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joelmillerssexyyounggirlfriend · 1 month ago

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Dust & Desire

You’re a lonely farm girl, alone and forgotten on your father's land. Though he promised to return, months had passed since you had seen another person. One day, a handsome and quite injured stranger breaks into your home. It doesn’t take long for him to win you over, despite the circumstances.

Disclaimer: Joel isn’t a great person in this story (very intentionally). Unreliable reader, coercion, etc. Word count: 7,874. Part of a three-part story (hopefully).

Warnings: 18+, explicit, coercion if you squint, MDNE!!

The crickets quickly became your closest companions, greeting you when you were alone at night. Just you, a garden, and a couple of cattle your father abandoned. You had counted every single day, etching a mark into the frame of your wooden bed. It had been 243 days - exactly eight months - since you had seen your father or anyone for that matter.

Your parents purposely created a farm hidden away from predators, human or animal alike. Growing up on the ranch had been divine; fields of flowers as far as the eye could see. Cleaning your horse, Daisy, once your father allowed you to ride. It was wonderful until it wasn’t.

Your older brother had gotten wrapped up with a gang of prospectors going to the Old West for gold. After hearing rumors that your brother had caught a ghastly illness, your father ran off on his own horse. He told you to take care of yourself until he returned and ensure you did your best.

It had been lonely, farming for a home that was missing two of its occupants. You regularly sat at the dinner table alone, with nobody except the old barn cat you had allowed to keep you company. You’d named him Boone. His dusty blond cheeks were fat from years of fighting, his ear clipped and whiskers scraggly.

You thought he looked absolutely perfect.

Boone was purring on your chest late one night, with you breathing in the earthy smell of his fur. The crickets kept you up, much louder than normal because of the hot summer air. You were thankful that your crops had grown so well since Spring, making you confident you'd have plenty of food once your brother and father returned.

The white cotton slip you were lying in stuck to the flesh of your body, sticky with sweat. Boone lying on you wasn’t helping with the heat you were feeling, but you felt too bad to move him. Instead, you prayed that a breeze would blow in from the open window. You had picked up a bad habit of leaving open windows since the hot days started. Your dad would’ve had a cow if he knew, claiming that the worst creatures come in at night.

“Ol’ rattlesnakes, scorpions, and much worse, bandits.”

You listened to him for the most part, but sometimes, the reminder slipped your mind. Plus, you'd survived alone for so long. You were safe.

Finally, you were drifting between a place of consciousness and sleep, a breeze rustling the fabric of your curtain. You had grown familiar with the feeling of sleeping alone. Having Boone made things a little easier.

In your sleep, you heard the sound of the floorboards shifting. The squeaking made you jump straight up in the mahogany bed. You sat with your sweaty palms pressed against your thin bed sheets, with Boone jumping off the bed, meowing in displeasure.

Boone's footsteps padded down the hall, the whispering wind harmonizing with his little steps. Maybe you had misheard the sound, the heat from the summer making your head a little bit lighter than usual.

But then you heard it again. What appeared to be the sound of a cabinet opening. You stepped out of the bed, carefully pressing your toes against the floor as you tiptoed over to your father's rifle. It was loaded since he made you promise to always keep it ready to go. You stepped outside of the room with the rifle held close to your chest, aimed forward to knock down any intruders.

You knew about the gunslingers and robbers. You didn’t usually get them around your parts, but you had heard about them. Rapists, murderers. The kind of people who lacked humanity.

When you walked down the hall, you noticed the flickering light of the candle near the bathroom. Could your father possibly be home?

Not dropping your guard until you were sure it was safe, you continued to step down the hall, stopping outside the cracked bathroom door. With the door shut, whoever was in the bathroom had to sit in the bathtub right behind the door.

You could only make out the sight of cowboy boots and blue jeans. A pile of medicinal items—your sewing kit, needles, and gauze—was nearby. The sounds of grunting could be heard, but the voice was deep and unfamiliar.

Standing tall, you pressed the barrel of your rifle to the door to open it, looking down at the man who was stitching his wound shut in your bathroom. The bathroom window was wide open, and you couldn’t help but curse yourself for your ignorance.

The dark-haired man eyed the gun first and you second, the hand that wasn’t piercing a needle into his skin raising in defense. He was shirtless, defenseless, and had no opportunity to take power over the situation.

“Hey now, firecracker. Why don’t you put that down for me?”

His voice was gruff and heavy, and all you could think about was how different he was. He definitely wasn’t from around here; his accent was much too deep, and his skin was much too tan.

His beard was dark and thick. And his chest, lord help you, was covered in dark hair that went all the way down to his happy trail. There was a deep gash on his stomach that he was stitching shut, a wound that matched the many other scars on his chest.

The sight of a shirtless, much older man, a handsome one, sitting in your bathroom made your neck warm. Your gun wavered slightly in fear, still pointed directly at him.

“What’re you doing in here?” you asked, your fingers clenching the trigger. You hadn’t practiced aiming, much more preferring to perfect your lavender tea recipe. You got the gist of it, having grown up watching your father shoot coyotes in the field.

The handsome stranger gave you a non-comforting grin that felt much too fake and mocking. “You even know how to use that thing, sweetheart?”

You raised it up higher. “Wanna find out? And I’m not your sweetheart.”

You were proud that your voice didn’t falter, and your threat was effective from how his face fell. He seemed surprised by your confidence, which probably also scared him.

He had a scar on the bridge of his nose, which seemed old and was caused by a deep gash. It was interesting how a simple scar on his face made him much more handsome.

You had never been around a man before, not since you were a little girl, and you were not entirely educated on what it meant to be a woman.

His very large palm was covered in blood, and you were finally noticing that the blood was running down from his stomach to his jeans. Whatever had happened looked serious.

“You’re losing a lot of blood,” you stated simply, gesturing at his injury. He laughed sarcastically, the mocking sound not even angering you. He was much too handsome, and even while losing consciousness, he could make your heart race.

“Yeah, I noticed that. You gonna put that gun down and let me finish, or are you gonna put me out of my misery?”

You both glared at each other, talking yourself through what you needed to do. You could kill him then and there, and you knew that you had it in you. But on the other hand, he was a person. You hadn’t seen a person in ages.

You lowered the gun, slowly. “Make me regret it, and I’ll shoot you dead. I mean it.”

Though your voice was soft and your cheeks were round, you knew that your words held a strong threat. The handsome intruder nodded.

“Yes, ma’am.”

You propped the gun next to the porcelain sink, in arms reach of you and out of the way for him. Taking the typical womanly role of aiding an injured man, you crouched before him. You plucked the needle out of his blood-soaked hand and started to work on cleaning his wound.

“What’d you do to get this?” It wasn’t a bullet wound but it definitely resembled something of a dagger stab. Jagged and small, silent but deadly. He was lucky it didn’t stab any major arteries.

“I’m afraid it’s too harsh for your pretty ears,” he brushed off. Flattery would get him nowhere, despite how much it made your gut twist.

You went a little heavier with the pressure of your sewing, making the stranger grunt in pain. “Don’t be a smartass when I’m sticking you with a needle,” you said.

He chuckled again, his dark eyes watching you. Growing up as the only woman around two men, you learned quickly how to assert yourself. They taught you how to be strong, how to bite back.

“Sorry. It’s just a real long story. If you let me rest here for the night, I’ll be out of your hair tomorrow. Promise.”

You sniffed, frowning at him. You finished stitching his wound, reaching over to grab a cloth to pour alcohol on. “I’m not sure I trust the word of a strange man who snuck into my home.”

He looked over to the open window. “I didn’t break anythin’, not that it makes it better. I’m not a bad man; I just got caught in a mighty awkward situation.”

He waited for you to respond, but your response was pressing the alcohol-soaked cloth into his wound. He hissed and watched you through clenched teeth.

“Name's Joel Miller,” he grunted out. “What’s yours?”

You sat back on your knees, a displeased look on your face. Though you weren’t entirely sure you could trust him, with the way his wound was looking, he didn’t seem to be much of a threat.

Muttering out your name, you finished patching him up, finishing it off with gauze wrapped around his stomach. Being so close to the warmth of his skin, the smell that could only be described as manly was fogging your brain. You wrapped him up as quickly as possible so you could get away from him.

You stood up, grabbing your rifle. “You can spend the night, but my Daddy and brother are returning tomorrow. You gotta be gone by then.”

Yeah, you were lying, but it was putting pressure on Joel. God only knew who this man truly was - he could be one of the ones your dad had warned you about.

But when you looked deep into Joel’s eyes while you tended to his wound, it made your brain a little fuzzy and your guard a little low.

“I’ll be out of here in no time, sweetheart, don’t you worry your pretty little head,” Joel said, trying very hard to keep up his cheeky grin. It was evident that the pain was taking a toll on him, and though you want to warn him that flattery will get him nowhere, you grant him grace.

“Come on. This is as good as it’s gonna get. I can show you the direction of the town in the morning.”

Joel nods, standing up from the tub. His massive size almost made you reconsider letting him stay the night - all muscles and legs. He was practically towering over you, making you fight the urge to shrink into yourself. Despite not being a visible coward and not running away in fear, Joel still looked at you in a way that felt like you were transparent.

His eyes softened in the reflection of the lamp light, and suddenly you could feel the pulse of your core in your throat. He was awfully handsome, a gruff man compared to the men in your life. They were always clean-shaven, well-groomed, but Joel on the other hand was all man. A thick beard and long hair that fell down and around the outline of his face. You wanted to run your fingers through it.

“Follow me,” you managed to say without stuttering, grabbing your gun and the bathroom lantern that Joel had lit to use as a guide. You glanced back at the mess in the bathroom - you’d clean it up in the morning.

Joel followed you and the lamp's light down the hall until you reached your brother's room. You gestured to the bed, showing Joel that he could sleep there. “I’ll change the sheets in the morning after you leave. Don’t worry about getting blood or anything on them. They’re old anyways.”

He nodded, not saying much in response. He was hiding his pain well, but not enough to where you didn’t notice it. You felt bad, but there wasn’t much you could do. Perhaps in the morning you could run out to the garden and make a salve for him to take on his way to town.

“Well. Goodnight then,” you said, moving out of the space. You didn’t feel entirely comfortable sleeping alone with a massive man in your house, so you’d probably hold on tight to your gun tonight. You were almost out of the room when he spoke.

“Thank you,” you heard Joel say, making you stop in your tracks. You turned to him, your body shifting. It was still a little warm in the house, the summer air stuffy and unforgiving. But somehow, under the gaze of Joel’s watchful eyes, you felt your nipples hardening. The thin material left nothing to the imagination, and you quickly could feel Joel’s eyes rest on your chest.

You sucked in a deep breath, unintentionally making your chest rise and fall in one swift motion. He was riling you up with zero effort; god, you were easy.

“You’re welcome,” you squeaked out, running out of the room before you could embarrass yourself any further.

You didn’t stop your rapid movements until you reached your room. Boone was back on your bed, stretched across the spot where the moonlight streamed through your window. You shut your bedroom door behind you, locking it.

How were you supposed to sleep? You had two things making your heart pound - a stranger sleeping in your home and a handsome one. It made you think about the temptations of the devil that your dad mentioned time and time again. Some things were natural, but some things were sinful. You were sure that thinking about the way Joel’s spit would taste in your mouth was a sin.

So, you didn’t sleep. You sat at the chair in the corner of your room, your gun nearby, and read by the lamp's light. After a while, you grew curious about what Joel was up to. If his pain had grown worse or better.

And you wound up standing next to his bedside, watching him sleep like some pervert. You were certainly going straight to hell.

He was sleeping heavily, likely due to the adrenaline from his wound. Joel’s chest would rise and fall rhythmically, only accentuating the stretch of muscles.

Your fingers were reaching out to ghost over his chest before you could stop it. Your fingertips ran through the hair sprinkled across his body, tracing a trail from his stomach to his chest. It was coarse, thick, catching on your fingernails.

They ran up his chest, to his neck, stopping when they hovered over his plush lips. You tried to talk yourself out of it, but you were soon touching the soft skin, using two fingers to run along the shape of his lips. The feeling of his breath fanning against your fingers made a chill rush down your spine.

It was like touching a sleeping beast. You were a strong woman, but he was a man. One who was used to being on his own. If he lunged at you, you were sure he would win.

You wondered what the heavy cock between his legs would feel like if you ran your fingers across it. You never felt like such a woman before, watching this sleeping giant stretched out under your roof.

You had never been intimate with a man, much less one of this stature. You were convinced that you would end up dying alone, thrust into the role of your mother. You were there to support your father and your brother. Your concerns did not matter.

But now, touching Joel proved you could dabble in the finer things. You’d only even orgasmed once, obviously by your own hand. You felt so guilty afterward that you prayed, unaware of the bliss you would reach when you played with yourself for the first time.

Your hand reached out to touch his hair, which was splayed against the pillow under his head. You could see the grays that started blooming from his temples and streaking through the rest of his hair. It was soft despite Joel's roughness. His hair was long and wavy, resting on his broad shoulders.

He had to know how attractive he was. You were sure he had mistresses in the towns he visited - saloon girls bickering on who would sleep with him next.

And then there was you, a shy, farm girl who hadn’t even ever kissed a man. But he was before you, exposed, and you couldn’t help when you reached down and touched the soft skin of his belly. Joel was hot to the touch, your hand snapping back just as quickly as you had touched him.

His eyelids fluttered in his sleep, making you step back quickly. Your wooden floor groaned beneath your bare feet, but luckily, Joel did not wake. You stood silent, watching this mysterious cowboy stretched across your absent brother's bed. It was odd, yet somehow comforting to know that you weren’t all alone.

After you made it back to your own bed, you prayed that God wouldn’t punish you for being somewhat of a pervert. You slept for a handful of hours before returning to Joel’s room once the morning sun had risen. He was awake, thankfully, but he looked intense. A sheen of sweat covered his forehead, making his hair stick up in odd places.

Joel noticed you walk in, planting a fake smile on his face as he tried to sit up. He choked back a deep groan of pain, holding the injury to his chest with his large palm. You rushed over, awkwardly standing near him, uncertain as to how to help.

“Good mornin’ to you too, sunshine,” Joel grunted, shooting up a toothy grin full of obvious pain. He appeared to have a fever; his wet hair stuck to his forehead. It was much different from the night before; his pain was a lot more developed.

“Stay here. I’ll go grab a few things from the garden to make a salve. You’re in no shape to walk to town right now,” you explained, your hand ghosting over his bare shoulder. You wanted to comfort him, but the thought of your hand pressed against his sweaty skin made you tremble.

He watched you, seeming as if he wanted to object but decided against it. “Okay. Thank you.”

You nodded simply before leaving him so you could grab everything. After feeding Boone a meal of leftover scraps, you grabbed some rosemary in the garden. You got to work mixing oil, herbs, and a few other materials that you had on hand before heading back to where Joel was lying.

Thanks to his fever, he seemed to be drifting in and out of consciousness. Growing up with men, you were used to nursing them back to health. There were countless times when your father had gotten injured on long supply runs to towns that were further out. It was a skill that you were grateful for.

You sat on the bed beside him, trying not to wake him. Once you began pulling back the fabric wrapped around his waist, he stirred, glancing up at you. You hadn’t seen the look yet - of anger, of power. It made you jump back, scared that maybe you had granted a dangerous person the opportunity to sleep in your home.

“Sorry, sweetheart. You just caught me off guard,” Joel apologized, shifting in the bed. “Met quite a lot of evil people out there. Not used to bein’ ‘round someone like you.”

You paused, eyeing him. He could’ve hurt you plenty of times the night before. You felt like you could trust him.

So you moved forward, pulling off the cloth and preparing it to be cleaned. You tried to avoid acting as concerned about Joel’s injury as you felt inside. It looked bad, but scaring Joel would do nothing. You might as well do all you can to make him feel better.

“And what exactly am I like?” you asked while you cleaned his wound with a wet rag, trying to distract him by talking. Plus, you liked the way he wanted to flatter you. It was cute.

Joel hissed at the feeling of you dabbing him but still spoke. “Someone who would let a stranger in their house. Someone kind.”

You tried not to let his words affect you. Instead, you cleaned his wound and rubbed a thick layer of salve over the injury. Even though he was flinching under your touch, you knew that in a couple of days, the wound would get better. Joel would have to rest, but you were sure he would pull through.

“I haven’t seen much of what’s out there,” you admit to Joel once you finish. “I grew up here with my dad and brother. My mom, she-“ You stopped, unsure if you were ready to share everything with Joel. Just because he was friendly didn’t mean that you could entirely divulge your life story to him.

“Well, anyway. I guess I haven’t had much opportunity to be anything but who I am.”

Joel nodded, reaching out to place his palm over yours. It made your thighs clench and your pulse stop, your eyes moving up to his. He noticed your hesitation, slipping his palm away as quickly as he had touched your hand.

He cleared his throat. “Yeah… maybe that’s a good thing.”

The room was silent for a moment before Joel spoke once more. “So, when is your daddy gettin’ back? Am I gonna have a shotgun pressed against my skull once he sees me in here?”

You blush, realizing that you can’t wiggle your way out of it. “Oh, did I say today? It should be by the end of the week. Enough time for you to heal up and head to town.”

You didn’t allow him to question anything by cleaning up when you finished talking. You were sure Joel saw through your lie but didn’t press into it. Truthfully, you were starting to worry that they weren’t returning. You’d never been left alone for so long…

“I’ll make breakfast. You need to regain your strength,” you said, smiling. The moment you left the room, you swallowed your tears, trying not to break down. Crying over it wasn’t going to make a difference. All you can do is be positive.

While making dinner and bringing it to Joel, you hear a voice from where Joel is lying. You checked to ensure nothing would burn while you quickly stepped away. You glanced through the crack of your brother's bedroom door, seeing what Joel was doing.

Boone was curled up next to Joel’s side, purring so loudly that you could hear him from where you were standing. Boone, the little cheater, meowed up at Joel, begging for affection. Joel took his large index finger and scratched under Boone’s chin, making the kitty meow in bliss.

You were slightly jealous of Joel, easily winning over Boone, but it took you three months to leave out meat and give belly rubs. You were also envious of Boone, receiving affection from a man you quickly grew enamored over.

The three of you fell into a routine. It had been four days since Joel had arrived at your home. You applied the salve every day, and you could already see an improvement in Joel. He wasn’t ready to go off alone and still needed your help.

Which led you to your next predicament. Joel’s sheets were still covered in blood; it was time to change them. And Joel desperately needed a bath - not a sponge bath in the bed, but a bath with soap and hot water. And you, the only one who could stand without falling over, would have to give it to him.

A man. A man who wasn’t your father or your brother. You weren’t going to make it.

But for whatever reason, you still helped him into the bathroom where you had already filled the tub. The room was becoming warm and steamy from the water, which was not helping. Your body was hot to the touch, and you were overly aware of how sweaty your hands probably were on Joel’s bare back.

He was still undressed waist up, but now you were tasked with removing his pants. You had grown familiar with seeing Joel’s upper half, toned, tanned, and covered in dark hair. You were moving into new territory, awkwardly assisting him with removing his pants. His buckle had been removed for a few days so he could be more comfortable in the bed, so it was easy to unzip his jeans.

“Careful there,” Joel said as you worked his jeans and boxers down his long legs. You had pressed into his side slightly, making him jump. You were trying to be careful but being face to face with Joel’s half-hard cock was making it hard to concentrate. He held onto the tub while he stepped out of his dirty clothes.

You stood back up to hold him, helping him into the hot bathtub. He groaned when he sat in the tub, his bones creaking from the lack of movement for days on end.

“You got it, cowboy. Just hold onto me,” you whispered, working him into the tub. Once he settled down, his large body filling up the porcelain tub, you did your best not to look at his naked frame. Instead, you grabbed some of the goat's milk soap you made, placing it into Joel’s palm.

“I’m going to change your sheets while you wash up. I’ll come back in a little bit.�� You exited quickly, trying to escape the hell that was Joel Miller’s presence.

You used changing his sheets as a distraction, trying to extend it for as long as possible. You had just finished getting the last wrinkle from the bed sheets when you heard him call your name. Taking a deep breath, you followed his voice to the bathroom, avoiding eye contact when you stepped in.

“I need your help. I can’t really wash myself below the waist. It hurts to move too much,” Joel explained. You were silent, only nodding when you approached him. You were trying to be modest, to not complicate the situation, but to play the role of the caring woman. It’s what you have heard your entire life.

You knelt beside the tub, taking the soap and rag from him. You lathered the cloth before working on Joel’s calves and feet. They were tanned and strong, obviously used to strenuous labor. It reminded you just of how powerful Joel probably is when he’s healthy. All muscles and height, a cowboy that could scare any robber straight.

His legs were hairy and coarse, hard underneath your palm. You were getting the sleeves of your dress wet with how long you were stalling. The idea of moving up his body made you stop breathing, uncertain of how you were going to make it through cleaning all of him.

Joel noticed that you were stalling, easily reading through the shyness that you possessed. It was embarrassing that you could have an orgasm thinking of him, but actually touching him made you freeze up. He was much older than you - you could tell by the crinkles around his eyes and the gray patches in his beard. His age was intimidating, the thought of his experience making your toes curl beneath you.

“You can touch it, y’know. I don’t mind,” Joel whispered when you stalled by cleaning his upper thighs for way too long. You weren’t sure if the sexual innuendo behind his words were legit or completely in your head. You held your breath as you cleaned around the length of his cock and the bottom of his balls. You were doing your absolutely best to look away but were failing miserably.

He looked unbearably hard, red, and leaking at the top. Apparently, the feeling of you bathing him was too much to handle, and he hadn’t noticed how excited he had become. Your fingers trembled against the rag, your jaw becoming slack at the sight.

“You ever seen one, sweetheart?” Joel rasped, his cock flexing against the pressure of the rag. You tried not to jump as you shook your head no, unable to form a coherent sentence. All of your sexual fantasies felt like they were coming true, some filthy man here to ruin you and your body.

“Wrap your hand around it. See if you can fit your fingers all the way around.”

Your head snapped over to look at Joel’s eyes, to see if he was messing with you. You couldn’t imagine that he’d want someone like you - a quiet farm girl, young and inexperienced.

Joel’s eyes were hungry, pleading with you to try it; touch his dick. Find out how good he could make you feel.

You watch Joel, trying to build the courage to touch him. With a deep breath, you try to imagine that you’re dreaming, that there is no way that this is happening. When you finally wrap your fingers around him, not even able to close it entirely, you realize that it is very much real. The heat of his skin and the weight of his cock proves that it’s real. And if that’s not enough, the deep groan Joel exhales says everything. This was very much real.

“J-Joel,” you whisper, the velvety skin of his cock pulling back and forth on his tip. His foreskin swallows up the tip before you pull it back down, watching his pre cum escape his cock. You had never been so turned on in your life, the wet sleeves of your dress matching the wetness between your legs.

“You’re such a good girl, takin’ care of me like this. If you keep bein’ this good, I’m gonna have to make you mine. Make you my wife and then fill you up of me. Let everyone know that you belong to me.”

You were the one moaning now, gasping at his ridiculously filthy words. Your hand was moving up and down rapidly, jerking him off into your palm. His hips were matching the rhythm of your hand, hips stuttering when it got a little too sensitive.

You couldn’t imagine being married, much less pregnant. You always imagined that you’d stay home on the farm, taking care of your family. But then, you’d met Joel, and he’d given you a new sense of meaning. Of protecting.

“You don’t mean that,” you whimpered, running your thumb along the sensitive part of his tip. He grunted at the feeling, his hand that was able to touch you grabbing your back.

“Keep touchin’ me like that and you’ll find out real soon.”

Your mind was buzzing, wondering if maybe you’d gone crazy from being alone for so long. There was no way that you were actually touching a man double your age like this.

And suddenly, that was it. Your hand jerked back, prompting your entire body to move backward. You slammed into the wall behind you, the feeling of coming to your senses much too overwhelming.

Joel shot up in the tub, looking at you in concern. You were quite obviously a mess, sprawled out on the floor, your dress wet from the bath water, and your hand that was jerking him off extended into the air. It was as if you were trying to keep it away from you, in disbelief that it was just wrapped around his cock.

“W-we, we can’t do this. This is inappropriate,” you whined, quickly standing up and running out of the room. You felt like such a child, embarrassed and hiding in the comfort of your bedroom. But, you were also confused. Being left alone for so long, you had created this desire to feel wanted, cherished. Joel didn’t want to give you that, you weren’t stupid. He was trying to take advantage of you, trying to-

“Hey.. you alright?”

You jumped at the sound of Joel’s voice, noticing that he was standing in your doorway. He was wincing in pain, stupidly leaving the tub alone just to talk to you. You breathed in a shaky breath, glancing down anxiously.

“You shouldn’t have gotten out by yourself.”

Joel huffed, grunting as he used the door frame to support himself. “Yeah, well, wasn’t quite sure if you were even comin’ back.”

You crossed your wet sleeves across your chest. “I wouldn’t have left you there.”

The air was thick with tension, and it didn’t help that Joel was standing with only a towel around his hips. Your eyes kept drifting to his toned chest, and even with his injury, the sight of his body made your toes curl.

You wanted to explain yourself - to set clear boundaries. Joel couldn’t just control you, make you bow down to his every whim. But as soon as you opened your mouth to speak, you froze up, uncertain how to stand up to him.

“Do I make you nervous?” Joel asked plainly. The gruffness in his voice made you tremble, and you knew from how he spoke that he liked that he made you nervous. If he wasn’t injured, you’re sure he would’ve held much more intensity in his stance, but he could hardly stand on his own.

“Ask me when you can take a bath alone,” you said. “Let’s go get you dressed.”

Having to let him use you as a makeshift crutch wasn’t the ideal scenario after jerking him off in the tub. The close proximity of his wet chest pressed against the side of your face made things that much worse, but you managed. You helped him into the bed, grabbing some of your father’s clothes for Joel.

You were thankful he was silent when you dressed him, but you could still feel his eyes watching you. Even when the towel dropped and his semi-hard cock was revealed to you, he was silent but watching. Your hands trembled when you worked undergarments up his body, trapping his cock once more.

When he was finally fully clothed and lying back on the bed, it was as if a bomb had been diffused. You dressed his wound, which was healing nicely, thank the Lord. It made you proud to know that you could still provide, even if Joel wasn’t exactly who you anticipated taking care of.

When you stood and tried to quickly exit, Joel stopped you in your tracks.

“I’m sorry ‘bout earlier. You’re right, I took it too far. I just can’t help myself when I’m ‘round you.”

Your back was to Joel, allowing you the opportunity to get control of your emotions. This unknown, strong man practically begged you to make him feel good. You were a virgin, never exposed to this sort of pressure before.

“Why can’t you?”

Unable to resist, you looked back at him. The evening light was streaming through the sheer bedroom curtains, painting Joel like some ancient God. His tan skin, probably due to working hard in the desert, practically looked gold under the sun. He was entrancing, some awful temptation sent by Beelzebub himself to test you.

Joel’s Adam's apple bobbed as he swallowed, the look in his eyes making your legs feel like jelly. His voice was gruff when he finally spoke. “‘Cause you’re so damn tantalizin’. It’s hard to keep my eyes off of you.”

Good Lord.

“Stop saying stuff like that,” you ordered, tired of Joel’s relentless teasing. His expression darkened, almost as if he was offended that you would talk to him in such a way. The look made your palms shake, feeling like a gazelle being watched by a lion.

“Why? You stand there, actin’ like you’re all high and mighty, but darlin’, I see how you look at me. I can hear your heart beatin’ from all the way over here. All I want you to know is that if you want it, then don’t be scared to take it.”

You suddenly felt like you hated him, hated his heavy words and the way he could see right through you. You had been nice to Joel, helping him and tending to his wounds out of the kindness of your heart, and this is what you got in return? It wasn’t fair that this experienced, gorgeous, temping man was dropped into the palm of your hand.

“Goodnight, Joel. Get some rest. I think the pain is messing with your head.”

It was unnerving to talk back to Joel, but knowing that you could stand up to him felt good. The wooden floor in the hallway was warm against your feet, thanks to the evening sun heating up the house. All you wanted to do was finish the chores and read in the lamplight. You knew, though, that it would be absolutely impossible to focus. Not with Joel lying just down the hall.

After you finished rounding up the chickens into their pen and feeding Boone, you took a bath. Climbing into the tub after filling it with water made your face warm and thighs slick. You remembered how Joel looked in the tub, his long legs stretched out while your hand played with his cock.

“Jesus,” you whispered breathlessly, shifting in the water. It took everything in you not to reach in between your legs because doing so would be just the same as giving in. You wouldn’t let Joel control you, not without putting up a fight.

You were good. You didn’t touch yourself and made it out of the bathroom dressed and dry. And you were proud until you walked past Joel’s room. He was sitting in the bed, petting Boone with a small smile on his face. You knew he wasn’t a sweet, kind man who could be sweet to your cat. He had a dark and manipulative side, and even though it should have bothered you, it made your pulse quicken.

It was stupid, but you found yourself walking back into the room, this time in a nightgown and a book in your hand. You sat in the old rocker adjacent to the bed, reaching over to turn up the flame in the lantern. The book, L'Education Sentimentale, was heavy in your hands as you opened it, flipping to the first page.

“I’m afraid I’m not much of a reader,” Joel said, looking over at you. He didn’t seem as unhinged as before; instead, he appeared worn out.

“Good thing I’m the one reading.”

You didn’t allow him to complain, immediately reading aloud. Even Boone’s ears twitched, his chunky face turning to look at you.

“On the 15th of September, 1840, about six o'clock in the morning, the Ville de Montereau, just on the point of starting, was sending forth great whirlwinds of smoke, in front of the Quai St. Bernard.” You paused, waiting to see if Joel would stop you. He didn’t.

“People came rushing on board in breathless haste. The traffic was obstructed by casks, cables, and baskets of linen. The sailors answered nobody. People jostled one another. Between the two paddle boxes was piled-”

Joel suddenly cleared his throat, making you stop reading to look up at him.

“What?” you asked, waiting for Joel to speak since he clearly had something on his mind. His lips were spread into a grin, and his sleepy eyes were full of amusement.

“Is this that book about the kid who tried to sleep with a woman twice his age?”

Your face was warm, and you did not notice your horrible choice in your book selection. You didn’t even know what it was about - your father collected most of the books you owned. The boredom of being alone motivated you to go through them individually.

“I thought you weren’t a reader?”

All Joel did was shrug, continuing to smile. You considered getting up and walking out, but Joel suddenly shifted on the bed, lying down with a groan. He moved to his side, saving plenty of space for Boone, and looked up at you.

“I wasn’t complainin’. Keep on, I like listenin’ to that pretty voice of yours.”

Your voice trembled when you started again, Joel’s compliment shaking you. He was just so smooth, full of confidence and ease.

“A-alright,” you stumbled. “At last, the vessel set out; and the two banks of the river, stocked with warehouses, timber-yards, and manufactories, opened out like two huge ribbons being unrolled.”

Reading to Joel was relaxing you, the once tense air dissipating the longer time passed. You had almost made it to chapter two once you noticed that he was snoring softly. You were reminded of the previous night when you watched him sleeping, so peaceful and seemingly harmless.

Standing quietly, you placed the book on the nightstand next to Joel. How beautiful he looked made no sense, his long lashes casting a shadow over his face. You wanted to reach out and touch him, touch this dangerous creature who could easily tear you apart.

Without thinking, you grabbed his arm, pulling it to you slowly. Boone glanced over at you, jumping off the bed and leaving the room thanks to your movement. Joel didn’t stir, worn out with the day's exertion, which motivated you to continue to raise his arm. Your palm wrapped around the back of his large hand, lacing through Joel’s fingers.

You hissed as you placed his hand against your breast, his hand flexing instinctively. Even in his sleep, he was a horny bastard, not helping your situation in the slightest.

Your nipple peaked against the inside of his palm, pressing on his skin when you dragged his hand down your breast. His fingers brushed against your chest, down further to your stomach, slipping across your bladder. It felt like a hole was being burned through the cotton of your nightgown, a trail of heat following his ascension.

You swallowed, watching Joel’s hand press against the top of your pubic area. You pressed his palm down, applying pressure that made you whimper in pleasure. What you were doing was wrong; you knew that, but you felt like you couldn’t control yourself around Joel either.

You turned his palm in your hand, slowly inching his fingers to the heat of your opening. The tips of his fingers brushed against the cotton of the underwear you had stitched together yourself.

“F-fuck,” you whispered, feeling his fingers move against your clit. Your hips bucked into his limp hand, pushing against his fingers. This was simply sinful, using a sleeping man to reach a climax you didn’t even earn.

But it felt so good. And when you looked up at Joel’s face, watching him sleep so peacefully, it made you feel a little less guilty. He wouldn’t know. You’d let yourself orgasm, get it all out of your system, and be on your way.

You could feel his fingers against the wet spot that was growing in your panties, a deep groan leaving your lips at the feeling. You glanced back up at Joel, knowing that seeing his handsome face would bring you to the edge. You didn’t expect to see Joel looking back at you, an expression of disbelief on his face.

“What a bad, bad little girl. Could take one look at you and know that you’re a whore.”

Now that he was conscious, he didn’t let you use him like a toy. Instead, he played with your clit himself, his two fingers brushing against your pussy relentlessly. He still had a tired look on his face, but he was very much awake.

“I’m not a whore,” you tried to explain, but Joel huffed, sitting up slightly.

“Is that so? Wanna explain why you got my fingers pressed against your wet cunt, or you got some sort of alibi there too?”

You didn’t even try explaining yourself; you couldn’t. Obviously, you were using Joel to get yourself off, and you just wished he’d shut up and do it.

“Be quiet,” you growled, rutting your hips against his hand. He chuckled but listened to your command, letting you use his fingers to pleasure yourself. You continued to roll your hips, even when he pulled your underwear to the side.

His index finger traced the outline of your opening, spreading the collected wetness around. You’d never had anything inside of you, much less a man’s fingers. You weren’t sure if you were ready, mouth about to open to explain to Joel that you were nervous.

It was too late, and soon Joel’s index finger was pressing into the wet heat of your pussy. You stretched around him, feeling his finger probing around inside of you. It was a distinct experience that made your jaw slack and eyes widen. You couldn’t pull your eyes away from the sight of Joel actually fingering you.

His finger curled slowly, going easy on you. The deep pressure inside you was already becoming too much, your toes curling against the wooden floor beneath you. You could feel the electric warmth spreading from your pussy, blooming throughout your entire body. You were buzzing from head to toe, ragged breaths leaving your mouth before you could even realize it.

“Just takes one finger to shut you up, huh? Why didn’t you tell me, pretty girl?”

And as much as you wanted to beg him to shut his mouth, you couldn’t. The pleasure was building, and your jaw was permanently slack. Your eyes were locked on the scene of Joel fingering you, obscene squelching noises coming from where you both connected. The moment that Joel slipped in another finger, you were finished.

“J-Joel,” you cried, reaching over to support yourself with the nightstand. Your body shook, threatening to collapse as lightning struck your entire being. You felt like you were on fire, unable to breathe or form logical thoughts. Joel didn’t stop, his fingers going in and out, in and out, until you had to pull his hand away from you physically.

Your hair hung around your face, much closer to Joel than you anticipated. Fuck, you wanted to kiss him so severely, taste the man that was Joel Miller.

But you were a coward. So instead, you breathed out a measly ‘sorry’ before running out of the room.

Joel was ruining you. You lay in bed, unable to sleep or think without his face flooding your thoughts. Everything about him was like a sickness, infecting you, rendering your body and mind useless.

Even though he hadn’t hurt you, you knew everything was bound to escalate.

Things had to stop.

#joel miller #joel tlou #the last of us #old west #wild west #isolation #coercion #soapyhandjobs #smut #tlou joel #slow burn #eventual smut #eventual romance #joel miller is bad at feelings

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likesomeoneinlovee · 3 months ago

Text

𝐈 𝐒𝐞𝐞 𝐑𝐞𝐝

Pairing: Dbf!Joel Miller x F!reade

Word Count: 6k

Summary: Joel has had a ‘crush’ on you for a long time now and will make sure no man gets in the way of that.

Warnings: PORN-WITH-PLOT. Kinda. Reader is not legal to drink but still legal. Polite reader just trying to not be a bitch while dealing with a pervy old man! Joel has a crush on you, a BIG one. Bro gets so mad he gets a boner. Mutual touching he drives, daddy stuff, a teeny bit of spanking & nipple play, unprotected P-In-V, tummy bulge, aftercare for once wow!! No beta.

A/N: ANON REQ!! (you know who u are and here’s my take on a bit of a jealous Joel) I would've done way more smut if I didn’t have a high fever rn + writers block 😵‍💫! so VERY rushed.

No man should covet a woman he doesn’t own.

And you weren’t his.

Your daddy would make sure you would never be.

Joel tells himself that. Over and over again, the only prayer in his head, the hymn he lives by ever since you’ve been staying with him per your father’s request. You yourself slowly recognizing Joel’s patterns of life. As he wakes up he takes pills for his headaches, swallowing them dry without a blink. His body is accustomed to the feeling. Every Saturday he’d take a weekly drive to the liquor store to stock up on the much needed provisions to his day-to-day routines. Booze, in much less dramatic terms.

Your father was out of state for work forcing you to settle up with Joel for a couple of months, the only man your father would allow you to actually be around. In fear of you doing something bad. Bad as in… Sex? You could only assume that’s what your darling daddy meant.

A rocky relationship in the cruel reality.

Joel’s home. It was livable, there isn’t much to say when it’s the house of a man who’s been living alone twenty years. Indications of life scattered upon furniture the only real telltale signs that someone actually lives there. Coffee table littered with rings from mugs he’d simply leave for too long, the way the worn, vomit-colored green couch sags in the middle. Any prints that were on the buttons of the TV remote had been rubbed off by pressing around them, the last time he had gotten a new television was probably going on fifteen years now. Sad. Truly and utterly sad.

Then you came along.

Remnants of your liveliness woven into the once so dreary place. Something as so simple as a hair tie left on the counter, the very vague scent of perfume you left lingering in the small space of the bathroom every time you’d leave it. Now at night he’d walk past the second bedroom of his home that had been left unused, once depressed and dark, had the warm glow of your lamp being left on, leaking through the gap between the door and the floor. The littlest things.

Joel pretends not to notice.

Though, he does.

He notices the way you hum so very quietly the times you’re obligated to cook your own breakfast. How you pull your knees up onto the couch when you sit. Rolling your eyes at him every time he’d vexingly tell you to make sure to lock the front door when you came in. You listened.

You’re too comfortable here. Too at ease.

And what’s worse is he was getting used to it.

He’s not your fuckin’ father. He’s not your keeper. He’s just the man your daddy trusted well enough to take care of you when he was gone. Sorry excuse for a babysitter all the while you weren’t a baby. An adult who can well take care of herself. Only agreed because he wouldn’t want you to discover how he’s been living for practically twenty years by being alone for two months. The dark quietness of a home when it was just you there.

He told himself it would be easy. Two months. He’d keep his distance.

It’s almost impossible. The way you made him feel was sickening. You’re always around. Sinking deep into the couch, marveling in whatever boring sitcom would play on the box of blue light that flickered throughout the room. How you’d take sips from his beer just to tease, wrinkle your nose at the taste deep down you liked. Making your tongue buzz. You were making yourself at home in a place that was never meant to be yours.

The only thing that worsened it for Joel is that you were so blissfully unaware of what you were doing to him.

He thought the hardest part of this arrangement would be keeping you out of trouble. Your father acting like if he was gone you’d fall apart as a person. Be out partying or fuckin’ every night. Far from the truth. Laying so contently home every night.

Coming back to reality, the hardest part was keeping himself out of it.

It’s the way you’d walk around his house in whatever you had slept in that night, no matter it be a tank-top and those tiny, plaid shorts that went up your ass. Appreciating the comfortability, though, he fucking hated it. You acted like you belonged there.

Often he’s finding himself watching you too long, staring at the curve of your mouth while you speak, the plump of your lips as you stay entertained by the television with your face at a gentle rest. He was always seemingly gawked.

Fifty-seven wasn’t the age to have crushes.

And on Sunday’s, the day of the lord, of course. Joel Miller goes to the local bar.

Nighttime was surprisingly when the crowd died down. You were surprised to see that as you walked through the doors that sheltered the poorly kept saloon style establishment. Tables seated with older men closer to Joel’s age, some luckier than others to be accompanied by a woman. Smelled like stale beer and sweat which in reality was more disgusting than appealing. Loud breaks in the casual conversions of the crowd as pool balls clacked together. Rejoicing coming soon after.

Usually you had something better to do on these nights. Going out with your friend’s always suffices though of course they canceled out today. Great, stuck with Mister Miller for a night of drinking all the while you weren’t allowed to let alcohol in your body at your age.He wouldn’t lie for you either, he was supposed to take care of you. Not turn you into the starts of an alcoholic.

Torturous. Did the man want you to shoot yourself?

He led you through the slim pickings of a crowd there really was, hand grazing the small of your back to keep you close. Nothing more. Both sliding your bodies onto the leather tops of the barstools. Uncomfortability was the price to pay for the first hand of drinks. A squeak in your stool that no one had the patience to fix.

“Whiskey.” The request sounded more like a plea from his lips. “Two.”

You knew the second one didn’t mean for you.

Rubbing his temple as he flagged down the waitress. She was all too polite for what seemed to be the shittiest bar on earth. As if a small town in Texas would give you any better. Nodding her head in your direction. Your lips pursed as if ‘Beer” was gonna be the next thing to move past them. Though, you digressed.

“Soda. I guess.” Joel gave a nod to you. Of course he approved of that action. Rubbing a hand over his jaw he sighed. Forgetting to take his pills this morning. Fuck, the throb behind his eye was something only the alcohol could numb by now.

“You could’a stayed home.”

“Yeah, I could’ve.” You shrugged, admittedly so you rather be home- no. You rather be out with your friends as you were supposed to be tonight but in an act of such kindness, you came here with Joel. “Maybe I wanted to see why you liked this place so much.” It was a simple muse to him, though it did strike your curiosity.

“Quickest bar from home. Quickest way to get drunk.” Curiosity met with an undeniably depressing answer. You were used to it by now. His lips pressed into a thin line. Once the barkeep came back she handed Joel his drinks, plural. As she also came with yours. Soda rimmed with ice. He picked up the first drink given, perspiration coating the glass. His thumb pressed against the cold lowball as he took the first sip. Heavy hot liquid sliding down his throat. Numbing him, his mind. Felt refreshed.

You hum, stirring the ice in your soda in circles with your straw. He hears the clinking over the din of the bar. Louder than his own thoughts.

You crossed your legs. Your thighs squishing together through the denim of your jeans, the material a bit loose on your body, a choice out of comfortability to buy baggier bell bottoms instead of the ones that hugged your ass tight. Drawing Joel’s eyes unintentionally.

Fuck this.

He drags his palm down his face, trying to wipe away whatever the fuck he was feeling. It’s sickening for him. It’s so easy to not feel like this when it’s something so simple, so selfish as a one night stand, a whore he had paid to suck his cock. Different. Far different, especially since the last month he’s spent his time admiring the woman before him. You. The innocence in your eyes that served your beauty. It was this crawling under his skin he wanted to rip away from.

So fucking vigilant on the scent of you, the sound of your voice, the way you shift ever so slightly closer to him as another group of men pass.

Joel breathes out slowly, averting his eyes to the sweet sight of you.

The night goes on, the whiskey dulling the edges of restraint with every slow, steady sip. Slowly the place was growing on you, the night seemed to cool it down, less noise less chatter. Seems everyone needed to knock out a couple drinks before settling. You would’ve been happy to say the same if you were allowed to order that beer. You propped your chin in your palm, your elbow flat against the bartop avoiding any of the sticky substances that would coat some unfortunate patches of it. Your eyes scan throughout the place. Not much to take in, not much to see.

Though the slow deliberate movements draw the tiniest bit of attention from a table your eyes accidentally glance at for too long. Subtle but inevitable.

Joel catches the way the men sitting at that table glance your way. The way you adjusted your body to once again sit straight up. Clearing your throat.

And that’s when it starts.

The first one wasn’t particularly bold about it. Just a flick of his gaze in your direction before returning to his minutes-til’-flat beer. The second man, greying, looks a little longer. Too closely. He nudges his friend, mutters something incoherent- something probably offensive to earn a laugh from him. Now he looked again.

Joel knows that look.

The kind that lingers for too long. That waits for an opening.

The kind that makes Miller’s teeth grind, his shoulders go rigid. His fingers slowly begin tightening around the glass of gold as he keeps his eyes forward. His eyes flutter just a bit to the left, seeing your smile. Trying to hide it by gently pressing your lips to the rim of your glass. Pretty pink lips. Before time heat is bubbling in his belly. Praying to god that was the fuckin’ whiskey.

Those men are still watching.

The next sip of booze doesn’t quite help as much as he’d want. It doesn’t smooth out the sharp edges of this feeling, the low simmering deep inside his pelvis. It keeps getting worse.

He’s coming over. Walking with heavy legs.

Joel sees it from the corner of his eyes, the way the man pushed back the chair, unhurriedly, sloppily walking straight towards you. From what Miller could gauge from the corner of his eye and what the wiry grey hairs covering the man’s beard told him is that he was older. Older as in his own age. Fifties either early or late. Joel wanted to die. Exhaling sharply, slamming down his glass a bit too hard.

Muddled, you’d lift your head from your glass to look at Miller with an eyebrow cocked. And before you could even speak-

“Evenin’.” The man spoke.

You’d blindly blink at the man now standing beside your barstool. Startled for only a second before schooling your expression into something- polite. Something surely this man was undeserving of yet you really couldn’t help it. Instincts.

“Hi.” Joel wouldn’t turn, wouldn’t acknowledge him. Not yet.

“Can I help you?” You smiled, sweetly.

The man would lean in as expected. The strong smell of beer radiating off his breath. Open-mouthed ogling like a fucking dog. He was clearly absolutely wasted. Just those words were an absolute understatement.

“Is this your daddy?” Of course he’d say that. Gesturing to Joel who was looking straight on before he turned a glance to the man, his eyes slits as he glared. Understandable. If you weren’t trying to give this man the benefit of the doubt you’d be glaring too. This guy was undeniably a fucking dick.

“No- no,” You’d giggle. “My babysitter.”

You didn’t like how your mind and soul was making you act, unfortunate your internal instincts were to be tooth-achingly sweet in public.

You wanted to die.

“S’my lucky day, huh?” You’d blink again. Silence as if the man had stole all the thoughts from your head- not in the good way.

“No. Not- not quite.”

You’d laugh, trying your best to brush it off. The man should go away soon. Probably just mistaking you for something you’re not while you’re here trying your best to avoid something awkward. Joel’s jaw clenched.

“Well,” He hushed. A finger twirled into one of your soft locks. Your body tensing as you kept up another nervous giggle– you were only egging him on more. “I just wanted to see you up close.”

“She ain’t interested.” Miller told the truth with that. You weren’t and you were further from interested. Though the nervous, dumb smile on your lips told the fuckin’ pervert otherwise.

“She didn’t tell me that.” He pushed. “I’d much rather hear that from your mouth, sweetie.”

You hesitated, your lips parted though words weren’t falling. Refusing. Alas, Joel Miller reached his breaking point.

He popped up from his stool as he moved over to the guy. The greying man hesitated at the sight, of course. He wasn’t gonna be the kinda man to get his ass beat over something fucking stupid. Though, Joel was willing to beat his ass for your sake.

A long beat of silence through the access chatter swimming around the bar enters the space between you, Joel and this sad fuckin’ man.

Joel doesn’t blink.

He doesn’t breathe.

He just stares.

The man exhales a chuckle, deep down he didn’t want to walk out of here with a broken nose for flirting with a girl he wanted to fuck. A girl he thought was alone, dumb enough to possibly join him and his sad excuses for friends sitting around his table.

“Didn’t mean any trouble, pal.” He threw his palms up in a mock surrender though, he didn’t mean it. That’s what that beer was for afterall. Stepping back only an inch, letting the hair that was between his fingers fall back to your shoulder.

“Just bein’ friendly.”

Joel didn’t answer, why should he? The man let out a scoff as he walked back to his table with his tail between his legs. That was good. All Miller could do was sigh. His shoulders still at unease as he sat back down on the bar stool. Your heart at a slow thump against your ribs.

You knew deep down that really, you were fine with that. Sure that man was a cuck, sure, you were uncomfortable, but you also knew yourself and you knew if that man would have touched anything else other than the tip of your hair. Oh fuck. He would’ve been gone.

Or– would he?

It doesn’t shake the feeling that Joel was annoyingly protective if that was the right word for it. That man wasn’t your dad. He didn’t need to stick up for you.

He never did.

He ran a palm down his face –again– he couldn't take the way he was around you.

“Ohh, what the fuck.”

He was tired of this.

Goddamn if that happened a month ago chances are he wouldn’t have done anything other than roll his eyes and tell the fucker to go jerk off somewhere else but– oh my god did Joel wish he was the one that close to you. Breathing you in.

Of course, you weren’t a random woman at a bar.

If only he had enough balls to speak to you.

Pent up hormones ready to blow out of him every moment he was around you. He was too fucking old for this.

Too fucking old.

If he felt the rush of blood to his cock one more time this night he was gonna–

Joel was already moving by now. Already shoving back from the bar, the scream of the stool leg against the glazed wooden floor of this god forbidden place made you inherently flinch. His jaw tight, the muscle in his cheek ticking as he reaches for his wallet, tossing a few bills onto the counter without counting. He didn’t fucking care about the act of either over-paying or under-paying right now. He had one, sinfully unfortunate thing on his mind.

He knew he’d never do it.

But that didn’t mean he wasn’t thinkin’ it.

Then his hand was on your wrist.

Grasping.

Firm. Unyielding.

“C’mon.” He gritted. “Time to go, baby.”

That was a new one. The name melting of his tongue like an instinct.

His grip was tight. Breathing hitched at the feeling of the grip. He was lucky it didn’t hurt. It was enough to make it clear he needed to get out of there. The reason wasn’t clear. It could be innocent on his part: he didn’t want you in a space where old men are looking at you. Ogling you like a slab of fuckin’ meat.

His real reason was sickening.

“Joel– c’mon!”

You’d whine, maybe you had a good reason to stay. Maybe you were just being defiant.

Typical, like a child.

He didn’t give you time to finish.

The bar stool nearly topples as he pulls you up. Stumbling in the boots you were wearing. Tugging you in tightly to stand beside him. He was tensed, heat radiating off his body like a goddamn furnace. He doesn’t look at you, doesn’t speak as if there was a point to. Nothing he said got through to you anyways. He just moves.

People are watching. Who wouldn’t?

Your pulse spikes as you catch the amused glances throughout the pub. Folks who weren’t looking before now blinking. Causing a scene. Again,

You. Wanted. To. Die.

And to make it all better Joel’s eyes rip to the table those men from earlier were sitting at. The ones who eyed you. That same man who had harassed you muttering something to his friend beside him. Fuck.

He thought he couldn’t get any more pissed.

His palm covered his lips with no way to read. The music playing throughout the room covered any sounds of a hushed whisper into another man’s ear.

Though, Joel is pivoting.

His grip on you released as he took a heavy-footed stomp over to that table. He frowned. He wanted to kill them. He would if he could. “What the fuck did you just say?”

“Jesus Christ, man.” One of the men mused. Of course, Joel Miller was just another sorry excuse of a man to them. “You don’t give it up do you.” Your babysitter wasn’t intimidating in a setting like this. To a man drunk as a fuckin’ skunk sitting with a bunch of men who reeked of the same stench.

Joel doesn’t move.

He goes to walk away. No. There was absolutely no point in doing anything.

You could’ve heard a pin drop.

“All I said is that if I were you I would’ve fucked her by now.” No. Nope that was it.

A quick turn back around and Joel had slammed his fist into the man’s face. Heavy handed. Joel’s knuckles cracking with the impact in the same note as the man’s nose.

“Fuck!!!” The man cried. It was well deserved. Why would Joel let a man talk to his–

You weren’t his.

Miller couldn’t breathe in the moment. His breathing ragged, watching the blood quickly drip out the man’s nostrils. God was it satisfying.

Your stomach plummets. You can confidently say you’ve never heard a man yell like that. Before the next tick of epinephrine hits Joel his hand now runs to your waist instead. Pushing you out the doors before running into the parking lot.

Holy fucking shit.

The air of the night hit you like a bucket of ice quickly. Suddenly you were regretting only wearing a thin hoodie with a tank top underneath. Joel was dragging you to his truck, practically throwing you into shotgun.

Slamming the door to your side.

He rounds the front quickly. Pulling open the driver’s side as he slid into the seat. You swore you could hear the way his breath shudders in his throat. His Adam’s apple bobbing in his throat as he pulls his seatbelt over his body– safety first, right?

The truck was suffocating. Too small. Too fucking warm.

You lick your lips, tasting salt. Your nerves were shot to hell. “Jesus Christ, Joel.”

He frowned. Fist on the shifter before pulling it into drive. He was speeding away, far away from that bar. Yeah, that one punch may had ruined his personal ‘holy day’ for a good while. If him and that man are ever in the same room again most likely one of them is getting there shit rocked and Joel worries that next time it may be him.

He doesn’t necessarily wanna take that chance. All because of something so FUCKING stupid.

He doesn’t speak. Nothing to say on his part as for you– too stunned to say anything. You had no understanding of why Joel Miller of all people, of all the men you know was acting like this. His fists balled against the steering wheel. Knuckles turning pale. Ghostly.

“Fuck.”

He broke the silence with a curse. He was mad. At least, he sounded so. The growl in his voice masked the need. He could feel every twist, every coil in his gut. All because of you.

He can’t keep hiding it.

“You’re makin’ me so fuckin’ crazy, baby.”

The smell of hard booze on his breath impregnated your nose. Slowly beginning to understand the acts in the bar. “That wasn’t me trying to flirt.” You quickly retorted. That was the honest truth that you’d be abiding by. You were too nervous to do anything except giggle like a dumbass so that’s what you did.

“I can’t help the fact I try to be polite. Even if they’re verging sexual harassment.”

You’d try to keep it light hearted with a quip. Joel didn’t laugh. Pursing his lips into a line before speaking. It only pissed him off more.

“Not what I’m sayin’.”

You breathe. What the hell did this man want from you if it wasn’t some reasoning from your lips? The road was wet, asphalt glistening with a sheen of rain making light reflect easily off like a mirror. As Joel turned his brights on to properly see through the dark road that light reflected into the truck. The formally dark truck.

Your gaze was pulled to his lap. An accident at first but–

Oh.

Oh, fuck.

His cock would writhe against the tightening denim of his jeans. If that didn’t tell you enough you didn’t know what would.

Joel’s hands flex against the wheel, the veins in his hands popping.

“Whatever you say, M’not fuckin, jealous.”

No no, he was.

And the tension rolling off of him is suffocating, filling the small front space of the truck like a thick fog. Choking you. You could almost still feel the touch he left on you. The phantom of his fingertips that had branded your skin only a few minutes ago now.

He wanted you to touch him and it wasn’t a secret anymore.

You reached your hand out to place on his thigh. The way his teeth sunk deeply into his bottom lip. Yeah, he fucking needed this. You felt your own stomach bloom with heat as your fingertips just barely scathed the denim of his jeans. You were just so close. Closer than you’ve ever been. And if this is something to forever be forbidden,

For all you know this could be as close as you’ll ever be.

He adjusted his hips. Spreading his legs as if to coax you, as if to tell you this is the right thing. Maybe it was too vague. He took a hand off the wheel as he began soothing more into things. His shoulders finally relaxed as he took a long. Deep breath in. Then out. His fingertips danced along the crotch of your own jeans. Pressing the pad of his middle against your extremely clothed clit, muscle memory of where he knew it was.

He knew.

It was that touch that made your legs wanna buckle. Your cunt clench.

Your palm soothed up his thigh as he focused on the road. Eyes adjusting, focusing. While his cock focused all by himself. Finally your smaller hand went to the tent in his jeans. Taking your pointer and tracing a line up the curve of the bulge. Wooing a twitch from him. His finger pushed harder into your clothed heat. Rewarding him in your first gasp of the night.

“Jesus, baby. Soon enough I’ll be the one with the broken nose.”

A jest like that was hard to process currently.

“What do you mean-?”

Joel takes his hand away from between your legs just for a second to turn the radio on. Very very low, some old 80’s rock song came on. The background noise almost calming.

“Your daddy.” He’d grunt. “If he ever knew I was touchin’ you–”

“I know. My mouth is shut.”

It was a promise. A promise as your palm slipped beneath his belt.

Home sweet home.

Once the front door was closed the exchanges between your mouths were all teeth and tongue. Messy, sloppy. No shortage of drool dribbling down either of your chins. His fingers latching around the hem of your tank top as he pulled it over your head. No bra. Less work for him.

It was like clockwork how his big, rough hands scooped under your thighs to grab you, pick you up with a strained grunt ripping from his chest. He couldn’t remember a time where his cocks been this hard. He could almost completely promise that it’s never been. It was heavy and once his jeans were pulled down it was hanging heavy, loose in his boxers. Though his flannel stayed on. Unbuttoned, fabric framing his tummy and bare, soft chest.

You laid on his bed, splayed upon his blankets like a goddess as you awaited for him to finishing taking his clothes off. But he just couldn’t fuckin’ wait. The sight of you laying there, helpless. Those pretty, lace panties he wanted to rip off with his teeth made his brain turn to mush. He crawled on top of you, leaning down to place a hot kiss on your throat as his hands moved down to your ass.

“Don’t got time to take you over the knee, baby.”

This sentence came with a squeeze to the soft flesh of your ass. Flipping you over belly-down with his fingers tangled in your hair. Face stuffed into the pillow.

His hand came down firm on your lace clad ass. Watching the thickness of the skin ripple.

Again. Harder.

You let out a sharp whine at the feeling. Each left with a stinging buzz that lingered within the plush skin. You were addicted. Though, what was fun for a moment was soon boring for Mister Miller, his cock in a painful state in the confines of his boxers. Feeling like he was gonna burst any good moment now.

But were you ready?

He flipped you back on your back in a sinfully quick motion. One of his practiced, old hands laid flat against your stomach before slipping down beneath the lace of your panties, hooking a finger to the side before pulling them down. They were damp. That just wouldn’t suffice for him. His finger tested the waters, how gluey, slick your folds were. Taking what was currently dripping out of your hole and spreading it around like a glaze.

He dipped his head down into your sternum, his lips pressing firmly against the skin there before he deliberately moved to one of your tits. Brushing the pad of his thumb across the already hard nipple before taking it between his teeth.

“Fuck-! Joel-”

Funny, when you touched yourself you weren’t nearly this loud.

This sensitive.

The tip of his tongue swirled around the bud, it was smooth against his tongue. Warmer than your skin. His hips dug down deep into his own mattress. Mussing the blankets beneath both of your bodies as if they were neat before. He squeezed your other breast with his free hand, continuing his ministries just for another moment. Keeping his moments practiced and planned for the time being. He flicked your unintended, rock-hard bud with his free hand. Mind Numbing stimulation coursing throughout your body.

Your hand came down to paw at his erection straining painfully against the grey cotton of his boxers.

“Oh–”

He groaned, his hips pressing into yours before you could touch more. Clamping himself down so the only way you could feel him throb would be against your thigh.

“You think you’re ready, baby? Ready for my cock?”

Of course the answer was yes. He knew the answer was yes how you were writhing, practically salivating at the thought. Both panting like dogs. He pulled himself out of his boxers. The dim light of the room making it impossible to see was was between your legs. The details left unseen and unsaid as all you could rely on was feel.

You felt his head begin running up and down between your folds. With a girl so fuckin’ wet who needed lubracant. Your eyes squeezed shut as he began to push in.

You’ve never felt anything like it.

Funnily enough. He’s never felt a girl like you either.

“Joel!” You’d squeal. “Fuck, Joel– JoelJoelJoelJoel–”

You were quickly chanting his name under your breath like an invocation. He was big though a three-letter word so simple as big was a fucking understatement. He was stretching out every ounce of your gummy walls. Your head craning backwards into his pillow. His pillow. The scent of his hair, his scent all seeping into your nose mixing with the sensations throughout your body.

“S’fuckin’-- shit, babygirl…”

Joel’s words were slurring together as if he had drank more than those two lousy whiskeys at the bar. Your legs wrapped tight around his waist as you enveloped him. Clenching up every time the tip of his fat cock would graze your cervix. His hand pressed just over your pelvis. Feeling around, ‘til– oh fuck.

“Fuckkkkk… Feel that, baby?” You felt a lot of things right now, your body all too hyper-fixated on the feeling of him to focus on anything other than that. Then Joel took your hand. Trailing it down your stomach as he weakly supported himself with his left arm. Palm flat against the sheets. His bicep tense.

He brought your smaller hand down to your low stomach, feeling the bump there. The bump he was oh-so obsessed with. Jutting out against your palm.

“S’my cock. Yeahhh. He wants you, s’fuckin’ bad.”

He was barely there.

“--So. Fuckin’. Bad.”

He punctuated his words with every thrust. You wanted to call out, say something over and over again like your only fucking prayer. But words defied you in the moment. As soon as you felt the unbearable pressure build up in your gut, the pressure that took over, spilled from your pelvis to your pussy. You felt the wiry hairs that crowned his cock scratching against your clit only adding to the feeling. The feeling that was building and building.

“Joel– I’m gonna–!”

It was so cliché. The need to finish that sentence was gone as you couldn’t control it. Feeling the knot tied so uncomfortably tightly in your pelvis untie. You tried to keep it back, hold it in but it refused. Your hips wriggled against his as your orgasm came ripping through your body. Leaning up as best you could to bury your face in his neck to gasp. Cry out into his ear as much as you well pleased as you felt your legs kick out, your thighs buzz.

His cock curved inside of you, kissing a soft spot that you weren’t even aware you had. His pace slowing, becoming sloppier, rushed. His hips snappy. The way your walls squeezed around him, trying to milk him til’ he was dry. Just wasn’t safe for an old man like him to blue-ball himself like this, huh?

“Fuck- she’s gonna milk daddy dry, ain’t she–?” He was trying to kill you.

With that it was only one more thick, deep thrust into your tight, throbbing cunt where he spilled his cum inside of you. Using what little energy he had left to paint those pretty walls white. Rolling his hips to drive his semen into your pretty little hole. His thumb pushed past your parted lips, your mouth quickly latching on. Cock-drunk, suckling on his thumb to muffle any whimpers. No more cries.

“Atta girl.”

He’d praise. His sweaty, damp body pressing heavily against yours. He didn’t wanna pull out. It’s almost like his body wanted him to stay this way until he was passin’ out. Though, he wouldn't let that happen. He slowly unsheathes his thick cock from your pussy with a wet, squelch as your walls adjust back to normal. Opaque, pearly cum dripping out of your cunt, drooling down your inner thighs all the way to your ass was pornographic.

Reaching around the back of his head to seize a chunk of his greying, soft-to-the-touch curls. Your tongue licking his way into his mouth instead of his thumb.

You felt absolutely and utterly euphoric.

Laying with the blanket lazily draped over both of your bodies. Joel took a long sip from the bottle of alcohol, drinking it like water to refresh his mouth. He felt exasperated. He wouldn’t be able to pin point the last time sex made him feel this good if you were paying him a million bucks. But now he could say with you.

You tucked your face into his neck, taking in the scent of him, the stickiness of his skin. The salty scent of sex still lingering in the air around.

It was silent. Like you were both trying to process what had happened within the last hour- hell, the last three. Even the whole bar thing seemed like an impossible daydream you’d watch on a soap, something that you’d say is unrealistic.

“I was jealous.”

He murmured. Turning his attention back to you as the silence was officially broken. You could’ve figured as much.

“I guess I should be flattered.”

You’d giggle. Real and genuine. Not the fake one you put on for that pervert at the bar.

“I’ve never had a man break another guy’s nose for me before.”

Joel rolled his eyes. Wrapping his warm arms around your body as he pulled you in close. The first time in twenty years his bed wasn’t empty and cold. A warm body tucked right against him, perfectly as if you belonged.

“Don’t get used to it.”

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