As you drive back to campus, you try to think logically about Joel. On one hand, fucking him might give you even more leverage, if you could stay detached, but you're smart enough to recognize the poor odds of that. You also wonder if you should question his motives. He's never so much as hit on you until now that you have something over him. To be fair, it isn't out of nowhere - you held eye contact with him while he fucked your stepmother. You could've walked away as soon as your suspicion was confirmed, but you didn't walk away until he came, eyes locked with yours. Then, the next day, you went to his pool, took your top off, and made him jerk off.
-
When you get to your apartment, you bring Joel's jacket inside and drape it over your upper body, all the way up to your nose while you lie on your bed and scroll your phone. Chad, your kind-of ex, asks if you can talk. You start typing something, but when he texts you again to add a question mark, you decide to ignore him. You put on the jacket. There's a scrap of thermal paper with gps coordinates in the pocket. Out of curiosity, you search the coordinates and they're near Uvalde, but you don't find an address. The closest thing is an abandoned mall.
You put down your phone and turn up the jacket collar, then inhale it with your eyes closed. You get another text and it's Joel. For a moment, you feel warm and fuzzy, until you open it.
"Thinking of you." It's a surveillance picture of you topless in his pool. A pit opens in your stomach.
You can just picture his smug smile as his big stupid thumb pressed send. The picture disappears as your ears get hot. What does he think he's doing? You text him accordingly. You seethe. But there's another part of you – a hot, wet part of you, that only wants Joel more with every depraved thing he says and does. You almost wish the picture didn't disappear so you could admire his back and imagine what else could have been. . .
Imagine Joel getting in the pool with you, pinning you to the edge, his thickening cock pressing into you, rock-hard. Joel wrapping his arm around you, shoving his hand between your legs, pulling your swimsuit to the side, taking you from behind. His cock filling you up, one hand on your tits, the other between your legs. Bouncing you on his cock, zero gravity, your knees spread and bent. You get yourself off with very little effort by imagining this. It only briefly crosses your mind that, worst case scenario, the oxytocin of each orgasm may work to his advantage.
-
You have to work at the cafe the next day. It's gotten slower since summer session ended, but the bookstore still gets traffic from families visiting campus and whoever's still around. And as long as the bookstore gets traffic, so does the cafe.
Chad, your kind-of ex, comes in. You try to remain composed and professional, but it's humiliating having to serve him after he cheated on you then tried to gaslight you that you were never "together" after almost a year. He's wearing a t-shirt from the venue where you met when you saw his band play.
Your heart races as you write his name on a cup and he tries to get you to take your break. You refuse. He invites you to a party, then sits alone in the cafe for a few minutes, manspreading like he owns the place, watching you. Eventually, he leaves and your eyes well up in tears. You wipe down tables as a way to get a moment alone to compose yourself.
-
When you finish wiping down the last table, you stand up and get startled by someone standing way too close behind you.
Joel's low, gruff voice asks, "I reckon that's Chad?"
Your heart jumps to your throat. "What are you doing here?" Naturally, you're still mad about the topless picture – or at least, you feel like you should be mad.
"Comin' back from a job. You okay?"
You turn around and meet his eyes. And forearms. His denim shirt is fitted and his sleeves are rolled up. Jesus.
"I don't have anything to say to you."
"I know. You can delete it yourself. Come out to my truck for a minute."
"Seriously?"
"What, you trust me to do it myself?"
You roll your eyes and take your break, following him outside.
-
Joel opens the passenger door for you. When he gets in the truck, he pulls out an iPad and opens his home surveillance app.
"We're on my hotspot. Here, delete the whole day if you want. Then go to the trash and empty it." He hands you the iPad. "Can't be too careful these days, Trouble." he adds.
Your cheeks burn with exception. Resentment. "Can't be too careful 'cause a creep like you might record me?"
"See that black bar?" He points. "Means no data for that time. 'Cause I turned'em off, just not fast enough."
"Conveniently, right before you took your cock out."
He chuckles, then checks you out. A hunger comes over his face. Maybe it was hearing you refer to his cock. He looks down at himself before he lowers his voice and meets your eyes again.
"What, you wanna souvenir? I'll send you a picture." You can practically see the reflection of your naked tits in his eyes. He adjusts his jeans and looks out the window behind you.
Your face gets hot. You compose yourself and look him up and down. "If I wanna see your cock, I'll tell you to take it out."
His eyebrows shoot up. "Attagirl." He whistles as he shifts in his seat. "God damn, Trouble. You really are." He puffs his cheeks as he exhales and shakes his head. "Who knew," he adds under his breath, looking absently through the windshield.
You hand the iPad back to him and an alert pops up, catching your eye. It's your stepmother's car at his gate. It quickens your heart rate. You study his face for an answer.
He sighs. "She keeps callin', comin' by. I changed the gate codes. . . I'll text you your new one." His brow furrows as he stares into space, then he scratches the back of his neck. "I reckon I should prolly stay away for a couple days, let her get it out of her system."
He deletes the app and reaches behind the seat to pull out an Apple Store bag. He puts the iPad in the bag and hands it to you. "Keep it." It's blue like the phone from yesterday. You should've known.
"Real creative. This is your whole plan? Buy me an Apple store?" you hand it back to him. "I'm not walking back in there with that."
"Fair enough." He smiles to himself and leaves it in the truck as you both get out. He puts on his Ray Bans.
Joel pulls up his pants and puts his hands on his hips, shifting his weight to one leg and popping out a knee. Your gaze drifts to the bulge below his belt. His brow furrows as he looks off.
"Now. . .'bout Chad. . . I reckon I got nothin' but time now if he needs a lesson in manners." Once again, you hate him for bringing up Chad.
Your face tightens despite your best efforts. "Don't bother."
"Aw, shoot." He always knows. "Com'ere, sugar." Joel opens his big arms. You can't resist his bear hug. You feel safe.
You sniffle and he whispers, "Hey, Trouble. What did the white grape say to the purple grape?"
"Hm?"
"Breathe."
You can't help but laugh. He hadn't told one of those in a while. Fitting, too.
"There she is." He smiles as you pull away.
"I have to get back to work."
"Reckon I'll be 'round if you need anything."
"Okay, creeper."
-
When you get home from work, your roommate is watching the news. The newscasters are talking about a body found in an underground bunker outside Uvalde near the border. You look up and do a double take.
"Holy shit." Your heart races.
"What"
"Oh, I thought I recognized that mall."
You consider texting Joel about it, but something tells you not to. You don't text him at all. You google it. There are rumors it was a cartel boss.
Your roommate is planning on going to the party Chad invited you to to meet up with a guy you and Chad introduced her to. You resist her invitation, but she begs you to come just for a few minutes so she doesn't have to show up alone, and eventually, you relent. You do a little pregaming at home before heading to the party. You wear something hot to make Chad sorry – leather pants and a low-cut, lace top – with Joel's jacket over it.
-
Chad is already drunk when you get there. He herds you and your roommate to the drinks. The guy she's talking to went on a beer run. Aside from the two of you, it's almost all guys, so you'd feel guilty leaving her there. You decide to stay just until her guy gets back from his beer run.
This takes longer than you expect. Chad keeps trying to talk to you, telling you how good you look, until someone distracts him with beer pong. You have to wonder if your roommate's guy is really on a beer run, or with another girl. These guys are all the same. You feel guilty for Chad introducing them. When the guy finally shows up, he does have beer in hand, but not nearly an hour's worth when the store is just a few blocks away.
As you're getting ready to leave, Chad steps in front of the door. He begs you to talk to him just for a few minutes. You refuse and open the door to leave, but he doesn't back down. He yanks the door shut, then towers over you and pins you to the foyer wall.
Within seconds, the front door swings back open.
"Get your hands off her," Joel booms as he charges in, then grabs Chad by the shirt and slams him up against the wall. Chad is an inch or two taller than Joel, and yet Joel seems to tower over him.
"You told your dad?" Chad asks you, incredulous.
"Get in the truck," Joel tells you sternly, pointing out the door. You leave the door open behind you to watch and listen as you very slowly inch toward Joel's truck.
Joel tells him, "If she told her dad, you wouldn't be breathin'. I'm fixin' to save your life right now."
He releases Chad just long enough for him to turn around and face him so it's a fair fight. Then, Joel decks Chad in the face. Chad goes stumbling across the foyer holding his jaw.
"Get in the truck, now!" Joel yells out the door at you, neck vein bulging, then pulls the door shut and stays inside with Chad.
-
You get in the truck and the shock catches up to you. You can't stop the tears. Your mascara runs and you don't have any tissues. You open the center console and don't find any. He's a man, of course he doesn't have any. You open the glove box anyway. A few scattered condoms, no surprise there. Registration. Not much else. It's super shallow.
You lift the tray out. In the hidden chamber, there's nothing but a gun and a cylinder. . .a silencer. In Texas, it'd be weirder if he didn't have a gun. But a silencer? Who is he, John Wick? What kind of contractor carries a silencer? . . . No. The blood drains from your face. You quickly replace the tray and close the glove box, your heart racing. Was it a bullet wound scar you caught a glimpse of at the pool?
The mental image of him pulling off his jeans makes you forget about the silencer. If your leggings weren't leather, you'd probably soak right through them.
-
Joel comes out and slams the door behind him. His muscles and veins bulge as he charges toward you.
"Are you okay?" He asks as he gets in the truck. He leans over to buckle you in. You can smell his sweat and musk.
"Yeah, I'm fine."
"That's the guy you were seein' for damn near a year? That damn fool?"
"Don't," you warn.
You ride in silence and he calms down.
"Sorry," he says at a stoplight. He rests his massive hand loosely on your thigh. "I shouldn't'a said that " His veins are still bulging.
"You're right though," you sigh. Your eyes won't leave the vein on his hand.
You shift in your seat, the lightest contact of his big, masculine hand literally opening your legs. You fold your left heel under you, which has the effect of shifting his hand to your inner thigh. He inhales deeply but leaves his hand resting loosely on your inner thigh.
"Well, I reckon it's over now," he says.
He doesn't take his hand back until he needs it on the steering wheel.
"This isn't the way," you tell him.
"You're stayin' with me tonight," he responds, then stretches his jaw. "Got a suite on the river."
You absently fiddle with the scrap of paper in your (his) left jacket pocket. You ask him what job he was coming back from. He does a double take and holds out his hand.
"Gimme that," he says sternly.
"I just like to hear about what you're building."
"Now."
"What, your trash?" you hand it over and he lifts his butt out of the seat to shove it in his pocket. In effect, the motion is a pelvic thrust. It makes you forget about everything else.
-
He's staying at one of the nicer hotels on the Riverwalk. He pulls up to the entrance and asks the valet for a minute.
Joel comes over and opens your door. "Come on, let's go." He notices the mascara on your face. "Shit." He pulls a first aid kit from under the seat and gives you an alcohol pad and uses one to clean the blood off his knuckles. He glances at the glove box contemplatively, but doesn't open it.
The lobby has an overly modern chandelier. He gives you a key card. On the elevator, you rest your head on his shoulder. It's a suite with two bedrooms. His stuff is already in one of them.
He gestures to the empty room, scratching the back of his neck, making his bicep look even more enormous. "If you want to, uh. . . Do you need anything? I can go to the store"
"Like what," you implore.
He leans against the door frame and crosses his imposing arms.
"I dunno what you need in general, so. I dunno," he shrugs. "You've got a toothbrush and stuff in there." He nods to the bathroom.
"Is there a blanket?" You ask.
"You got it." He disappears, opens a few doors, and comes back with a blanket and the iPad. "Put a couple movies on there for ya. If you wanna cast one to the TV."
He swipes it open and gives it to you, and you almost want to cry. He can tell. He turns the TV to the right mode for you.
"You can wear something of mine if you want," he offers, then leaves to take a shower.
"I always sleep in leather pants," you say deadpan.
You may take him up on that later, but not now. You freshen up and take off his jacket then lie down on the bed, on top of the comforter, but under the blanket he fetched. You start watching Scream.
-
After his shower, he comes back in boxers and a t-shirt and asks if you're okay.
You were fine until he asked. You swallow down your emotions. "Stop asking me that." You sit up and pull your knees to your chest.
He approaches the bed and sits down on the edge. He lays a hand on your knee, and you ogle its masculine knuckles and prominent vein as he says "I know it's been a rough week." He doesn't seem to know what else to say, but his eyes look sincere.
You scoot over to make room for him on the bed and lift up the blanket. He lies down and lets you into the crook of his arm. He smells good. You watch most of the movie like that, not moving. Just inhaling his scent and lusting after him, your wits battling your carnal need. He falls asleep for awhile but wakes back up.
-
On the screen, Billy Loomis sucks blood off his own fingers. Joel says, "There he is." He's seen your canvas tote bag with that image on it. "See? You've always had bad taste in men."
You punch him in the chest playfully and he acts like it hurts. His smile kills you.
You're on a bed with him, snuggled up with him, your head on his enormous bicep, and he feels far away. Why doesn't he try to fuck you? It hits you like a punch in the gut that if you want something, you're going to have to take it. And God, you want something. You know better, but you want it.
You wet your lips and watch his face. The pattern of his facial hair is so perfect. Every little blank patch is perfectly placed. Every touch of gray and silver. It's all of him, really. Every broken capillary on his skin, every line. It's the most perfect design. It's almost unbearable.
You hook your far leg over his. He glances at you. You pause the movie. He does a double take when he sees the way you're looking at him. You're trying to work up the courage to make a move. Your lips part, and your hand glides up his chest to his neck, resting by his vein. His heart rate quickens.
"Terrible taste," he mutters, reading your eyes like a book.
You slowly lean in. He intercepts your mouth, controlling the nature of the kiss. He kisses half your bottom lip, then trails his lips down your chin. You tilt your chin up and he kisses its underside, open-mouth. He pivots over your leg to be on top of you with one leg between yours. His expansive hand runs down the side of your lacy top to your free leg, and he grabs your hamstring as your knee bends around him. Your hips lift and you grind into his thigh, desperate for whatever he'll give you. He hardens against your inner thigh and you hear yourself gasp softly.
Joel gets between your legs entirely. He moves slowly. He lays his hardened boxers against your leather pants right where you throb and ache for him. His lips land lightly in the hollow of your neck, and he sucks gently. His hard-on only rolls into you once, sending a jolt of electricity through you before he cruelly takes it away as he works his way down your body.
He tenderly kisses your collarbone, then the lace border of your slutty top. He lifts your shirt up and you pull it over your head, along with your bra. His lips press between your breasts, his beard lightly tickling their soft skin. He palms one breast while his nose nudges your other nipple and they both harden painfully. He sucks just below your nipple and his hand trails down to your pants, grazing over your zipper, then engulfs your entire crotch. His flattened fingers rolling firmly but gently into your clit, over your pants. He breathes heavily.
You arch your back and he breathes, "God almighty," before taking your other tit into his mouth.
Then, he continues his slow journey down your body. He plants two open-mouth kisses on your stomach. You've never been so wet or ready. His kisses trail down below your belly-button, to your leather pants.
All this instead of just kissing you on the mouth like you wanted. It feels like heaven, but it also doesn't sit right.
"It's not happening," you say.
"What?"
"I'm not gonna fuck you." You're saying it to yourself more than to him.
"Oh, I'm not gonna let you, sugar," he rumbles in a near-whisper. Then, his nose digs into the leather between your legs.
"Just wanna taste you. Make you forget everything else."
He has both his thumbs on your mound and presses his mouth into just the right spot, a wave of pleasure washing over you, lifting your hips. His mouth presses and consumes you slowly, but so hungrily that his beard would be hurting you if your pants weren't on. You're already twitching.
He looks up and his tired eyes swallow you whole.
You feel exposed. You're extremely aroused, and he feels far away. You would much rather be making out, with his whole body wrapped around you, his hardness grinding into you. Still, you can't deny this feels very, very good.
His fingers curl into the front of your waistband, and he looks up.
"I'm not into that," you tell him. "Can you kiss me?"
"I'm about to. Ever had it from a grown man?" he asks. "Or hell, a woman?" he adds.
You don't answer.
"You don't know if you're into it."
He craves you badly - it's all over his face. You do want to see how hot he looks doing it.
"You have thirty seconds to convince me," you tell him.
"Only need ten." You're throbbing so bad that might be all it takes, period.
His thumbs unbutton you. He starts to unzip you and inhales sharply when he sees you're commando. You let him peel off your pants. He does it slowly, looking at your pussy like a juicy burger the whole time. He pauses to thumb you, like he can't resist.
"Fuck me," he says when he feels how wet you are. He thumbs your clit with one hand while pulling your pants down with the other. Then he finishes taking them off, prowls back toward you, arms bulging, and puts your thighs over his muscular shoulders.
It's surreal seeing Joel between your legs. He feels your naked breast and hooks his other hand under your thigh, holding your hip loosely. Tension is coiling deep in your core, throbbing, looming, tighter, more desperate than you knew it could be.
The hand on your breast slips down your torso as he kisses your inner thighs, his beard scratching you lightly. He plants a kiss on your mound, opens his mouth, and licks his way down to your clit. He's careful not to drag his facial hair against your most sensitive skin. He nudges the side of your clit with the bridge of his nose. You throb and squirm, and his large hands on your hips hold you still. He seals his mouth around your clit and the top half of your dripping seam. He applies suction while his strong tongue languidly laps you.
With a groan, you release a breath you didn't know you were holding. You want his cock. You can hardly stand it.
Between heavy breaths, you tell him, "Time's up. Come here."
But he keeps devouring your pussy. You tangle your fingers in his hair and whine, "Joel, please" and he laps you more firmly, makes eye contact with you. He flicks his tongue, sucks, drags his tongue down, plunges his tongue inside you and you moan.
"Take your cock out," you tell him. You're aching to be filled.
He pulls his face away, shiny and red from the nose down, replacing it with his hand. He pulls his boxers down. The sight of it makes your temples weak. He thumbs your clit and slips one, then two fingers inside you, making your head fall back as you clench around him. It's not what you want, but it's so much better than nothing.
"So tight," he marvels. He gathers your wetness and lubes himself with you. Not what you had in mind. You at least want to feel his hardness against you. You beg him upward toward you, but he won't go.
He strokes his stiff manhood as his head returns between your legs, his tongue tracing your folds up to your clit. You begin to squirm and he holds you down with one hand, a sight that makes you weak. He hums "Mmm" and moans into the apex of your folds. You're throbbing desperately, your hips move on their own, and he must feel it.
"Come for me, sugar," he mumbles into your warmth. Then he opens his jaw, firmly plants his lips, and digs in again.
Your thighs tremble, threatening to close in on his cheeks. You dig your head into the pillow. With each pass of his tongue, each push of his lips, the tension in your core coils tighter until it can't hold anymore and springs open all at once. As your hips lift against his mouth, his lips press back and he swallows you hungrily.
Pleasure blooms from your core in rhythmic pulses. Your arms and thighs jerk randomly in unison, your abs lift you off the pillow. You're a prisoner to the pleasure, moving at its will, until your climax wanes. The release floods your chest and you pry his head off you. You finger his clean, messy hair.
Joel flattens his fingers to take more wetness from you and you shudder with an aftershock. He sits up on his knees and his brow furrows painfully. You're too busy memorizing the look on his face to fully appreciate the way his ass clenches as he starts to come. Relief covers his face and he grunts as his hot load shoots onto your stomach.
-
He pulls his boxers back up, sits back on his knees, and breathes. His tan, masculine hands affectionately rub your thighs, and you watch his chest rise and fall. Somehow he never looks vulnerable, even right after he comes.
Joel steps away and comes back with tissues. He cleans you up and runs you a bath.
"Good night, Trouble." His thumb affectionately brushes your temple and he kisses you on the head. Then, he goes to his own room.