nothing underneath.

he's just freeballing it, going about his day. he woke up half hard, got semi-dressed bleary eyed, and is doing nothing about it as he wanders around his house.

soft swell of him against the fabric, the curve of his cock pressing soooo deliciously against the fleecy inside. he's so sensitive like this, rutting into the light pressure, barely aware of the fact he's doing it. he just feels good all over. and hey, maybe he's running high off the feeling, the low ache below his navel, the pull of something. maybe he pulls the curtains and doesn't try to hide the shape of his dick incase a neighbour walks past.

he lets it drag on because it feels so nice. brain a little fuzzy as he half finishes tasks, because he's just a little too horny. he just likes teasing himself a little, playing a game with himself like this. sometimes he wonders what it would be like if you were here, playing this game, too. both half dressed, touching each other, rubbing up against each other, slanting open mouths and breathy whines before breaking apart and absentminding another task when it gets too heated. orbiting around each other because you can't be that far from the other's warmth when you're all cloudy and wet like this.

he tugs at himself through the fabric when thoughts of your mouth, your ass, your tits, your tight, wet warmth threaten at his mind. maybe he gets a little carried away in the kitchen, fingers dipping below the waistband to actually wrap his hand around his cock, mouth falling slack as he pumps himself slowly. the other hand gripping the lip of the sink, backyard blurring as his brain replaces the sight with the memory of fucking you right here a couple of weeks ago. how you sounded, how you felt. silk slick of him swelling to full size in his palm, achingly hard, dribbling precum.

he squeezes his base, imagines how you'd coo at him. so pretty, so needy, aren't you baby boy? and he huffs, so fucking warm, sweating with arousal. cock now straining against his shorts, grey stained darker around his tip. quietly satisfied as he observes how long, how thick he is like this. balls heavy, edging himself until you walk through the door, having spent most of the day in bed with your hands between your thighs, thinking of him.

maybe he sends you a photo or two, a video before you arrive. drawing out the inevitable, drawing out the fun of it. and when he finally gets you on his couch, when he slides your panties to the side, you're still so wet from your last orgasm, throbbing at the thought of him. and he's been so close all day, it takes ten minutes max for you to be falling apart at the same time. messy and, impossibly, still so turned on.

you spend the rest of the day, well into the evening, making each other come as many times as possible. the hours before you arrived making him heady, making it difficult to let you out of his grasp for even a minute. only barely sated when you fall asleep still wrapped in each other, waking some time after midnight to do it all again.

anyway. i was just thinking about it.

This has me swooning!!! 😍

Gah I love Frankie!

convenience

summary: he was within arm’s reach. that’s all.

warnings: suggestions of harassment, alcohol consumption, language, innuendo

a/n: no thoughts, frankie morales and his broad shoulders only. poorly edited so forgive any mistakes you find. i’ll go back and fix soon.

you rarely come to the bar alone. tonight is an anomaly.

Keep reading

Better get some ideas cooking for a story

MARRIED JOEL SITS ON YOU September Fic Prompt Challenge

To bid the summer farewell and celebrate the coming of Cuffing Season, I'd like to welcome you to join me in sin & get sat upon by Joel Miller.

Want to participate? Post your Married!Joel-Sat-Upon fic by September 30th with the hashtag #joel sat on me 2024 and tag me - @beefrobeefcal. You can also send me the link to said fic via direct msg or in my inbox.

FICS MUST INCLUDE:

Joel is married (does not have to be married to reader, y/n or person being sat upon)

The following wording: Marriage had been good to Joel. His mental health and financial stability had improved, and he seemed over all a happier person. The only drawback seemed to be the effect it had on his waistline.

Happy writing!

Beefro👌🥩💜

all about beef

taglist for those who may be interested: @strang3lov3 @noxturnalpascal @whocaresstillthelouvre @jennaispunk @weregirlbyknight

@yopossum @ace-turned-confused @bitchesuntitled @timelordfreya @maggiemayhemnj

@goodwithcheese @rebel-held @gwendibleywrites @romanarose @xdaddysprincessxx

@artsy-girl-76 @wintrwinchestr @deathsholywaterr @merz-8 @slutsoutgutsout @covetyou

Oh my god! This was such a good story!

😍

Are we on the same side?

Rating: 18+ (Minors DNI!!!)

Word count: 8K

Pairing: Separated husband!Joel Miller x wife!reader

Summary: Joel and you are trialling temporary separation due to repeated arguments with one another after nearly twenty years of marriage.

He returns to the marital home to do you a favour, flirting ensues and the sexual tension gets out of hand because of course it does.

You may need some clarification on what you are…

AO3

You put up the hearts, and I'll put up both my aces Not very far apart Still on different pages

Before having kids, you used to take every moment of your life for granted. 

You were just a kid yourself back then, when you had two babies with a boy who shared your class and you were so in love you couldn’t fathom a life without him. For years you were Mama, the person who fed them and changed them, bathed them and rocked them to sleep. You worked night shifts while the love of your life worked in the day, all so food could be put on the table and an apartment could be kept to keep you all warm and safe. It wasn’t until a few years ago when your kids gained their own independence that you slowly started to regain your own life back, now you were nearly forty and working a job that gave you more freedom even if the stress levels have gotten to you more than once and your marriage… well that’s a separate issue on its own. 

You’d spent the morning doing things you wanted to, thanking whoever that your kids were teenagers who could do their own breakfast and helped with chores without coaxing. You’ve been to pilates and the salon and had your infills done, your nails a glossy shade of pillar box red in an almond shape and your toes the same colour. You’d even managed to grab a Starbucks and sipped it languidly as you people watched from the safety of your car, enjoying your chosen playlist on Spotify without the bluetooth getting hijacked. The icing on the cake though? The fact you got to shower at home without someone barging in to ask for foundation or to borrow your strapless bra or your new Adidas Superstars. 

It’s mid way through Saturday afternoon that your relaxation comes skidding to a halt in the form of your jaded lover knocking heavily against the pane of glass on your front door, the irritating noise makes you scowl and you drag your feet to answer it. 

You crack it open, familiar brown eyes stare at you and yours narrow back. 

“What are you doing here?” You ask flatly, the male on the other side picks up on your terse mood and his shoulders rise defensively. If it wasn’t for the little disagreement you’d had a few days prior on the phone over something as mundane as renewing car insurance, you’d have probably been more excited to see him but the way he can sometimes undermine you really grates on your nerves, you hate that he gets so swept up in work that he comes home and talks to you like he’s your foreman. 

The minute he’d started questioning your choice like a fucking know it all, you’d merely hung up in irritation, refusing to answer when he’d called you back twice to apparently try and patch it over. You’d read the I’m sorry and I love you more than you’ll ever know text he sent after over and over, trying to figure out how things had come to this. 

Nearly two decades together, married, with children and a house. You and Joel Miller have been torn apart by too many petty arguments that end with you sobbing and him walking away, you’d had to call it and come up with a possible solution with the marriage counsellor before it was too late. 

He huffs and lifts his hand, showing you the toolbox you’ve seen many times with its contents strewn about somewhere in your house. 

“A little birdie told me that you’re in need of a repair.” Joel’s lip twists at the side when your mood seems to perk just a fraction, there’s multiple things that need a little TLC right now but he can certainly worm his way back into your good books with a good old fashioned repair. You can only assume the little birdie was Sarah or Ellie. 

You open the door fully and step backwards so all six foot something of him can meander through your front door, he wipes his feet on the welcome mat and toes his sneakers off, nudging them into the neat space where a tattered pair of Vans have been kicked off hard enough to scuff the wall and a pair of spotless ankle boots have been nicely placed beside your shoes. 

“Where’s the babies?” He frowns, looking around and noticing the lack of noise. 

You smile as you shut the door behind him as he refers to the girls as his babies, despite Sarah being eighteen and Ellie just turned fourteen. 

With them both being girls, he’s soft anyway but Sarah is his first born who made him a father and Ellie’s still his tiny baby who he’s soaked up every second of when she was a newborn because you both knew you weren’t having any more children.

“At the movies together watching Twisters, Garret backed out on Sarah so Ellie went instead.” You inform him, sneaking an appreciative glance from the corner of your eye. 

Joel makes a noise at the mention of Sarah’s boyfriend, never having liked him for whatever reason, you think it’s because they’re eerily alike so therefore clash. 

“Little prick will be back hangin’ around here next week.” He grumbles, placing his toolbox on the bottom step.  

“She’s just going through the universal thing of falling for a country boy.” You tease. 

“Well as long as he don’t get her pregnant before graduation then we won’t have a problem.”

“She’s smarter than us.” You say. 

“I know.” Joel agrees, you sneak one more glance at the country boy who got you pregnant before graduation. 

He’s wearing slim fitting black sweatpants with a worn grey t-shirt with a faded motif on, the chain of his St Christopher barely noticeable beneath it and his thick rimmed glasses are perched on his nose. 

You miss the hungry look he shoots you when you turn away, chestnut coloured eyes drifting low to the denim shorts you wear that he’s sure you’ve had since you were in your twenties. They fit snug and are contoured perfectly to the shape of your ass, your cheeks barely peeking out. What really makes his dick hard is the fact you’re wearing one of his sweatshirts, an old Dallas Cowboys one that you’ve always been particularly fond of. 

“Nice flowers. Who got ya those?” He nods with a smirk towards the vase on the side table that’s filled with blooming peonies and baby’s breath. 

The beautiful arrangement of flowers had arrived the morning after your petty argument with Joel, a gift from the universe if you will when you needed something bright and blooming to drag you out of the despair you were frantically becoming encased in. 

“Oh.” You hum and feign ignorance, reaching out to gently touch the edge of a baby pink peony. “Just a friend.” You smile vaguely, Joel rolls his eyes. “Beautiful, aren’t they?”

“A guy sent them?” He presses, shifting his weight, your grin turns devious. 

“Mmm.” You coo, feeling thrilled when that lick of annoyance flickers across your husband’s face at your flippant tone. 

“Who?” He grins back.

“I’m not telling you.” 

“Come on, I just wanna talk to him, I wanna know why he thinks it’s okay to send my wife flowers.” 

“Ex wife.” You snort, Joel glares at you. 

“We’re separated, not divorced. Y’know what, we’re barely even separated.” He disagrees, you bite the inside of your cheek in amusement. 

“Apparently you’re here to fix my shelves and you’re doing a whole lot of yapping, very unprofessional of you.” You goad, stepping backwards when he begins to saunter towards you with a certain look in his eyes. 

“I’ll fix your shelves, I’ll fix anythin’ you want.” Joel mumbles, stalking you. 

“Big promises.” You taunt, lifting your chin defiantly. His hands grasp your waist, pulling you to him and you let him, leaning up to wrap your arms around his neck. 

You love this, the playful behaviour and flirting since you decided to live apart for a while. It feels new and exciting, a rush that you felt when you first got together as youngsters just before your world flipped and you were pregnant before your frontal lobe had developed. 

He smells delectable, you can’t stop yourself from nosing at his bearded jaw where his cologne is the strongest. Joel’s throat bobs, his fingers drift upwards under your borrowed sweatshirt to feel the bare skin between your shorts and bra. 

As his structured jaw slides across yours and his nose just barely brushes your own, you feel his breath hit your lips and you know he really wants to kiss you but is waiting for you to make the first move. 

You want to, you really do but you’re scared of falling into a false sense of security when you haven’t even scratched the surface of your underlying problems that the marriage counsellor suggested needed to be covered before you could get back on track. 

Joel enjoys the way your head fits against his collarbone, loves the sweet smell of your hair and skin. 

“Fix my shelf.” You huff into his skin as you retreat, he sighs deeply but picks up his toolbox and begins to follow you up the stairs with his eyes glued to your backside. 

It almost feels strange for Joel to be back in your shared bedroom after three weeks away, he hasn’t been back for any extra clothes or personal items. If he’s come over to see the kids, then he’s stayed downstairs or in the garden with them. 

Everything looks the same which is a strange observation given that really you’ve barely been apart for any time at all but it’s comforting to be back. 

The bed is made in its usual dress up of plain white sheets with useless throw pillows stacked neatly, there’s a pile of clean laundry resting on your vanity chair but also clothes tossed on the floor where you’ve been indecisive. 

Joel whistles when he sees the closet door open and the fallen shelf leaning against the door, there’s a scrape on the inside wall where it’s collided and taken the paint off. It looks like a fairly simple job, the wall plugs have probably come loose over time and needed replacing, it’s not as if IKEA is known for making indestructible furniture. 

“You want the step ladder?” You question as he surveys the situation, rubbing the wall with his fingertips to see if the scrape will alleviate some. 

“I think so.” He replies. “They in the garage?” 

“No, Ellie’s room, she was trying to hang some fairy lights earlier but only got halfway before she threw a fit about the command hooks.” You chuckle, wandering off to go retrieve them for him, already certain he’s made a note to finish the job for her before he leaves. 

When you get back, he’s got some tools ready, his drill in hand already. He steps onto the bottom rung of the step ladder, groaning as he stretches. 

You observe for a moment, knowing it irks him, he hates being watched on a job.

“Jesus, it’s fuckin’ dusty up here. You’re a terrible housewife, neglectin’ your duties.” Joel pokes, knowing you won’t take a blind bit of notice. 

“You wanna know why we really separated? Because you neglected your duties as a husband to satisfy your wife.” You reply easily, Joel chuckles and looks down at you. 

“Oh spare me the dramatics, you’ve never been unsatisfied by me in your whole entire life.” He sings, infuriatingly he isn’t wrong. 

“I’m telling the kids you were being sexist to me.” You threaten, chewing on a sinister smile. “Ellie will beat you up.” 

“She won’t.” Joel grins, you mumble out a complaint. “She’s a daddy’s girl, maybe try your luck with Sarah, I’m sure she’d give me a lecture.” Not that you think he needs one, he’s the biggest supporter of you and his girls. 

“They’re both Daddy’s girls, the little traitors. Nine whole months carrying them and giving birth after what felt like days and days with no fucking pain relief and this is the thanks I get? Not to mention my nipples being sucked raw.” You grumble to yourself, kicking some laundry into a pile at the side of the wall, Joel makes you jump when he groans suddenly.

“Just sayin’ but your tits were amazin’ when you were breastfeedin’ - shit, they’re still fucking phenomenal.” He sighs dreamily, closing his eyes. “Fuck, you were so hot carryin’ my babies, I’d have kept you pregnant if I had my way.” 

You bite your cheeks to hide the satisfaction that your husband still wants you. 

“You can’t say stuff like that to me anymore.” 

“Why? We separated or somethin’?” Your husband frowns comically. “Show me your tits.” 

“No.” 

“Come on, just one.” He grins boyishly. “The right one is my favourite.” You stick your middle finger up at him.

“Asshole.” You sniff, walking back to lay on the end of your bed. 

You pick up your phone, mindlessly scrolling through Facebook posts made by the PTA at the girls school while Joel complains about wall fixings or something equally as dull. 

In the end, you get bored and toss it away, instead opting to enjoy the eye candy in the form of a senior (essentially) gentleman on a stepladder cussing about how IKEA can suck his balls. 

“Piece of fuckin’ shit!” He complains when the shelf slips again in your closet, he takes a calming breath and contains his frustration, you snicker at him. “How did this even break, sweetheart?” Joel huffs, changing out for a larger wall plug. 

“Dunno, it just did.” You answer vaguely, looking at your ceiling.

“Bullshit.” He quips. “Did you put too much shit on it?” 

“No.” You hum, shaking your head. 

“You’re a liar.” He states plainly, equally unamused. “What did you put on here that was so heavy it collapsed?” 

“Nothing, maybe it was just your shoddy workmanship to begin with.” You quip, not looking at him though you desperately want to because you can imagine the outrage on his face but you won’t be able to not laugh. 

“It wasn’t me that put it up.” He glares. 

“Sure, whatever you say.” You smile sweetly at him. It’s quiet for a minute, then Joel speaks again. 

“You put filled shoeboxes up here, didn’t you? After I told you nothin’ heavier than a few sweaters? ” He asks knowingly. 

Silence and then… 

“Yeah.” You nod, he sighs loudly and turns back to drill in a screw now that he seems happy with the stability. 

You watch him as he works, angling himself to see better and be able to use his drill at the correct angle. 

The muscles in his back move and his shoulders look unbelievably broad beneath his t-shirt, it hugs his biceps and rides up when he shifts to show a slither of his boxers and bare back. 

Your mouth almost waters and you press your thighs together but it obscures your view so you part them again to peek at him through the gap in your knees. 

It’s well known that your husband is an attractive man, he always has been. You’ve watched him grow from the gangly teenager with a backwards baseball cap practically glued to his head you were first besotted with to the almost middle aged and greying man that now works before you. 

Most nights when it’s dark, quiet and the house is still, you pleasure yourself beneath the duvet thinking of him, hips moving frantically against the whir of your vibrator. It can be any scenario of the long time you’ve been together, two decades holds enough memories to fill books upon books with pictures and anecdotes, some that you keep stored away just for you. 

Sometimes you dream about the three day honeymoon in Nashville you had when your parents forced you to get married before Sarah was born, back when you first lived in Arlington in a shitty apartment you could barely afford with you both working instead of attending college. Then there was that night just under four years later with sex so explosive that you’d had the fleeting thought you’d immediately gotten pregnant again, only to actually find out you’d been right two weeks later when you’d presented Joel with yet another positive pregnancy test before twenty five. 

You chew your lip, lashes fluttering and you’re sure he notices you ogling him in the mirror that puts your reflection in his eye line by the smirk you see. 

God, he pisses you off so much sometimes. He makes your cunt wet and your teeth grind all at once, you never knew that was possible. 

Rolling off the bed and onto your feet, you casually turn so that your back is to him on the ladder but you’re in the perfect position in the reflection of the mirror in front of him. He doesn’t notice at first over the sound of the drilling but when it stops and he goes to test the stability of the shelf, he freezes and the arm holding his drill drops limply to his side. 

He sees you begin to strip down in the mirror, shimmying your shorts down and then yanking off your oversized sweater. Joel freezes, gulping when you turn away to unclip your bra, the expanse of your back is smooth and if he thought your backside looked good in those shorts, the high cut panties you’re wearing hit on a whole other level. 

“What are you doin’?” He asks when your fingers hook into the sides of your panties, they flex within the material and you peer over your shoulder at him, big doe eyes the opposite of fucking innocence. 

“Just taking a shower, I’m filthy.” You titter, holding his piercing gaze through the mirror. 

“Funny, you’ve done nothin’ but sit on your pretty little ass and watch me inhale dust that’s been here for the last fifteen years.” 

“Well, you could always join me.” You shrug, finally slipping your underwear down your thighs, Joel’s mouth goes dry. “Only if you want to, of course.” You beam at him and then sashay away into the en suite, Joel’s resolve breaks very quickly (immediately actually) and he’s yanking off his glasses and tossing them onto the dresser and plucking his t-shirt over his head in an instant. 

Maybe the solution is to fuck it out and he’ll gladly go as many times as needed, you always did need to be fucked hard when your attitude started to test him. 

The shower has been switched on and you’re naked under the stream as he finishes yanking both his socks, sweatpants and boxers off. He admires you through the glass, kicking his clothes into a messy pile before climbing in there with you, the air tight and hot. 

His big hands enrobe you from behind, long dexterous fingers gripping at your waist and pawing at all the exposed skin it’s been weeks since he’s seen. 

You tilt your head back from the water, resting it against his shoulder and pushing back into him, holding onto his forearms and digging your nails into his flesh. 

“Look who couldn’t resist, you bad boy. Whatever will the therapist say?” You mock, pouting those pretty lips. 

“You’re a goddamn tease, you know that?” He growls, nipping at your jaw and earlobe, holding the weight of your breasts in his hands. 

“If you say so.” You breathe sexily, dragging him by the back of his neck to meet your lips in a hungry kiss. 

His cock is trapped between his soft stomach and your lower back, smearing a pearlescent gleam as he anchors himself to you.

You moan into his mouth when he teases your nipples into tight peaks, plucking them and roughly cupping your tits. 

“I want to lick your pretty little pussy until you cum on my face.” He admits into your mouth, barely letting you breathe past the fierce kisses. Your clit throbs at his confession and you grab hold of his hand, guiding it down your body to between your legs where he teases your lips.

Your back arches prettily into him, the free hand holding your breast now grips your throat, forcing you to tilt your head back. 

“Ah.” You whine when the roughened pads of his fingers stroke your clit. “Mmm, there.” You hum, pushing into his fingers. He entertains you, dipping his fingertips to your honey slick hole and back up again, dragging the gooey wetness to smother on your clit until it’s hardened and desperate to be sucked on like candy. 

“Bet you could cum like this.” He says gruffly, beard scratching at your shoulders and neck, wherever he greedily kisses your dewy wet skin. 

“Wanna cum on you, Joel.” You whine, reaching behind you to grasp his thickness. He ruts into your hand, smearing more stickiness that you want to lick away from his tip. 

You absorb him similarly to a plant and the sun, the bulk of his form plastered against your back so big and strong, skin sun kissed and warm. He’s safety to you, every single thing about him, everything familiar that you know. 

“Needy little slut.” He whispers, your core becomes aflame at the debauchery, you nod in confirmation. “Oh, you agree? You just need a cock to sit on and your shitty attitude will be right as rain?” 

“Only your cock.” You whine, flicking your thumb against the underside of him, tracing out a vein you’re very familiar with. 

“Yeah, baby. Only mine, I know, I know.” His sweet breath is hot against your cheek as he pants, fingers strumming your clit faster. “You wanna cum for me, baby? Show me how good you can be?” You hum and nod, knees almost buckling, this is the fastest you’ve approached orgasm since being separated. 

“Gonna cum, Joel.” You say huskily, hips bucking into his hand until it’s only been two seconds since your revelation and you’re cumming - wet and sticky - into the palm of his hand. His mouth is on yours, you’re moaning and moving erratically, Joel’s cock is dribbling a steady stream of pre cum into your hand where you’re gripping his shaft. 

“Sexy little thing.” Joel husks into your ear, biting the lob as you heave for air, slowly undulating your hips as you ride the last wave of your peak against his hand. “Good girl.” He praises, taking his hand away when you weakly push at his wrist. He lifts it in front of you, fingers webbed with your cum, runny and clear. You catch his hand, slipping his index and middle finger into your mouth, sucking them clean as he groans and ruts into the hand still around him, the cool palladium of his wedding ring bumps against your cupids bow as you suckle. 

You slip his fingers out of your mouth, letting them drag down your chin and back to your tits. “Fuck me.” You demand haughtily, eyeing him. 

“I’ll fuck you, baby.” He confirms, softer than you were expecting, he meets you for a kiss and you suck on the plumpness of his bottom lip before turning away. Joel slicks his hair back under the spray and then begins to trace out the curve of your waist and the fullness of your ass, you feel his hand bump you knuckle first where he fists himself to complete mast and then he runs the length of himself through your pussy, hissing at the wet heat that awaits him but he pauses, retracting back unsure. 

“You want me to wear a condom?” And you freeze, looking over your shoulder in distress. 

“Have you been with other people?” You frown, your heart suddenly sinking into your stomach, making your guts twist with nausea. Joel frowns down at you, blinking away the water clinging to his lashes. 

“Course not.” He answers, you relax. “…Have you?” Joel presses.

“Absolutely not.” You state firmly. “So get inside me.” You demand, turning away to place your hands on the tiles. You feel him press kisses to your shoulders as the tip of his cock brushes your ass again, you sigh and push back into him. “Please, baby.” You beg, feeling him smile into your skin. 

“I think you’re tryin’ to baby trap me.” Joel says playfully, pulling your hips against him so that your back arches just so. 

“You had a vasectomy after Ellie, idiot.” Your hips press insistently against him and you reach back to tug at his length, your fingers barely wrapping around the girth. “Now get your dick inside me, Joel.” You demand. 

“Yes, ma’am.” He leans down a fraction and slicks himself up, the entire length of him slipping against your pussy lips once more and nudging your clit. “Fuuuuck.” Joel groans when he does it again and the head of him catches on your hole, slipping inside just a fraction. 

“Oh my god.” You pant, your forehead dropping to rest against the cool tiled as he fills you completely. It’s a tight fit, after over three weeks of no sex with him your body is near to combustion.

You wonder if the lack of sex has attributed to the arguments, both working long hours at your respective jobs and not having the time for the normal intimacy you usually share. 

This is exactly what you’ve been wanting in the weeks you’ve been apart; a carnal desire to have your husband close. 

His grunt in your ear sets something off in you, the relief he feels directly felt by you. 

You whimper at the first thrust after he’s settled within your velvet lined canal, body pressed between him and the wall. 

It won’t ever be like this with anyone else, you think to yourself - the way Joel fits within you, around you and alongside you. 

“Like that.” You pant, pressing back. He grunts into your ear in such a manly way that you reach back to yank on his hair, he growls into your neck and fucks into you harder. 

He’s so strong it makes your head spin, this gorgeous man with a heart of gold that loved you when you were young, married you and gave you two babies, helped you create a comfortable life for your family. 

It’s overwhelming; that sensation of being full and enveloped within the heat of his radius. 

You’ve missed everything about him; his smell, his voice, the way he tastes. You’ve ached for the things you’ve harmlessly bickered about before, such as underwear outside of the hamper, smudges of toothpaste on the bathroom mirror after a deep clean, crumbs on the island. 

You don’t mean to let your emotions get the best of you but your eyes well and your throat tightens, your chest constricts something fierce. 

The sob that erupts out of your chest can’t be disguised by the noise of the water hitting the floor at your feet or the soft groans of Joel, not the breathless whines from yourself either. 

It’s a raw noise, jagged at the edges so much that it hurts leaving your throat. 

“Honey?” Immediately Joel has stopped moving and withdrawn, spinning you around to cup your cheeks. “Why are you cryin’?” He presses insistently, thumbs trying to swipe away your tears. Your cheeks are aflame, embarrassed to have spoilt such an intimate moment after so long. 

“I just - I just missed you.” You whimper, tucking your nose into his bicep. He cradles you to him softly beneath the spray, hushing you gently. This makes you cry more, thinking about how he’s held your babies like this; tenderly like they’re the most fragile  beings made entirely of glass. “Everything feels wrong! And… and…” You sniffle wetly. “And I can’t sleep properly without you and your dumb old man snoring!” 

“Oh, baby.” He chuckles into your hair. 

“I don’t like the whole limited contact stuff either.” You mumble. 

“Neither do I but it’s what was suggested and I think we need to try it, if we don’t like it then that’s a good sign.” He tries to pick your mood up, you pout and nod, leaning into his touch. 

“I’m scared we won’t fix this and I’ll have to watch you start dating someone else.” 

“I’m not gonna date anyone else, lady. I only want you, I’ve only ever wanted you.” He tells you. 

“That’s not true.” You hiccup. “Brandi Neil wanted you and you were going to go to Homecoming with her.” 

“Fuckin’ - that was literally over twenty somethin’ years ago and I went with you in the end!” He huffs indignantly. “Come on, let’s get dry and we can talk some more.” Joel guides you out of the shower with a gentle hand, turning off the water and handing you a towel. He leans over on more than one occasion to peck your lips, he smooths his thumbs beneath your eyes to wipe away the mascara that’s ran in the shower from the steam. 

Once you’re both relatively dry, there’s an awkward shift in the air as you’re both naked still and Joel looks very much aroused, half hard cock swaying as he moves. 

You saunter back to the bed, peering over your shoulder to see that you’ve captured his attention intently and he gulps as you climb onto the mattress, briefly resting on all fours for a split second, wet pussy drooling and exposed before turning onto your back. 

You stretch out against the sheets not dissimilar to a renaissance painting, skin dewy with a look on your face that Joel wants to savour. 

He climbs atop the mattress with you, pushing your thighs apart to settle between them. His warm mouth finds your nipples, sucking them and biting gently, you stretch and arch into him like a puppet on strings, the weight of your breasts fitting in each of his roughened palms. You feel the brush of his cock sway against your inner thigh and you buck against it, trying to encourage him closer, you huff when he ignores you in favour of worshiping your breasts. 

“Calm down.” He murmurs. “We’ll get there.” He promises in that deep baritone which makes your purr. Joel shimmies down your body, palm dragging along your sternum and settling on your stomach where your fingers find his in a desperate squeeze. 

The broadness of him fits between your thighs, one tossed over his shoulder to open you up. It’s erotic how he looks with his mouth on you, silver streaked hair visible and it’s not long before you’re clutching at it, writhing and moaning something pretty. 

He parts your labia and licks slowly, using only the tip of his tongue, flicking over your clit and coaxing it from beneath the hood, sucking it between his lips and running his tongue repeatedly over it as you gasp and pull his hair, he suckles and there’s a lewd slurp thrown in there. 

You purr like a kitten when his fingers enter you, moving steadily and brushing your G spot with such expertise that your eyes water. He knows what you like, having learnt your body and its responses for the better part of twenty years. A gush of slick aids the smooth movement of his ring and middle finger, stroking you from the inside until it proves too much to feel so far from him. 

“Up, Joel.” You whine, tugging his tresses with more force than necessary which causes him to bite your inner thigh in retaliation but he allows himself to be malleable at the hands of you, kneeling between your legs and wiping the slick of you from his moustache and beard. 

Rocking back onto his haunches, he fists his cock at the sight of you looking wrecked, that deep possessive part of him that’s smug because it’s him that makes you look like that; flushed and desperate. 

“I won’t last long, honey.” He warns as he gets into position, wrapping both legs around his waist. 

“Don’t care.” You state, reaching down to grab hold of him and guiding the blunt head of him through your lips, teasing yourself before you notch him just right. He eases himself in gentler than before in the shower, savouring that slow stretch as he feeds you himself until the wiry coarse hairs at the base are dampened by your wetness. 

He drops onto his forearms beside your head, caging you in as he begins to move, the pendant from his St Christopher bumps your chin. You make pretty noises, clawing at his back in a way that leaves diagonal lines in various shades of pink and red. Chests pressed together, heart to heart, a rhythmic beat perfectly in sync. 

“Tell me you love me.” You gasp.

Sitting up, Joel guides your leg over his shoulder, kissing your ankle bone, toying with the dainty gold anklet there that was an anniversary present some years ago. Your back arches against the sheets and you whimper sweetly at the new sensation of his hips fitting snuggly between your thighs and the weeping head of him nudging against the sponged wall of your cervix. 

“I love you.” He groans, hands grappling your hip bones, forcing you closer like he can’t get enough, he looms over you. “I love you so fuckin’ much.” 

“I love you.” You pant back. “I love you, I love you, I love you.” His nose nudges yours, lips hungrily searching to slot against yours, puffy and wet. “You remember night one of our honeymoon?” You press, exhaling hot and tone wanting. 

“Fuck yeah I do, fuck - “ His hips snap harder and you keen. “Pretty as a fuckin picture, still in your weddin’ dress on the floor.” 

“Fuck.” You sigh, fisting at his biceps with slippery fingers. “Barely made it through the motel door.” 

“You looked so fuckin good, honey. Havin’ my baby and ridin’ me on the floor.” His mouth slackens and his eyes slip closed, clearly deep in thought. 

“I wanna do it again, Joel.” You gasp, fingers shakily circling your clit, hard and slippery. 

“Yeah, baby. We’ll have another honeymoon, renew our vows first and everythin’.” He grunts. 

“Baby.” You whimper in his ear. “I’m cumming, fuck me harder.” You say it breathlessly and all his carnal instincts take over, he fucks you that hard the headboard slams into the wall and takes a layer of sage green paint off. You’re loud through your climax, hips jumping and blood rushing through every vein like accelerant and fire. 

“Jesus, I’m gonna cum. Fuck!” He groans, fingers moulding into the mattress, orgasm hitting so hard it makes the edges of his vision blacken. “Fuckin’ Christ.” You kiss his throat from your place beneath him, licking his jugular like the fucking minx you are, biting a tendon. 

The white of his teeth is blinding as his lip curls into a near snarl, the pulse of warmth as he orgasms spreads within you and you pant, flushed from head to toe. 

You kiss him as he grunts to completion, teeth clashing. 

“You’re so good - so good.” You murmur into his mouth, frantically pushing his hair from his damp forehead. “You’re perfect.” You hum, enraptured. 

“That’s you.” He smiles, lip curving against yours. “My pretty little wife.” 

He strokes your hair and traces your features, eyes searching yours for something; hope maybe and you smile gently at him, pulling him down beside you once he’s withdrawn from the warmth of your body. 

You rest against him, cheek to his chest to listen to the thrum below. You count his freckles and you trace his knuckles, you kiss his exposed skin over and over, you absorb as much of him as you can, feeling fulfilled for the first time in weeks. 

Joel quietly observes you, you lean up on your elbow, dragging your manicured nails down the centre of his chest, he watches you with his arm behind his head. You pause and lean down to rest your chin on his sternum, blinking with those fluttery lashes that cast a shadow high on your cheekbones. 

“Thank you for my flowers.” You say, he smiles softly and reaches down to stroke your cheek with his thumb. 

“You’re welcome.” He whispers. “Wanted to do somethin’ nice for you, Ellie messaged me and said you’d had a tough week at work before that dumb fucking argument we had.” His long fingers comb through your hair, you rest easily on his stomach now, letting your eyes slip shut. “Wanna talk about it, baby?” 

“Not really.” You huff. “I don’t want to unload my problems on you.” Joel sighs in exasperation at your vague answer. 

“You can tell me anythin’, you know that.” 

“We’re supposed to be taking time apart to stop the fighting, me unloading everything onto you isn’t going to help that.” You tell him. 

“I think communication is exactly what we need.” He disagrees. 

“You’re starting an argument now.” You chuckle with an eye roll, resting your cheek against his warm skin. He rolls his eyes back but doesn’t reply, continuing to stroke your hair, twirling some around his finger. “Joel?” You ask quietly. 

“Hmm?” 

“What if we can’t fix this?” 

“We can.” He replies determinedly. “Nearly twenty years together and two kids later, I’m still so in love with you, whether we’re fighting or not.” 

“I love you.” You murmur. 

“I love you more.” He replies. “And I love our girls.” Joel adds. 

“Me too.” You shift and snuggle into him, resting your head beneath his chin. 

He holds you quietly, his touch a major comfort. You think back over the almost month it’s been since the marriage counsellor had suggested Joel move out of the martial house for awhile and stay with his brother, just so you could see if distance would be beneficial after the amalgamation of late working nights, the stress of parenting two teenage girls and life itself along with naturally getting older, you already dancing that line of perimenopause. 

The space had made you realise you didn’t want to be without him and you’d both seemed to realise that you didn’t want to split up, you just needed to figure out a way to make things work. 

“I think we should trial the time apart for another week and keep seeing the counsellor for a few more months.” You begin. “I’m gonna figure something out at work and reduce my hours, no more bringing it home with me.” 

“That sounds good.” Joel murmurs, twisting a piece of your hair. “I’m goin’ to cut my days down to four, I think the finances will be fine and I want to be around here more for you and the girls.” He tells you, you nod slowly and blink away the tears that have suddenly come at the softness of his voice. 

“I don’t care if we have to give up any extra luxuries, I just need you and our kids here happy.” You emphasise. 

“That’s what I want too, baby. No more arguments over stupid shit, I’m sorry for bein’ so fuckin’ horrible lately.” 

“I was horrible too, Joel.” You say. “We just need to keep working on things and if we feel an argument brewing then we should take a step back and reassess what’s caused it and find a solution just like the therapist says.” You advise. “Also we should make time for a date night every week.” 

“Sounds good to me, baby.” Joel agrees, tugging you forward. “Kiss me, you have no idea how much I’ve missed you.” He murmurs sweetly and you go easily, moulding yourself over him to meet him for a deep kiss that speaks a thousand words and apologies. 

“Hey.” You say suddenly, eyes flitting over to the vanity where multiple photo frames sit. “You remember that trip we took to Seattle when the kids were little?” Joel follows your line of sight where they’re focused on one of the smaller frames holding two polaroids, one of Sarah and Ellie when they were eight and four, then another you’d taken of Joel on the pier with the wheel behind him you’d taken. 

“Yeah.” He says fondly. “That was a great trip, the kids loved it.” 

“What was that girl called that Ellie made friends with at the aquarium?” You smile as you think of a rambunctious Ellie, stomping around holding her Daddy’s hand in her tiny overalls, pointing at every fish she saw swimming ahead in the glass tunnels. 

“Oh er… fuck. What was it? Little blonde girl with a braid.” He recites, thinking back almost a decade. “Abby!” He suddenly exclaims and you hum, nodding. 

“That was it, they were so cute together watching the sea lion show, remember how jealous Sarah was that she thought all Ellie’s love was being stolen away.” You giggle, nuzzling his shoulder. “We should go again now they’re grown up.” 

There’s a comfortable silence as you bask in the evening sun coming through the window behind the bed, coating you in warmth while you lazily make out with your husband like you used to as teenagers in his beat up truck. 

You moan into his mouth when a hand sneakily skims your back and moulds to the fleshiest part of your backside. Sitting back to take a breath, you begin to kiss at his stubbled jaw, focusing intently on the grey patches and working yourself down his throat, to his clavicle and down his chest where he has yours, Sarah’s and Ellie’s name tattooed over his heart. 

He props himself up in interest on his elbows when you make it to his sternum, nipping near his navel and dragging your nails through the smattering of hair below it until you reach his groin. 

“You think you can go again?” You smirk at him, nipping his hip, sucking a small bruise into the skin above his pubic area.

“Keep doin’ that and I’ll be rarin’ to go.” He huffs, cradling the back of your head when you lick above his pubic area.

You move lower and his cock begins to swell against his thigh, his thighs tense when your hot breath drifts over his length. 

Just as you’re about to drag your tongue over the flushed head of him, you hear a car skim across the gravel driveway and you both freeze. 

“Shit, that’s the kids.” You panic, sitting up and swinging your legs off the bed to gather up something to wear. “Quick!” You urge Joel who looks equally as panicked as he yanks up his boxers. You find a long floral dress to throw on from the corner and manage to yank up the panties you were wearing earlier, the crotch becomes sodden with the semen but you ignore the uncomfortable wet feeling and try to fan away the flush on your cheeks as you watch your husband get dressed. 

You’re both barrelling down the stairs just as the front door opens and you bump into Joel as you skid on foyer tiles, he steadies you as your kids stare back. 

You and Joel try to act casual despite the feral things you’ve just done.

“You’re back early.” You squeak, very aware of your damp hair and smudged makeup. 

It’s a mere second before your daughter’s come barrelling full force towards the apple of their eyes, pregnancy and labour be damned. 

“Dad!” The girls squeal in unison, rushing to hug him. He wraps an arm around each of them, eyes slipping shut with contentment. 

“Hi, my girls.” He sighs happily, nosing Ellie’s hairline and then Sarah’s. 

“Missed you.” You hear Ellie tell him. 

“Hi, mom.” You mock unseriously, crossing your arms. 

“Hey, mom.” Ellie mocks devilishly, tilting her head back with the same teasing look her father possesses more often than not. She’s her father’s daughter, a carbon copy of him whereas Sarah is more like you. 

“You have a good afternoon?” You ask when Sarah meanders her way into your orbit, wrapping her arms around your waist. She nods against you and you tuck some hair out of her face, she nuzzles into you. 

“The movie was packed so we got frozen yoghurt and walked around Target instead, we got you some candy.” She says sweetly, rubbing her cheek into your collar whilst Ellie is resting her chin against Joel’s chest with her arms wound around his waist, whispering something that makes him chuckle and sway her from side to side tenderly. 

She stares up at him like he’s hung the stars and the moon just for you, you’re certain she’d crawl into his rib cage and stay there if she could and you don’t blame her.

“Thank you, sweet girls.” You beam. “Hey, are you both in for dinner tonight?” You suddenly wonder. 

“Yes, sir.” Ellie replies. 

“I’ve got no plans.” Sarah shrugs. 

“How about we Doordash something? Could eat it on the patio?” You suggest and Ellie cheers, Joel chuckles into her hair. 

“Even Dad?” Sarah hesitates as she asks, looking at you hopefully. Your heart breaks, Joel staying away had some serious effects in the first week even though they knew you weren’t going through a divorce and trying to fix things. Ellie acted out at school and Sarah shut herself away, both missing their father’s presence at home even though they saw him most days after school and on weekends if they weren’t out with friends. 

You’d never stopped them seeing him and wouldn’t dare to even if things were irreparable between you. 

“Of course.” You answer Sarah, Ellie looks between you and Joel curiously, her eyes narrow when she sees him smiling softly at you and clocks you blushing. 

“Whatcha both been doing?” Ellie asks slyly. 

“Hanging out, your Dad fixed the shelf for me.” You tell her nonchalantly over Sarah’s head. “So uh.. which one of you ratted on me for breaking it?” 

“Dunno what you’re talking about, man.” Ellie sniffs, you tug the end of her ponytail.

“Mmm.” You murmur, unconvinced. “Go get changed into something comfy and have a think about what you fancy for dinner.” You order, nodding towards the stairs. 

“Race ya!” Ellie bellows suddenly, pushing Sarah into you to get a head start. 

“Hey!” Her older sister shouts, barrelling after her while you sigh and head towards the kitchen, the peace and quiet officially gone. 

Joel gives you a flirtatious look and your heart jumps, your chest warms as do your cheeks. 

“Stop looking at me like that.” You demand, pushing his face away in the opposite direction. He chuckles and grabs your wrist, using it as leverage to pull you to him.  

“What? Like I want to eat you?” He murmurs lowly, you hum affirmatively. “Maybe I do.” 

“That could be arranged.” You whisper, he takes you back into his arms, walking with you until you hit the edge of the kitchen island. You pull him into a kiss, dragging your fingers through the curls at the nape of his neck. 

He growls lowly and hoists you up onto the surface, stepping between your legs, running his hands up and down your parted thighs. 

“The kids are listenin’ to us.” Joel whispers into your ear when he pulls away, nodding outside of the kitchen entryway where you realise you didn’t hear them run all the way to the top of the stairs. 

“No, we’re not!” Sarah has the audacity to yell with offence, you giggle into Joel’s t-shirt.

“Get changed before I make your Dad cook his famous spaghetti surprise dinner tonight instead of getting take out!” You holler back. 

“That was one time.” Joel complains under his breath. 

“Make us a sister.” Ellie shouts from halfway upstairs. 

“No chance! Dad got snipped after you anyway, he said you were more than enough trouble and you were barely out the womb!” You shout back, cackling when you hear both her and Sarah gag fiercely. 

“It’s true!” Joel adds. “I had frozen peas on my crotch for days!”

“Gross!” They both exclaim. 

That night, you sit on the patio furniture, with your husband and children, your feet cradled in his lap with glasses of wine and takeout with quiet music playing from Alexa, giggling and telling them stories of your teenage years and some of a time they’re too young to remember, planning a trip to Seattle they’re ecstatic over. 

You’re certain that everything will be okay.