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daryltwdixon · 7 days ago

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Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 4.5

Summary: Neither you or Joel had realized the fallout of facing each other after trying for a baby—something that never would have happened if Tommy could have given you one himself. And when the first time doesn't stick, you're back at Joel's door, asking for another favor.

|| smut MNDI 18+, pinv, f!receiving oral, dirty talk, no outbreak, not cheating but still def not kosher!!! don't do this!!!, breeding kink, rule breaking, baby making, talk of infertility, joel is absolutely filthy when he's turned on what can I say || notes: Tommy, hunny, if you're reading this, im sorry. im sure you're great in bed. im sorry this got so long!!! I was hella sick the past couple days and mightve wrote this with a fever sooo

You hadn’t meant for it to change anything.

In the days after the first time you… tried with Joel, you hadn’t really spoken to him. He’d left in a hurry, barely looking at you as he pulled his clothes back on, and you’d been too drunk on the aftershocks of what was possibly the best orgasm of your life to really think about what came next. Not until the hours stretched into days, and the reality of what you’d done started to settle in.

Now, standing by the pool in the thick, hazy heat of late summer, you realized just how weird it was going to be when you saw him again.

It was Frankie’s birthday, the last big cookout of the season—an annual thing the Morales family threw without fail, and especially this year with Marie now expecting their first baby. The beer was always cold, there was always too much food, and the night always ended with everyone gathered around the fire pit, full and tipsy and laughing. You’d been coming to these parties for years, always bringing appetizers, just as the Miller brothers always brought the beer. It was tradition. Comfortable.

Except this time, nothing felt comfortable at all.

You were in your string bikini, your loose, sheer cover-up thrown over the lounge chair you inhabited, still slick from the last dip in the pool. The air smelled like sunscreen and charcoal smoke, the buzz of cicadas tangled with the sound of splashing and distant laughter. You had just grabbed your drink from the poolside table when movement caught your eye.

Joel.

He was stepping into the backyard, a case of Miller Lite hooked in one hand, his other hand pushing through his hair. He looked good—annoyingly good—worn jeans hanging low on his hips, t-shirt stretched across broad shoulders, sunglasses tucked into the collar. He scanned the crowd until his gaze landed on you.

Your breath hitched. Not because of him—of course not—but because the moment stretched just a little too long.

And then Tommy turned, sitting next to you with an easy, unaware grin, and Joel’s eyes flicked to his brother like he’d just been caught red-handed. He gave an awkward nod—more of a grunt than a greeting—before turning on his heel and heading straight for the house.

You flushed.

Right. This was going to be weird.

Tommy laughed, like he hadn’t noticed the way you went red beside him. He leaned in, pressing a quick kiss to your cheek before getting to his feet. “Guess I better go say a proper hello before he drinks all the beer himself.”

And just like that, he strolled off, leaving you sitting there, drink in hand, watching the back door swing shut behind Joel.

The sun was starting to dip lower, stretching long golden streaks over the yard, and you were starting to feel it—the kind of lazy, sun-drenched exhaustion that came from too much heat, too much pool water, maybe one drink too many. The party was still going strong, laughter rising over the music, but you were more than happy to hover near the patio with a few of the other wives in the shade.

You hadn’t seen much of Joel.

Every now and then, you’d catch a glimpse—his broad shoulders making their way through the small crowd, the sound of his laughter, the sun catching in his hair—but he never seemed to linger anywhere long. It was like he was playing some kind of unspoken game, orbiting close enough that you were aware of him but never so close that you had to speak.

Which was fine.

It was fine.

You were definitely not hyper-aware of him. Not tracking his presence without meaning to. Not letting the memory of the filthy things he said to you crawl into your head every time you glimpsed those big, soulful eyes.

You exhaled, shaking the thought loose just as Marie called your name. She stood at the grill next to her husband who was flipping burgers, her hands full of side dishes that had to be put out for dinner.

"Can you grab the potato salad from the fridge?" she asked, nodding toward the house. "I meant to bring it out, but my hands are too full!"

"Yeah, of course," you said, already stepping toward the back door.

The second you slipped inside, the air-conditioning cooled the heat still clinging to your skin, the quiet settling heavy after the constant hum of the party outside. It felt nice. Like taking a breath you hadn’t realized you needed.

The house was mostly empty, everyone still out in the yard, and for a brief moment, you let yourself just enjoy the quiet. Then you stepped into the kitchen and saw him.

He was standing near the counter, one hand braced on the edge, the other loose around a beer as he looked out the kitchen window into the yard. His shoulders tensed when he heard you, but he didn’t turn, just flicked his gaze toward the fridge like that was suddenly the most interesting thing in the world.

Joel.

You ignored the way your pulse kicked up, forcing yourself to be normal. Chill.

“Hey,” you said, casual, like this was fine. Just another Saturday afternoon.

Joel nodded once, barely glancing at you. “Hey.”

Oookay.

You moved toward the fridge, opening it and scanning the shelves. “Just need to grab something for Marie,” you said, reaching for the container of potato salad.

Joel exhaled, shifting to the side so you had more room, but he still didn’t look at you. His grip flexed around his beer, his jaw tight like he was concentrating very hard on ignoring you.

Fine.

Grabbing the container, you shut the fridge and turned to leave, but you found yourself hesitating.

You sighed, shifting your grip on the bowl before turning back around. “It doesn’t have to be like this, you know.”

Joel’s head lifted slightly, like he hadn’t expected you to say anything. “Like what?”

“This.” You gestured vaguely between the two of you. “The awkward. The avoiding.” You paused, tilting your head. “You can’t even look at me.”

He blinked, caught off guard, before his eyes flicked to yours—quick, hesitant. “I’m lookin’ at you right now.”

You huffed out a small, dry laugh. “Yeah. For the first time all day.”

He shifted on his feet, looking uncomfortable, his fingers tapping once against the beer bottle. “Ain’t avoidin’ you.”

You lifted an eyebrow.

Joel sighed through his nose, glancing at the floor before dragging a hand down his face. “Alright,” he admitted, “maybe a little.”

You crossed your arms, letting that hang in the air for a second.

Joel took a long breath like he was trying to collect his thoughts. Then he finally—finally—looked at you, really looked at you, with something almost hesitant in his gaze. “I’m sorry,” he said, low but firm. “You’re right.”

Your arms loosened slightly, tension easing just a fraction. “I do that a lot.”

Joel huffed a little laugh, shaking his head. “Yeah, yeah.”

Joel’s eyes flicked down—quick, instinctive, before he caught himself and looked away. But not fast enough. You saw it.

The humidity outside had been enough to keep you from throwing your cover-up back on after the pool, but now, standing here in the cool dim light of the kitchen, it felt like a mistake. The shift in temperature sent a shiver across your skin, every inch of you laid bare in nothing but damp, clinging fabric. You knew this bikini was thin but damn your nipples for hardening in the sudden cool air. Water still beaded along your collarbone, trailing in slow, lazy rivulets down your stomach, disappearing beneath the tiny scraps of your bikini.

And it seemed like Joel was very aware of these things as well.

You weren’t sure if he swallowed, but you thought you saw his jaw go tight. Then, just as fast, he looked away.

Something curled low in your stomach. Was he thinking about that night, too?

Not supposed to. That was Rule #2.

Not supposed to think about it. Not supposed to talk about it outside the four walls of your bedroom.

Joel cleared his throat. “You feelin’ alright and all?”

You blinked, pulled from your thoughts. “What?”

His fingers tightened around his beer bottle. “Any signs yet?”

Oh.

You shifted your weight, trying to collect yourself. “No. Won’t know for a few more days. Won’t show up on a test yet.”

Joel nodded, looking thoughtful, like that was news to him. His gaze flicked downward again—this time, toward your stomach.

“Did Tommy not tell you that part?” you asked, amused despite yourself.

His mouth twitched. “Not exactly.”

You smirked. “You mean you didn’t ask.”

Joel scoffed, almost like a chuckle, shaking his head. “Wasn’t exactly a conversation I was rushin’ to have with my brother. Haven’t… had to think about this stuff in 15 years.”

That made you laugh—a soft, breathy thing—and just like that, something tilted in the air between you.

The tension didn’t go away. It just… changed.

Joel was still standing where he was, but now it felt like he was closer, and he was even smiling a little bit.

Maybe you were the one who had stepped closer.

You weren’t sure when it had happened, when the space had shrunk, but suddenly, it wasn’t enough. The air between you was buzzing, and you could feel his presence—solid, warm, steady across from you.

Joel’s fingers flexed once against the counter. His gaze flicked down again—quick, but not quick enough.

This time, when his eyes met yours, he didn’t immediately look away.

And neither did you.

The kitchen was quiet.

Not just in the absence of sound, but in the way the air felt thick, in the way neither of you spoke, in the way neither of you moved.

But you weren’t imagining it.

Joel’s eyes were still on you, his body still angled slightly toward yours, and you were very aware of the space between you.

Your skin prickled, still damp from the pool, and you wondered again if he was thinking about that night. If the way his fingers flexed against the counter meant he remembered how they’d felt on your skin. If the way he swallowed meant he was trying real hard not to think about the words you exchanged, low, filthy, depraved–

The sound of footsteps echoed down the hall, breaking the moment like a stone thrown into still water.

“Y’all hidin’ in here?” Tommy’s voice was easy, oblivious as he crossed the threshold, already making a beeline for the fridge.

“What?” you squeaked, “No, why’d we be hiding?”

Oh god. Your stomach flipped as heat prickled up your spine. Why the hell had you said it like that?

Tommy, thankfully, didn’t seem to notice—or if he did, he didn’t care.

“It’s hot as hell out there. Think I saw Frank fannin’ himself with a paper plate like some old lady in church.”

Joel straightened immediately, rolling his shoulders back like he’d just snapped to attention. He cleared his throat, shifting his grip on the beer bottle. “Damn near a hundred degrees, I’d say. Just… takin’ a minute.”

Tommy barely looked up, cracking open the fridge. He grabbed a beer for himself, glancing toward you. “That for Marie?”

You nodded, heart still kicking a little harder than it should. “Yeah.”

“Good. She was about five seconds from sending out a search party for it.”

Joel exhaled sharply through his nose—maybe a huff of a laugh, maybe just a breath—but he made sure to avert his eyes from you now.

You just nodded once, shifting the container in your arms before turning on your heel and walking out the way you came.

Joel

A week had passed, the tightness of unspoken things curling around him until the evening settled low one night and Joel finally started to relax.

The TV’s blue light flickered against the golden glow siphoning through the blinds, the last rays of daylight painting the floorboards in long, slanted streaks. The house was quiet aside from the hum of the sitcom playing, its canned laughter punctuated by the real thing—Sarah, curled up beside him on the arm of the couch, feet tucked up against his thigh as she giggled at another dumb joke.

But Joel was distracted.

He’d been distracted for days, really.

It wasn’t just the wrongness of it—though there was plenty of that, enough to make his gut twist every time he let himself linger too long on it.

It was the fact that he couldn’t seem to stop feeling it.

The way you’d tightened up around him, shuddering, gasping, falling apart with his name on your lips. The way you’d let him take you, let him fill you, let him say things he had no right to say.

He shook his head, forcing the thought away.

Wouldn’t let himself dwell on it. Wouldn’t let himself remember the way you felt, the way you sounded, wrecked and breathless beneath him. Wouldn’t let himself think about how easy it had been to lose himself in it, to let every filthy thought spill from his mouth like he didn’t give a damn about the consequences.

But you.

You had let him. Had taken everything he gave you, had needed it.

And worse than any of it—the thing that really messed him up—was knowing that Tommy, his own brother, couldn’t make you finish the way he had.

That knowledge had settled deep in his bones, twisting something dark and selfish in his gut. That he was the one who had made you come apart like that. That only he had. And God help him, but the idea stroked his ego like a cat purring into your hand. He hadn’t been able to think straight since.

And maybe that was why, when the knock came, it took him a second to register it.

Joel blinked, dragging himself out of his own damn head. He turned to Sarah, their eyes meeting in confusion. “You expectin’ anyone?” he asked. Sarah shook her head, brow furrowing. Joel exhaled, pushing himself up from the couch with a few protesting cracks in his knees before heading for the door, rubbing at the tension settled in his jaw before pulling it open.

For a second, he had to blink to make sure he was seeing right.

You stood on his porch, hoodie sleeves pulled over your hands, stuffed into the front pocket, your hair mussed from the evening breeze. The light had dipped enough that everything was softer now, blurred at the edges, but it didn’t hide the red rimming your eyes, the way your shoulders curled in just slightly.

Joel’s chest tightened.

“Hey,” you said softly.

He cleared his throat, opening and closing his mouth, but before he could say anything, Sarah appeared beside him.

He watched as your expression shifted instantly, the smile pulling at your lips effortless, natural. A mask, maybe—but a convincing one.

“Auntie!” Sarah beamed, rushing forward to wrap her arms around you. And just like that, your smile became real. He saw the way your eyes softened as you hugged her back, tucking your chin briefly over the top of her head.

Sarah pulled away just enough to grin up at you. “Whatcha doin’ here?”

Your gaze flicked between her and Joel before settling back on Sarah. “Was wonderin’ if I could steal your dad for a sec,” you said easily, voice light, “that okay?”

“Please,” Sarah teased, shooting Joel a smirk. “Any chance to take him off my hands is always appreciated.”

Joel snorted, shaking his head as Sarah turned back toward the couch, giggling to herself. But when he looked back at you, the brightness from a moment ago had already dimmed. The smile had slipped—not completely, but enough. Your lips were still quirked at the edges, but your eyes… your eyes looked tired.

Joel exhaled, rubbing the back of his neck.

“So,” you sighed, shifting slightly on your feet. “Can we talk?”

There was something in your voice, something heavy, something that sat thick in the air between you. And Joel knew. He knew what this had to be about, but that didn’t stop his mind from racing, didn’t stop the sudden, gnawing pull in his gut as a dozen worst-case scenarios started clawing their way forward.

Were you here to tell him it was all a mistake? That he should’ve never come near you like that, never agreed to something so ridiculous? Were you going to say you couldn’t look at him the same, that you didn’t want to, that whatever had happened between you was too far over some invisible line?

Or worse—were you here to cut him out entirely? To tell him he was done, that he’d never step foot in your house again, never see the baby he had tried to put in you?

The thought settled cold in his stomach, but he didn’t let it show. He just jerked his head toward the hall, leading you through the quiet house and out to the back door.

The porch creaked beneath your weight as you moved, wordless, settling onto the old swing. Joel followed, standing a few paces away, one hand braced against the railing. You didn’t look at him. He didn’t look at you.

Your eyes were fixed on the pool in the yard—the above-ground one he’d put in for Sarah and her friends this summer, the water still rippling from whatever movement had last disturbed it. The tubes and pool rafts floated aimlessly, bobbing in the quiet evening breeze.

But you weren’t really looking at them. Joel could tell your stare was a thousand miles away.

Just say it, he thought. Just tell me you think it was all a mistake, so I can stop going crazy in my head.

“It didn’t work,” you finally said, voice cracking.

Joel’s eyes found yours, and for a moment, all he could do was look.

You were beautiful in the dying light—soft gold settling over your features, catching in the moisture gathering in your eyes. Your chin wobbled, lips parting slightly as you sucked in a shaky breath, fighting for control.

His chest ached.

Joel had never been good at this. Never been the type for soft reassurances or knowing what to say when someone was hurting. But he couldn’t just stand there, not when you looked like this. So he moved, stiff and uncertain, stepping toward the swing before lowering himself onto it beside you.

The wood groaned slightly beneath his weight and for a second he hesitated, fingers twitching against his thigh. Then, after a beat, he lifted a hand and rested it on your shoulder, squeezing gently.

The sound you let out was small, choked, a breath away from a sob. Your hands flew up to your face as your shoulders curled inward, your body trembling against the weight of it.

And then—before he could react—you turned into him. Pressed your face against his chest, curled against his side like it was the most natural thing in the world.

Joel stiffened.

For a long, still moment, he didn’t move, his body locked up tight. His breath was shallow, caught somewhere in his throat, but the sound of you—soft, muffled cries against his shirt, the uneven tremble of your breath—made his chest pull even tighter.

Carefully, slowly, he let his arm settle around you.

He wasn’t sure how much comfort he could offer, but he could do this. He could be solid. He could be warm. He could let his fingers trace slow, steady strokes over your arm, grounding you, letting you take what you needed.

“I’m sorry,” he finally whispered.

You sniffled, your body shifting as you pulled back slightly. It was like you suddenly realized how close you were, blinking up at him, eyes glassy but clearer now.

“It’s—” you exhaled shakily, rubbing at your face with the sleeve of your hoodie. “It’s okay. Not your fault, of course.”

Your shoulder still pressed lightly against his, and Joel’s arm, solid and steady around you, didn’t move. He wasn’t sure if it was to comfort you or to keep himself grounded, but his thumb was still tracing slow, absentminded strokes against your arm, like if he stopped, something might shift in a way he wasn’t ready for.

The quiet between you stretched, thick and full, the weight of everything that had transpired the past few weeks hanging in the warm evening air. The swing creaked softly beneath you, the distant chirp of crickets threading through the silence, but neither of you spoke.

Joel wasn’t sure what the hell he was supposed to say.

He didn’t know how to fix this. Didn’t know if you even wanted him to fix it. So he just sat there, his fingers still moving, his eyes still studying you—your profile washed in golden light, the way your lashes were still damp, the slow rise and fall of your chest as you tried to steady yourself.

And then—

“Would you…” Your voice was small, barely above a whisper.

Joel felt like his lungs stopped working, his heart kicking up before he even knew why. You were still staring down at your lap, fingers twisting together, your teeth catching at your lip as you sucked in a breath like you weren’t sure how to say what you wanted to.

You tried again. “Would you be okay with…”

You trailed off, shaking your head. Still not looking at him.

But Joel knew. Knew before you even said it, before the words could form, before you could force yourself to meet his gaze.

“You want to try again?” he asked quietly.

That got you to look at him.

And when your eyes met his, something shifted. Because Joel suddenly realized just how close you were.

Close enough that he could make out every ridge and curve of your soft lips, every delicate flicker of color in your irises, every tiny freckle that summer had kissed onto your skin. He hadn’t noticed it before—not really. Not in the dark of your room, not when he’d been too caught up in the moment to see you the way he did now.

Yes, you were nice-looking—Tommy always had good taste in women. But Joel had never let himself notice something like that. Not before. Not until now, until you were watching him with that hesitant, quiet hope, until something deep and unfamiliar curled in his chest in a way he couldn’t quite name.

He could feel you shifting beside him, like you were fighting some sort of urge, like you didn’t quite know what to do with yourself. He got it. He felt it too. That strange, electric wrongness, the awareness that neither of you was saying what you were actually thinking. His fingers twitched where they laid, but he didn’t move them.

“Would you be okay with that?” you asked softly. “I’ll talk to Tommy, see what he thinks, of course. He’s out tonight, but I just—I couldn’t stand being alone. After taking the test this morning, it just felt so empty in the house. It’s okay if you don’t want to, of course. We can figure out something else, maybe a donor or some sort of IVF or surrogacy—”

You were rambling now, your words tumbling out too fast, your hands twisting in your lap, your eyes darting away from his like you didn’t really expect him to say yes.

Joel didn’t know what the hell to do with the mess of feelings twisting inside him as he watched you stumble over your words. It wasn’t like you to hesitate, to second-guess yourself—but now, you were looking anywhere but at him, your fingers fidgeting, your breath uneven. He should’ve let you work through it. Should’ve waited. But before he could think better of it, his hand moved, fingers brushing beneath your chin, tilting your face up to his.

Your breath hitched as he lifted your face toward him, guiding your eyes back to his in a slow, careful motion that had nothing to do with the things he wasn’t supposed to think about.

“I’ll do it,” he murmured, his voice low, steady. And damn him, he couldn't help the way his eyes flickered to your lips as they parted when he said, “We can try again.”

“Are you sure you have to go?” you asked, your hands resting on Tommy’s chest as he held your hips, fingers squeezing gently.

His smile was soft, easy—full of the kind of warmth Joel had no business standing in the middle of. There was so much love in your eyes, so much familiarity between you, and Joel felt like he was intruding.

But that didn’t make much sense, did it? You’d both invited him here. You’d both agreed to this. And yet, here he was, sitting on the damn couch, trying not to watch the way you looked at your husband—like you’d rather he stayed, like you weren’t about to let his older brother take his place in your bed for the night.

“Listen, hun,” Tommy said, brushing a strand of hair from your face. “You know how Frank’s been feelin’, all the pressure of havin’ a baby soon. Marie’s gonna pop any day now, and the least the fellas could do was plan a night away.”

You pouted up at him, fingers playing absently in the longer strands of hair at his nape.

Joel exhaled slowly through his nose, trying to focus on anything else. The clock ticking on the wall. The hum of the fridge. The feeling of his own damn skin crawling.

“Joel here’ll take good care of ya,” Tommy said, and Joel’s body locked up.

His head jerked up, his whole body locking up like he’d been physically struck.

When he met Tommy’s gaze, there wasn’t even a flicker of mischief there. No teasing, no knowing smirk. Like he hadn’t just said the worst goddamn innuendo Joel had ever heard in his life.

Christ.

“Jesus, Tommy,” Joel muttered under his breath, but his brother didn’t hear him.

Or maybe he just ignored him.

Either way, Joel didn’t look. Didn’t watch the way Tommy leaned down, kissed you slow and lingering. Didn’t watch the way you melted into it, or the way his little brother looked at you like you were the most precious thing in the world to him.

Not with what the night had in store for the two of you.

When the door shut behind Tommy a few minutes later, you turned, your eyes flicking to Joel—hesitant, uncertain—before darting away just as fast.

There was no getting over how weird this was.

“Can I… get you something to drink?” you asked from across the room, your voice just a little too casual, like you were trying to make this feel normal.

Joel nodded. Something to take the edge off was exactly what he needed.

With Sarah at a friend’s for the night, there was no rush, no curfew, no reason to be anywhere but here. He could take his time. He should take his time, not rush into it like last time. He still felt bad about how long it had taken him to get it up. But what the hell did anyone expect?

This was weird.

His younger brother asking him to put a baby in his wife.

His sweet, pretty, sexy wife.

Oh, Jesus Christ.

Joel cleared his throat, rubbing a hand over his jaw as you turned to grab the bottle from the cabinet. His eyes flicked down—just for a second—catching the curve of your waist, the slope of your back as you reached for two glasses.

He needed to get his shit together.

“Whiskey, really?” he asked, surprised.

“I thought it would be for the best. Ya know. Calm the nerves.”

“You’re nervous?” He didn't mean for it to come out so rough, so low and gravely, but something in the way you were standing there, hand wrapped around the wide glass as you looked between him and the drink.

You handed him his glass, fingers brushing, and you pulled away as soon as his hand wrapped around it, grabbing yours and walking into the living room, “Aren’t you?”

Joel brought the glass to his lips, giving himself a second before responding as he sat down across from you. The whiskey burned, but not as much as the look you gave him over the rim of your own glass.

"Wouldn’t call it nervous," he muttered, setting his drink down on the table.

You hummed, taking another sip. "No?"

"Nah." He shifted, the leather couch creaking beneath him. "Just... y’know. Wrappin’ my head around it."

You studied him for a long beat, fingers curled loosely around your glass. "So you’re sayin’ it’s not weird for you at all?"

Joel let out a little chuckle, rubbing his palm over his thigh. "Didn’t say that."

Your lips quirked, but it wasn’t quite a smile. Maybe more like you were just relieved that he was talking to you again. Something in Joel shifted at the realization. He should’ve been better at this—at talking, at making this easier. At not making things so damn weird.

"Guess I just figured the second time would be easier," you admitted, voice softer now, quieter.

"Easier how?" Joel asked, his hands twitching on his thighs before he grabbed his glass again, taking another sip just to do something.

You hesitated. "Jus’ didn’t expect it to feel so…" Your eyes, previously glued to the contents of your drink, flickered up to meet his. Joel felt his stomach flip, his pulse tick up. Your gaze was steady, unsure but searching, and he could feel it— the weight of it settling somewhere deep in his chest, in the thick, charged air between you.

“Tense.” you finished, and Joel swallowed down his last sip of whiskey, the burn sinking all the way to his gut, welcome this time—anything to settle the fire licking up his spine.

It took a moment before Joel realized the both of you were staring at each other, gazes locked and burning across the room.

The silence stretched, thick and unmoving, the weight of it pressing down on his chest. He should look away, should say something to break whatever spell this was, but his body wasn’t cooperating. His fingers flexed around his empty glass, his breath slow and measured like he was trying real hard not to give himself away.

Then, you blinked, inhaled, and wet your lips before forcing out a quiet, “Should we… get to it, then?”

Joel exhaled through his nose, tilting his head slightly, eyes dragging over your face, searching. “That what you wanna do?” His voice came out rougher than he meant, lower, like the whiskey had settled there and refused to budge.

You let out a breathy laugh—nervous, unsure. “Isn’t that what we’re here for?”

Joel didn’t answer at first. He just set his empty glass down on the table, slow and deliberate, the soft clink against the wood the only sound between you. Then, he leaned forward, elbows braced on his knees, watching you.

“I mean,” he murmured, voice low, “we got all night, don’t we?”

You nodded, slow, absent, your teeth catching your bottom lip as your fingers toyed with the hem of your shorts. Your bare legs shifted slightly, restless, and Joel could see the way your body carried the same tightly wound energy thrumming under his own skin.

And for the first time, he wondered if it wasn’t just him who felt different. If you’d been thinking about that night all along too. If this thing, this quiet, simmering thing between you, had started to crack open something neither of you were ready to face.

Joel swallowed, flexing his fingers against his knees before dragging one hand over his jaw. “You sure about this?” he asked, his voice rougher than he intended.

You exhaled, shifting in your seat, but when your eyes lifted to his, there was something there—something nervous, maybe, but certain.

“Yeah,” you said quietly. “I’m sure.”

Joel nodded once, slow, measured. “Alright.”

But neither of you moved.

Not yet.

And that might’ve been the worst part, the way the space between you suddenly felt charged, humming, like a live wire sparking at both ends, neither one of you quite willing to touch it first.

Joel finally sat back, spreading his legs slightly, running his tongue over his teeth in thought. “How you wanna do this?”

The words sent something sharp curling low in his stomach, but he kept his expression even. Neutral. Like this wasn’t the strangest damn conversation he’d ever had in his life.

Your lips parted slightly, like you hadn’t expected him to ask that, and something flickered in your gaze.

“I…” You hesitated, shifting again. “I don’t know.”

Joel huffed a quiet breath, rubbing a hand over his thigh. “Why don’t you tell me what you like,”

He meant it as a practical question. But the second the words left his mouth, something about them felt different. Felt thick.

Your throat bobbed as you swallowed, lips parting again—but no words came.

Joel’s fingers flexed where they rested, and then, slowly, deliberately, he lifted his hand and curled two fingers toward himself in a beckoning motion.

“C’mere.” His voice was low, rough, unwavering. His other hand patted the empty space beside him on the couch.

Your eyes went wide.

Joel’s gaze stayed steady, dark and unreadable, waiting, watching. And when you didn’t move, when you stayed frozen in place, teeth worrying your lip like you weren’t sure if you should—

He tilted his head slightly, exhaling through his nose.

“Don’t be all shy now,” he murmured. “You helped me last time. I’ll help you this time.” A pause, thick with meaning. “Come on, now.”

Your fingers twitched, and then slowly, hesitantly, you moved towards him.

You set down the empty whiskey glass with a soft clink, and Joel caught the slight tremble in your hands as you made your way over to him. You sat beside him, close but not too close, your body angled toward his, but still not touching. He could feel the heat of you, though, could sense the way you hovered in that charged space, your breath just a little uneven.

Your eyes flickered to his, uncertain, waiting.

Joel let the moment stretch before speaking, voice low, rough with the remnants of whiskey and something heavier. “Now,” he drawled, slow and deliberate, as his hand rested on the back of the couch as he turned towards you, “what’s got you all worked up, hm? Why you nervous tonight? Weren’t nervous last time.”

You blinked at him, “Yes, I was.”

Joel shot you a look, brows furrowing slightly.

You were?

Hell, he was the one who’d been in damn ribbons last time, all wound up so tight he couldn’t even get hard at first. But you…you’d been steady, patient, pulling him out of his own head with soft hands and softer words, guiding him through it like you’d done this a thousand times before.

But now, looking at you, at the way your fingers twisted absently in your lap, at the way you were still hesitating, hovering, he realized maybe he’d had it all wrong.

Maybe you’d just been better at hiding it.

Something in him shifted at that thought, something warm and unexpected. And then—just like that—the corner of your mouth quirked up, barely there, but enough.

Enough to break the tension just a little.

Joel’s gaze stayed locked on yours, watching the way your lips twitched with that barely-there smile, the way you shifted in your seat, still wound up tight. You might’ve been trying to play it off, but he could see it now. The way your body was holding something back, how much you were overthinking, just like he had last time.

He leaned in slightly, his voice dropping low and edged with something darker.

“How do you usually get off?”

He watched the way your body reacted to the question, your thighs pressing together just slightly, the way your fingers tensed against the couch cushion, like you needed something to hold onto.

“Joel—”

“C’mon, now,” he murmured, tilting his head, gaze flickering down your body before finding your eyes again. “You asked me the same question last time. Let me help you relax, sweetheart.”

Your breath came a little faster now, chest rising and falling, and for a second, Joel thought you might overthink your way out of this. Might shake your head, pull away, break the moment before it could go any further.

“I, um…” Your teeth caught your bottom lip harder now as your eyes flicked away, like you were thinking, trying to find the right words. “Tommy—he usually… he’ll go down on me.”

Joel hummed, urging you on. “Mhm.”

“And usually I’ll get off then—”

“Usually?” Joel interjected without thinking. His brow furrowed slightly as he looked at you.

You shrugged, like it wasn’t a big deal. “Sometimes it takes a while,” you admitted. “So I tell him to give up and—”

“Give up?!” Now Joel was incredulous. His head jerked slightly as he wiped a hand down his face, like he could scrub away the mental image of his little brother trying and failing to make his own damn wife finish on his tongue.

"Jesus Christ."

You gave a small, amused shake of your head. “Not everyone is as talented as you, Joel Miller.”

The words left your mouth so easily, a throwaway comment, but the second you said it, your face went red, realizing what you’d just admitted. You let out a breathy laugh, trying to play it off as a joke, but Joel wasn’t remotely amused.

Because he’d seen the way you shrugged when you said give up. Like it was normal. Like you didn’t expect anything else.

No. He wasn’t having any of that.

His expression hardened, jaw ticking.

“Lay back.”

Your eyes widened slightly, your lips parting as you released your lip from between your teeth. “What?”

“Lay back, dammit. Pants off.”

“Joel, we’re—”

“You keep breakin’ Rule Number Three, doll, I’m gonna start thinkin’ you don’t give a damn about ‘em.” His voice was firm, his gaze unwavering.

“Sorry,” you murmured, your voice softer now, almost breathless, and Joel’s stomach tightened at the sound of it.

Joel was already moving, shifting forward, his body his broad frame eclipsing yours, forcing you to either back up or let him take what he wanted. You braced yourself against the couch, your hands gripping at the cushions as he hovered over you, broad and unrelenting.

“You don’t have to–”

“I said lay back, baby,” he murmured, voice low and firm, edged with something dark and determined. His fingers brushed against your thigh, coaxing, teasing, his eyes locked onto yours. “Lemme show you how it’s supposed to be.”

You hesitated, your chest rising and falling too quickly, lips parting like you wanted to say something—maybe protest, maybe challenge him—but instead, you obeyed.

You let him guide you down, sinking back against the cushions, legs still bent, thighs pressed tight together.

Joel hummed at the sight of you beneath him, at the way you looked up at him now—uncertain, but wanting. He could see it in the way your breath hitched, in the way your fingers twitched like you didn’t know what to do with them.

“That’s a good girl,” he muttered, dragging his palm up the length of your thigh, heat radiating from his touch even through the fabric of your shorts.

He should take his time, should tease you like he’d been dreaming about in the weeks between last time and now—the way he’d pictured you squirming, begging for him. But then he remembered what you’d said.

How sometimes it took too long.

How you’d just tell Tommy to give up.

Like it was your fault. Like you were too much work.

Bullshit.

Joel’s jaw ticked, something dark and dangerous curling in his gut. His fingers flexed against your skin before slipping beneath the waistband of your shorts, tugging them down before you could say anything else.

You sucked in a breath, hips lifting instinctively, letting him pull them past your thighs, past your knees, tossing them somewhere behind him. His hands settled firm on your legs, his thumbs stroking slow, deliberate circles against your inner thighs as he spread them wider.

And fuck, you were already so wet, your panties clinging to you, a darkened patch right where he wanted to put his mouth.

His smirk was slow, satisfied.

"What’s this all about, hm?" he purred, pressing his thumb against the damp fabric, rubbing just enough to make you jolt. "Wanna tell me what’s got you all dripping for me already?"

Your breath hitched, a little mewl escaping you as you tried pushing your thighs together, squeezing tight, making the soft, puffy outline of your lips press perfectly against the thin fabric.

Joel swore he started salivating.

His hands ran up your legs as he sank onto the floor, knees pressing firm against the couch cushions, palms settling against the soft skin of your inner thighs. He wanted you spread open for him, wanted all of you.

"Tell me, baby," he urged, voice thick, coaxing.

Your throat bobbed, lips parting, your breath a little shaky. "I was…" You swallowed hard, fingers twisting in the couch cushion, "I was just remembering."

Joel’s eyes flicked to yours, heavy-lidded and dazed, thick with want. "Rememberin’ what?"

You met his gaze, lashes low, voice barely above a breath. "How good you made me feel last time. I’d never… felt that before. Not like that, at least."

Jesus fucking Christ.

Joel let out a low groan, his cock stiffening behind his zipper, aching in a way that made his breath come slow and deep through his nose. You had to feel it, the hard press of denim against your ass, the way his body reacted to your words, to the way you looked at him like you were already cock-drunk before he even touched you properly.

"You felt so good, Joel," you murmured, your voice thick, dreamy, like you were already sinking into it. "Made me feel so good."

His fingers curled against your thighs, pressing in just a little harder.

"Gonna make you feel real good again, baby," he muttered, voice rough as his fingers hooked into your panties. He pulled them down slow, savoring the sight of them peeling away from your slick folds, strings of arousal clinging to the fabric.

"Open these pretty legs for me," he murmured, gripping your thighs, easing them apart as he settled lower, gaze locked on the glistening heat between them.

You let him hold you open, bare to him, and all Joel could think about was getting his mouth on you, making you come undone the way you were supposed to.

The way he knew he could.

Joel’s breath was heavy, measured, but inside, he was burning.

He slid his palms up your thighs, pressing them wider, his thumbs tracing firm, slow strokes along the sensitive skin. His hands felt big where they gripped you, broad and rough, like they could hold you there forever, keep you open for him until he was satisfied.

And right now, he was hungry.

His gaze stayed locked between your legs, taking in the way you glistened in the low light, slick and dripping for him, already so ready. He exhaled sharply through his nose, his cock pulsing behind the tight confines of his jeans.

"Fuck, baby," he murmured, almost to himself, dragging his thumbs over your inner thighs, watching the way your muscles twitched beneath his touch. "You got no clue how pretty you are down here, do you?"

You whimpered, a small, needy sound, and Joel felt it straight in his gut.

He leaned in, inhaling against your core, lips just barely brushing against you—not quite a kiss, not quite a touch, just enough to tease, to let you feel the heat of his breath against your slick folds.

You gasped, your hips jerking slightly.

He smirked, the ghost of it pressing against your skin.

"Easy, sweetheart," he murmured, smoothing his hands over your thighs, grounding you, keeping you spread open for him. "Ain’t gotta rush. Gonna take my time with you."

And then, finally he let his tongue drag through your folds, broad and slow, from your dripping entrance up to your swollen clit.

You shuddered.

Your fingers scrambled at the couch cushion, a broken moan spilling from your lips, thighs trembling beneath his hands.

"That’s it," Joel muttered against you, voice thick, satisfied. He dragged his tongue over you again, slower this time, savoring the way you tasted, the way you reacted.

He loved this—loved watching you come undone beneath him, loved the way your body melted, how you gave in so easily when someone actually took their damn time with you.

His mouth latched onto your clit, sucking just enough to make your back arch off the couch, another moan breaking free.

"Joel—oh my God—"

"Mmm," he hummed in response, the vibration sending a sharp jolt through your core. His fingers dug into your thighs, holding you still, keeping you right where he wanted you.

You were practically dripping onto the couch, coating his lips, his chin, and Joel loved it. Lapped it up like he was dying for it, groaning against you, letting himself drown in you.

He flicked his tongue, slow and teasing, before dragging it down, prodding your entrance. His hands slid up, fingers pressing against the dips of your hips, holding you steady as his tongue dipped inside you.

You choked on a breath, your thighs twitching against his shoulders, and Joel grinned.

"Yeah?" he rasped, pulling back just slightly, his lips slick and shining with you. "That feel good, sweetheart?"

You barely managed to nod before his mouth was back on you, eating you like a man starved.

Your hands fisted in his hair, and he groaned against you. He loved how messy you were, how you squirmed just as he’d imagined, how you kept whispering his fucking name, breathless and desperate like you just couldnt help yourself.

He knew there was a reason that was a rule.

Because it sounded too fucking pretty coming from your mouth, tangled up in all those sweet little sounds you were making, and he never wanted to stop hearing it.

"Ain’t learned your lesson yet, huh?" he muttered against you, voice thick with sin, pressing a kiss against your clit before dragging his tongue over it again, slow and deliberate, feeling the way you jerked. "Keep breakin’ that rule, sweetheart, and I’m never gonna stop."

A little choked noise escaped you, hands pulling harder in his hair, but you weren’t pushing him away—you were pulling him in.

And fuck, did that make him ache.

"Bet you don’t come this quick for him, do you?" he rasped, letting his tongue dip down, teasing at your entrance before pressing inside, groaning as he felt you pulse around him. "How long’s it take you on my brother’s tongue, huh? You gotta work for it? Tell him it’s okay to give up?"

You whimpered, a full-body shudder rolling through you, your hips rolling up, chasing more, and fuck, that answer was all he needed.

Joel grinned against you.

"Not with me, baby. Nuh-uh. You come when I tell you to, and you ain't goin' nowhere 'til I get what I want."

His fingers dug into your thighs as he devoured you, tongue working you over, sucking slow, firm pulls on your clit until your whole body seized beneath him.

"Joel—"

Your thighs clamped around his head, hands flying to your mouth like you could stop it, like you knew you weren’t supposed to say it.

Joel groaned, filthy and deep, gripping your hips tighter, dragging you down against his mouth, forcing you to take it.

"That's it, baby," he growled against you, tongue curling, licking deep. "Say it again. Come on my tongue saying my name, just like that."

You shattered, a strangled, broken cry falling from your lips as you gushed against his tongue, whole body trembling, thighs shaking around his head.

And Joel fucking loved it.

But he wasn't done. Not even close.

Your breath was still uneven, your body twitching from the aftershocks, when he kept going.

"Too much—" your voice was a high, breathless plea, hips shifting like you were trying to get away, but Joel chuckled, gripping you tighter, keeping you exactly where he wanted you.

"Nah, sweetheart," he murmured, pressing an open-mouthed kiss against your soaked folds. "Tommy might let you tap out, but I ain’t him. You’re gonna take everything I give you."

And then he was back on you, devouring you, tongue pushing into you, working you open, tasting you like he was fucking starved for it.

You gasped, legs trembling, but Joel just held you still, broad hands locked tight around your thighs, thumbs digging into the soft flesh as he pinned you down.

He wasn’t sure what came over him in these moments. Wasn’t sure if he’d ever been like this before. He couldn’t remember another time a woman made him feel this insatiable, this hungry. He kept telling himself one more—just one more, to wring you out and leave you spent beneath him. But you were still so soft, still so wet, and he wasn’t finished yet.

He pulled back just enough to watch the way you twitched beneath him, your lips parted, your chest rising and falling fast. Your thighs gave a little shake where he held them apart, and fuck—you looked downright beautiful.

You were panting, wrecked, tears pricking at the corners of your eyes, legs trembling where he held them apart.

And Joel was grinning against you.

Because you hadn’t told him to stop yet.

And until you did, he was gonna pull another from you.

And another.

By the time you came the fifth time, you were boneless.

Joel leaned back slightly, watching the way you just lay there, sprawled out against the couch like your body had melted into it, chest rising and falling in uneven breaths. Your legs were still twitching, little aftershocks making you jolt every now and then, and he could feel the warmth of you still slick and messy against his mouth, his chin, his fingers.

He wasn’t sure if you were even conscious after that last one.

He swiped the back of his hand across his mouth, jaw tightening at the sight of you—wrecked, trembling, looking like you hadn’t even processed what the hell had just happened to you.

Joel exhaled through his nose, pleased, then dragged himself up over your body, bracing his forearms on either side of your head. You barely stirred, eyes fluttering, a sleepy little hum slipping from your lips as his hand slid into your hair, tucking it behind your ear.

"Sweetheart," he murmured, voice rough.

You made a noise, something breathy and spent, your eyes opening just barely.

“Hm?”

Joel smirked. "You need a break?"

There was a beat, like you were trying to process what that even meant—then a sleepy little giggle bubbled up in your throat, your hands finding his hair, fingertips scratching lightly against his scalp.

"Maybe like, five minutes," you murmured, smiling up at him, wrecked but glowing.

Joel huffed a laugh, shaking his head, before pulling you against him. You let out a surprised squeak as he stood up, gathering you into his arms like you weighed nothing.

“What the—?”

Joel shot you a lazy grin, shifting you higher against his chest. "My brother would kill me if I told him I knocked you up on a couch like a teenage boy."

That finally seemed to wake you up.

Your whole body stiffened, eyes going a little wide as reality set in.

"Oh, god…" you murmured, voice a little hoarse, your hands gripping at his shoulders. "I can't believe we just… I just did that…"

And fuck, something in Joel sank at the sound of your voice.

Because he knew that tone. Knew it well—that creeping guilt, that second-guessing, the way someone’s mind started running ahead of them, thinking about what it all meant instead of how it felt.

His jaw tightened.

He hadn’t meant to… he didn’t even know what came over him. He should’ve stopped earlier, should’ve slowed down, should’ve given you more space to breathe before he just took and took and took.

But Jesus, the way you responded to him, the way you gave it all back, the way you opened for him like you’d been waiting for someone to finally take care of you—

It did something to him. Still, he had to be sure.

"Hey." His voice was softer now, more even, as he shifted his grip on you, keeping you steady in his arms as he began to climb the stairs. "Ain't nobody gotta know. Stays between us."

You blinked up at him, chest still rising and falling a little too quickly, fingers curling slightly into his shirt.

“But Tommy—”

Joel shook his head, cutting you off gently. "Tommy don't need to know a damn thing ‘cept that we tried."

You swallowed, lips pressing together like you were still processing, like you wanted to say something else, but didn’t know how.

Joel exhaled, shifting his weight slightly, giving you something solid to hold onto.

"You still want this, don’t you?" he asked, quiet, steady.

You hesitated—but then, slowly, you nodded.

"Yeah."

Joel nodded back, just once.

"Then that's all that matters."

His hand smoothed over your back, solid and warm, grounding you. "We just keep doin' what we agreed on. Nothin’ more, nothin’ less."

Your breath hitched slightly, but you nodded again.

And Joel didn’t let himself think about why that felt like a lie as he crossed the threshold into your bedroom.

Eventually, he laid you down on the bed, and you settled back against the pillows, your chest still rising and falling in slow, deep breaths. You reached for the hem of your shirt, peeling it off and tossing it somewhere, your bra following it to the floor.

Joel took his time. He shucked off his jeans, then his shirt, watching the way heat crept up your neck, the flush deepening across your skin as you took him in.

He told himself he just wanted to see your reaction—wanted to watch the way you took him in, wide-eyed and wanting—but the truth was, last time, he’d been so caught up in his own head, trying to wrap his mind around what the fuck he was doing, he barely let himself process it.

He wanted to commit this to memory.

In case it was the last time.

His hand wrapped around his cock, the poor thing aching, flushed dark at the tip, leaking, desperate for relief. He hissed through his teeth, exhaling sharply as he stroked himself, his eyes fluttering shut for just a second before he climbed onto the bed.

But before he could settle over you, you moved. You laid down flat on your belly, head toward the foot of the bed, your chest pressed flush to the mattress, your ass tilted up just slightly.

And right in front of you—the dresser mirror.

Joel’s body locked up as his eyes flicked up, finding his own reflection staring back at him. But then—your eyes met his through the glass, a little shy, a little hesitant.

Jesus fucking Christ.

His cock twitched in his hand, and his grip tightened around the base like he needed to ground himself, keep himself from losing control too fucking fast.

And then you smiled—small, soft, still lost in that post-orgasm haze, warm and pliant and looking like you’d do anything he told you to.

Joel climbed onto the bed, moving behind you, his weight shifting over your back as his broad hands settled on your hips, gripping firm.

His eyes flicked back up to the mirror, watching the way you looked at him, watching yourself.

He smirked.

“You dirty girl,” he murmured, his grip tightening as he ground his cock through your slick folds, coating himself in your arousal.

A breathy whimper slipped from your lips, your body arching, pressing your ass back into him, and he swore under his breath as his bulbous, leaking tip caught against your entrance.

The heat of you, still soaking, still so tight, made his breath catch as he lowered himself, chest pressing into your back, caging you in, his lips grazing the shell of your ear as his cock teased against you, notching at your entrance, pushing just barely.

"You wanna watch me fuck you?" he rasped, his voice low, dark, dripping with sin.

You let out a shaky breath, eyes fluttering shut, and Joel rolled his hips forward, making you feel every inch of him stretching you open, slow, teasing, unbearable.

Your eyes snapped open, a choked gasp spilling from your lips as your gaze locked onto his in the mirror.

That wrecked, ruined expression, that wide-eyed shock as you took him inch by inch, deeper and deeper…

He knew was never gonna forget this.

Joel growled against your ear, his breath hot, his hips pressing flush against your ass as he bottomed out, stretching you open until there was nowhere left for you to go.

"Wanna watch your husband’s own brother knock you up, baby?" he purred.

Your jaw dropped, eyes going glassy, mouth parted in a silent cry as he felt you squeeze around him, your tight little pussy gripping him like you’d never let him go.

Joel had never felt anything this good.

He pulled back, just barely, before sinking home again, slow and deep, forcing you to feel every inch of him, every drag of his cock as he stretched you open all over again.

You whimpered, nails scraping against the sheets, already wrecked, but not nearly done.

He watched in the mirror as your lips parted, as your lashes fluttered, as your brows furrowed at the overwhelming sensation of it—of him, filling you to the brim, thick and unrelenting.

"That’s it, pretty girl," he groaned, grinding into you, pressing his full weight over you, hips rolling in a slow, deep rhythm. "Take it just like that. Nice ‘n easy, let me feel you, huh?"

Your mouth fell open, a breathy little moan spilling out as he fucked you slow, letting you feel every inch, dragging it out, stretching it thicker, deeper.

Then he pulled back, bracing a big, rough hand on your hip before thrusting forward, harder this time, deeper, dragging a sharp gasp from your lips as your eyes flew open— and as he looked up and saw your face, he could’ve finished right then and there, your eyes flashing open wide and your wrecked voice crying out for him.

His jaw clenched, his fingers digging into your hip as he set a punishing rhythm, hips snapping against your ass, the slick wet sounds of you taking him filling the room, mixing with the soft, broken noises slipping from your mouth as he fucked you hard, deep, like he’d been waiting his whole life to do this.

Joel’s body pinned you down, his weight heavy and solid as he laid over you. There was nowhere to go, nowhere to move—just him, pressing you into the mattress, keeping you exactly where he wanted you, exactly where you needed to be.

The heat of him burned into your back, his chest slick against your skin, his breaths hot and uneven at your ear as he worked himself slow and deep, grinding his hips down into you, forcing your body to take everything he gave you.

You couldn’t move.

You could barely breathe.

Every push forward drove you deeper into the mattress, your fingers gripping at the sheets, holding on as his pace built, each thrust sinking him deeper, stretching you open with long, deliberate strokes.

Joel groaned against the nape of your neck, his mouth grazing your skin as his hips rocked into you, dragging you forward with every heavy roll of his body. His weight bore down, pressing you into the bed, keeping you flush beneath him, letting him sink in to the very hilt, until you could feel every thick inch of him, filling you, claiming you.

He could feel everything—the way your body clenched around him, the way your walls fluttered, pulling him in deeper, tight and wet, keeping him locked inside you.

And in the mirror, he could see how flushed, how spent and wrecked you were, your soft lips in a perfect ‘o’ as he kept pushing himself to the hilt, your velvet walls constricting his cock with every thrust. He relished in the feeling, how deep he was inside you, how good you felt wrapped around him, how you had no choice but to take it.

Your moan was soft, needy, muffled by the sheets, your back arching, trying to press into him, trying to take him even deeper.

"You’re gonna come again, aren’t you?" Joel murmured against your sweat-slicked skin, feeling the way your walls squeezed him tighter, your body locking up, every muscle trembling beneath him. One of his hands slid under you, finding your clit easily and starting to rub slow circles using two thick fingers, "Gonna give me another, baby? Gonna let me feel you?"

His hand slid up, his fingers brushing over your throat, tilting your face to the mirror.

"Look at yourself." he said as his hand wrapped around your face, thumb pushing into your cheek and fingers digging into your jaw as he brought your gaze up to meet his.

Your eyes met his, glassy and fogged, your lips parted, your breath coming in short, desperate gasps as he ground into you, holding you still, keeping you stretched full and helpless beneath him.

"You see that, baby?" he whispered, his fingers tightening at your jaw, keeping you there, keeping you watching, “See how perfect you look takin’ my cock?”

Joel thrust deeper, grinding his hips against your ass, rocking into you, making sure you felt every thick inch stretching you, keeping you full.

“You know, my brother can pretend all he wants," Joel growled, driving into you harder, making you feel it, making you take it.

"But this pussy’s mine now," he snarled, his fingers gripping tight at your jaw, making you watch yourself begin to fall apart on him.

"Was mine the second you came on my cock last time, wasn’t it?" he rasped, thrusting deep, holding you full, his fingers grinding slow and taunting against your swollen, sensitive clit.

"Go on," he growled, fingers and thumb gripping your jaw, sliding one up to press firmly at your lips before pushing past them, hooking into your mouth. "Say it."

Your breath hitched, a muffled coo spilling around his thick finger.

“All yours, Joel,” you whimpered, voice broken, wrecked, helpless.

Your words turned into a sob, your thighs shaking, your body locking up as your orgasm tore through you, your muscles clenching down tight around him, your walls milking his cock, dragging him even deeper.

Joel groaned, his head tilting into your neck, feeling you pulse around him, trying to pull him in, hold him there, keep him inside you.

You heaved in breaths, trembling beneath him, as he released his tight hold on your face, your head met the bed, too wrecked to hold yourself up.

Joel followed you down, face pressed into your shoulder, holding you still as he thrust once more, deep and final, his body locking up as he filled you, spilling inside you, holding you down, making sure you took all of it.

He stayed there for a long moment, panting, his breath warm against the back of your neck, his body covering yours completely.

Joel didn’t move right away.

His breath was ragged, hot against your sweat-damp skin, his weight still pressing heavy over you, pinning you down, keeping you filled, stuffed, claimed.

His arms caged around you, his chest pressing into your back, the lingering aftershocks of release making both of you twitch, shuddering in the same unsteady rhythm.

But as the haze of it ebbed, something else crept in.

His own words, thrown into the thick air like a brand, still hanging there.

My brother can pretend all he wants.

This pussy’s mine now.

Was mine the second you came on my cock.

Joel exhaled slowly, eyes pressing shut, realization sinking into him like a heavy weight.

Jesus Christ.

He shouldn’t have said that.

He’d felt it—deep in his chest, in the pit of his stomach, in the way you clung to him, the way you let him take and take and take like you needed it just as badly. But saying it? Letting those thoughts slip out, low and raw and real—

That was something else entirely.

His grip loosened, fingers flexing where they’d held you too tight, his body finally easing up, lifting off you, just a little. Enough to give you air.

His mouth hovered at your shoulder, his breath still uneven, before he forced himself to speak.

"I’m sorry," he breathed, voice rough, thick with something he didn’t want to name. "I… I shouldn’t have—"

“Joel?” Your voice was weak, soft, barely above a breath.

And when he looked up at you, your eyes were open just a little, sleep-heavy, a small, lazy smile tugging at your lips.

He swallowed. "Yeah?" he asked, voice gentler now.

You sighed, shifting just enough to settle deeper beneath him, your body still pliant as you rested your head on your arms, "Don’t ruin it."

Joel stilled.

You breathed slow, eyes fluttering as exhaustion pulled at you.

"It’s okay. I won’t say anything if you don’t."

Something in his chest tightened, and for the first time since the haze had lifted, he let himself breathe.

Joel exhaled slowly, eyes tracing over your face—soft, spent, utterly at peace beneath him.

"Okay." he murmured finally, voice low, rough, unreadable.

And with that, he let it be.

tag list: @alidiggory92 @pinkylouise @izzy698

#my brain is fried #I havent touched grass in days #family matters #joel miller #joel miller x you #joel miller smut #tommy miller #tommy miller x you #joel miller x reader #tommy miller x reader #tlou #the last of us

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