Chapter Text
you don't have to say it,
i just want to see it,
see how beautiful it can be,
when you feel something for me.
Talking about feelings?
That ain’t exactly your thing.
Maybe it’s easier for you to just say it ain’t your thing. Pretend it’s not you. But really–you just never really learned how. Never had someone worth trying to learn for.
And Joel?
Fuck, he ain’t built for that kinda talk either. He’s worse than you are. He keeps everything locked up tight. Like if he lets one word out, all the walls he’s built might come down.
It’s been over a week. A week of, long, fuckin’ drawn-out days since you were on your knees in front of him. Since he came in your mouth and walked off like nothin’ happened.
To make it worse? Joel’s been gone.
Left a note on the counter–
Gone. Takin’ care of some business stuff.
He left you with his credit card. Didn’t even say bye when he left.
You pulled up his contact more times than you could even count.
Typed out messages you’d never bother to send.
I want you.
Can’t stop thinkin’ about you.
Deleted every fuckin’ one.
You even hovered over the camera once.
Thought about sendin’ a picture.
Thought about makin’ a video of you cumming for him.
Moaning his name loud–just for him.
You didn’t.
But, God, you wanted to.
You felt like you were spiralin’ and desperate as hell.
This shouldn’t be something you’re feeling.
You
know
that.
This ain’t exactly the kind of thing that should be happenin’. Not with him. Not like this.
You spent three days tellin’ yourself you’ll only want him if he wants you first. As if that lie’s gonna keep him out of your head.
It was too late. He lives in your head now. Doesn’t leave.
And it ain’t just about the blowjob.
It’s the way he’s looking at you wearin’ his shirt. The feeling of his hand on your thigh like it belonged there, like you belonged to him. The way he’d sit beside you, close enough that you could feel the heat off his skin–but it also never seemed close enough.
The silence was never awkward with Joel like it was with other people. It meant something. Like there was always so much more beneath it. Just waitin’, always.
Even the fuckin’ simple stuff–watchin’ old movies, drinkin’ beer that you didn’t even like, sittin’ quietly in the morning as you ate breakfast together.
You can’t seem to let it go.
“ Fuuuuuuuck ,” you sigh, eyes tracing the lines on the ceiling.
This room still isn’t yours. Not really. Tall, plain walls. Nothin’ on ‘em. Nothing that feels like it belongs to you. Most of your clothes still don’t even feel like yours yet.
Joel gave you his credit card and told you to go shopping.
He just did
it.
And this black nightie you’ve got on?
Yeah. He bought that too.
It was late, you’d been layin’ there for an hour, possibly more. Starin’ at the ceiling, thumb hoverin’ over his contact once more, like you just can’t help yourself.
And then–you heard the door.
Footsteps on the stairs. His shadow passing by your door. Maybe tonight…maybe you could get
something
out of him. More than just, “
Not now, darlin’.”
You ease your door open, steppin’ out slow, walking to his room. there he is–Joel.
Standing in the bathroom of his bedroom, shoulders hunched, back to you. The overhead light flickerin’ a little bit. You lean against the door, arms crossed.
“Hey,” you say, voice low, testing the waters.
He doesn’t say anything. Just unzips his bag, starts pullin’ things out one by one. Toothbrush, deodorant, his extra clothes. It says more than his silence, like he knew you’d show up. But he just didn’t know what to say when you did.
“Didn’t know you were home,” you mutter, watching him close.
Joel doesn’t look at you, just looks down at the sink.
You try again. “How was your trip?’
He shakes his head.
“Stayed in some cheap-ass motel,” he murmurs. “Sheets smelled like mildew. Tommy fuckin’ snored like a fuckin’ freight train all night, keepin–”
He turns and stops. His eyes drag down your body slowly, that black lace nightie, those thin straps, the way the slit rides high up your thighs.
The left strap has slipped off your shoulder a bit. You think ‘bout fixin’ it.
You don’t.
You watch him–watch the way his jaw works, the way he swallows hard like he’s tryin’ not to say what’s going on in his head right now.
“ Jesus Christ.” he whispers under his breath, like he didn’t mean to say it out-loud.
Didn’t mean for you to hear it.
Then he clears his throat, “Forget ‘bout it.”
There is silence after. One of those long ones that he was so perfect at.
You can
see
it–him fightin’ whatever’s goin’ on in his head. He licks his lips. Looks down. Doesn’t say a word.
You step in closer, hand finding his arm–just enough to lightly touch him.
God, this is the closest you’ve been to him in a week.
“Did ya end up gettin’ that new job lined up?” you ask, keeping your voice low.
“Mmhm,” Joel mutters, noddin’ just once. “We got it.”
You rub his arm slow, slow. He looks at you, that look that sticks–full of what he won’t let himself say.
“Y’know—”
“Got ya somethin’.”
You both say at the same time. Then you blink, head tiltin’ a little.
“Ya got me somethin’?” you question, quieter now. “Ya went off on some business trip and came back with...somethin’ for me ?”
Joel just lifts his hand–fingers under your chin, gently tilting you up to look at him. Right in those eyes that already had you ready to melt.
“S’waitin’ for you in the kitchen. Tomorrow mornin’.”
“You didn’t have to—”
His fingers press soft against your lips before you can even finish. Not rough. Not sharp. Just done hearin’ you argue back.
Your breath catches. You should say somethin’. Do somethin’. But all you can do is look at him. And for a second, that’s all you want–to stay in this moment. Right in it with him.
“I need sleep, princess,” Joel mutters. “Been drivin’ most of the damn night.”
You lift a brow, mouth pullin’ into a huge smile.
“This you kickin’ me outta your room?”
There is a small smile on his lips, one maybe he doesn’t even know he has.
“For tonight,” he says. “Yeah.”
You stand there for a second longer, eyes on him. Hand squeezin’ his arm once, like maybe that’s all you can say without sayin’ it. Then you turn, leavin’ him in the bathroom.
But his voice catches you.
“Darlin’.”
You glance back, he’s lookin’ at you.
“All that lace…” Joel’s voice is low. “You–you look so fuckin’ pretty in it.”
“Joel,” you say, softly.
He lifts a brow, waiting.
“I missed you,” you murmur. “When you were gone.”
“Yeah?”
You just nod at him.
“Still thinkin’ about the way you sounded…that night on the couch.”
Joel doesn’t say a word. Just watches you.
You turn, headin’ back to your room. Heart feeling like it was going to leap out of your chest.
Ain’t exactly a heart-to-heart.
But you told him you missed him.
And that’s more than either of you’s managed in days.
────୨ৎ────
First thing that woke you was the sunlight.
It came right through those thin-ass curtains and landed straight on your face. Blinding and no real way to sleep through it.
The second thing?
Some asshole’s truck.
Loud as hell, sputterin’ through the neighborhood like it was tryin’ to wake the entire block. You’d think you’d be used to it by now–grew up in the same shitty suburbs of Texas. Same irritating noises almost every morning.
You open the bedroom door–it’s quiet.
Too quiet.
You slip in his bathroom. The one you’ve ended up sharin’. Not officially, not out loud really. But it’s his, and you’re in it more than the one next to Sarah’s room.
He leaves things for you sometimes.
Little stuff.
A clean towel for you to shower.
Sometimes he steals your lotion.
Never admits it.
By the time you make it down the stairs, you figure he’s already gone. He’s almost always gone by now. But you hear it.
Low clang of metal.
Truck is out front.
Which means…he must be workin’ on somethin’.
You ease the door open just enough to peek through. He’s out there–head down, sleeves pushed up, workin’ like he always does.
Joel’s always been good with his hands. Always fixin’ somethin’. Back when Sarah was little, he’d build her the cutest things. Once he built her an entire swing set, she was so excited to tell the whole neighborhood. Another time he built her a dollhouse, when her other one broke.
Never made a huge deal out of it.
Just did it.
You lean in a little too much, tryin’ to watch him without bein’ caught.
The door lets out a squeak.
Fuck.
He turns at the sound and looks your way.
“Figured you’d still be passed out,” he teases. “Ain’t exactly know for bein’ up with the sun, sunshine.”
You shrug, lips curvin’ into a little smile.
Sunshine.
“Got work,” you reply. “Don’t you?”
Joel just shakes his head. “Took the mornin’,” he says. “Wanted to talk to Sarah. Time’s all fucked up with her bein’ over there.”
London. She was a smart girl, got a full scholarship.
There was a strange part of you that was jealous, you’d never even traveled away from Texas before. She was across the world learning, livin’ a full life outside of Texas.
“Bet that’s hard,” you murmur. “I know you miss her.”
“She got some boyfriend now,” Joel mutters. “Real…irritatin’. Talks like he’s got a damn encyclopedia crammed up his ass.”
He pauses, crossing his arms.
“Keeps callin’ me
Mr. Miller,
too
.
Over fuckin’ video. Like he’s scared of me or somethin’.”
You can’t help it–you laugh. It’s a bit louder than you wanted it to be.
The image of that nervous british kid from Sarah’s instagram callin’ Joel–
Mr.Miller.
While Joel just sits there starin’ at the screen wanting him to go away. It’s way funnier in your head, though.
“Next time you talk to her,” you say, “Tell her I said hey…It’s been a while. I forget she’s a college student sometimes.”
Joel’s quiet for a second.
“Yeah. I do too.”
Joel pulls off his gloves slowly, sets ‘em down on the workbench. Then he stands, wiping his hands with a rag.
“Close your eyes.”
“Okay,
Mr. Miller,”
you tease.
“ Don’t start.”
The way he said it was so soft, so steady. Like he already knew you were going to listen to him. You hear the door shut behind you and open back up. Then the scrape of a chair bein’ dragged out.
“Can I look?”
He puts his hand on your back, guiding you over.
“Sit,” he says, “Go on. Open ‘em.”
You do.
Eyes falling onto two blue boxes–each one tired with a white bow.
It’s too much. You feel it already. You wanna argue, wanna say he shouldn’t’ve.
You untie the bows–Tiffany’s logo under it. Spelled out clearly under the ribbon.
He drove an hour away for business–maybe more—outta town. Walked into some place with fancy fuckin’ glass cases and strange music and walked out with something for you.
Not because you asked. Not because he had to.
Just… because .
You open the first box. Inside’s a bracelet, thin, little white diamonds shaped like pansies, glintin’ in the light. By the clasp, there’s a charm. One side’s got your initials, carved clean. You turn it over with your thumb.
From,
JM.
It ain’t the kind of thing you’d ever buy yourself. Hell, it ain’t the kind of thing anyone’s ever bought for you.
But it’s beautiful.
God, it’s
so
beautiful.
“Joel–I—,” you start.
“Didn’t know if ya’d like it,” Joel says.
He doesn’t say anything else, just reaches over and nudges the second box toward you.
You unwrap it. Inside it–diamond earrings. Tiny pansies, same as the bracelet. Set in silver. Just enough for it to make your heart ache.
“They match,” you whisper.
“Yeah.”
“You picked ‘em?” you ask, real soft.
Joel just reaches in the box, pulls out the bracelet.
Takes your wrist, fits it around you gently, adjust the clasp so it lays just right.
He rubs his thumb across the top of your hand after. Slow.
Doesn’t even look at you while he’s doin’ it. His fingers stay there longer than they should.
“Didn’t let the sales girl pick it out,” he mutters. “S’what you’re askin’.”
You stare down at the bracelet. Stunned.
It’s beautiful.
Too much.
And you don’t understand it–this–why he’s doin’ this , what he’s gettin’ out of any of it.
“It’s…beautiful,” you murmur, your eyes still on the diamonds.
“Saw the flowers,” he says after a minute. “Made me think of that day on the couch. That movie ya liked so much.”
The night you told him–
“Told me once,” Joel says. “Said lilies and pansies were your favorite.”
Like it was nothin’.
But it wasn’t.
To you. Most people would’ve let that slip away–not remembering it, forgetting it by the next day. Not Joel.
He remembered.
You’re quiet.
Don’t got the words. Not even fuckin’ close.
How the hell do you thank someone for this?
Aint ever been anyone in your life who’d spend god knows how much on somethin’ just to see you happy.
Joel didn’t have to let you in. Into his house. Into his
life.
But he did…now he’s buying you things. Spending time with you.
Thinkin’ about you.
What the hell do you even say to a man who’s giving you all of this?
He lets go on your hand, starts movin’ a few things around on the bench like nothin’ just happened.
You sit there, still. Too still. Then stand, just to do somethin’.
“I got work,” you say. “Don’t wanna be late.”
Joel doesn’t look at you when he answers.
“Work too damn much,” he says. “Oughta be focusin’ on school.”
That ain’t a conversation you’re ready to have.
Not now.
You don’t wanna say it out loud–but college? It’s startin’ to feel further and further away.
He just moves some stuff on the bench.
“You don’t have to,” Joel says quietly. “I can help.”
You wanna say somethin’, anything. Push back the same way you always do when someone tries to do too much. But you just stand there–stunned.
“Like the bracelet,” he mutters. “Ain’t a big deal, sweetheart.”
Your mouth is open, but nothin’ wants to come out.
And you hate that—how quiet you go around him sometimes. You don’t even know why it happens.
You even hate how easy it feels like you can cry at the moment when all he’s done is buy you somethin’.
“Thank you, Joel,” you murmur.
It’s the only thing you know what to say. Words won’t come out. Because the truth is—there aren't words for this. Not for what he’s done.
You start to back away. Joel’s putting his gloves back on, already settlin’ back into whatever he was workin’ on before you walked in. Your hand stops on the door when you stop, turning back to him.
“Joel?” you say. “Nobody’s ever done somethin’ like this for me.”
He doesn’t look your way.
“Yeah. I know.”
────୨ৎ────
a week later
Calls from your mama don’t come often.
You can’t even remember the last time one lasted more than ten minutes. And they never end good.
This one ended worse. She fought with you about stayin’ here. Didn’t like the idea of you stayin’ in a place she walked away from, still. Told you to come to California. Pack up, start over. Like it was just that fuckin’ easy.
Like leavin’ was the same thing as fixin’.
“You’re takin’ up space in someone’s life who don’t want you there.”
Her words.
Cold and cruel.
But they stick.
They always do.
You’ve fought that thought more times than you can even count. That Joel’s just…doin’ this outta guilt. Outta habit.
Maybe he really don’t want you here.
He’s bought you a bracelet, earrings, a phone, clothes you didn’t ask for, fixed that necklace when it broke, like it was nothin’.
And it’s a strange feeling–someone takin’ care of you like this. Not wanting anythin’ back. It’s a lot. Too much, somedays.
You just need a minute to breathe.
So you go upstairs. To his bathroom. The master one–the one he still lets you use like it’s nothin’. And now? Your stuff is everywhere. Hair ties, makeup scattered on your side of the sink. Some of it is new. Some of it barely touched.
He aint said a word about it, not yet, anyway.
You crunch down, open the cabinet under the sink. Find a bottle of lavender bubble bath–probably Sarah’s from before she left.
You’ll replace it before Sarah comes home. Make a note of it, mentally.
The tub’s old–deep enough, porcelain. Hasn’t been updated since he bought the house. Joel’s not one to fix what ain’t broken. You twist the faucet all the way. Let the water run hot–too hot, really.
The steam fills up the bathroom fast, fogging up the mirror. Lavender fills the air. You start undressin’, slow. One piece at a time, lettin’ each layer fall into a small pile on the floor.
You step into the tub. Water scaldin–just how you like it. You sink in til the bubbles are at your shoulders.
Then you hear it.
Boots.
Heavy on the floorboards, walkin’ down the hall.
Joel.
You’ve learned the sound now, could pick it out in a huge crowd of people.
You close your eyes. The door creaks open, you don’t flinch. Don’t move to cover yourself up, just breathe. Joel leans against the door frame, arms crossed. When you open your eyes, his are already on you.
Doesn’t move. Just looks.
His eyes drag from your face, down the slope of your neck, to where your chest rises just above the bubbles. Then lower, to where your legs stretch beneath the water.
The bubbles hide enough, but not everything .
“Hot enough in here for you, sweetheart?” he drawls, low.
You look up at him.
“Not quite,” you reply. “Come sit. Please.”
You don’t know if it was the
please
or if he’d already made up his mind.
But he steps in. Closes the door behind him–keeps the heat in. Then he sinks down beside the tub, slow, wincin’ a bit before resting on his knees. He just looks at you and you give him the smallest smile.
“How was Tommy’s?”
Joel shrugs, his eyes on the water.
“Same old shit,” he mutters. “S’nothin’ worth talkin’ about.”
Then, quietly–
“What’s got you wound up?”
You’re surprised he can tell. But you shouldn’t be. You’ve been here for over two months. Seen each other nearly every damn day.
He notices things, even the small things.
You don’t know why you hesitate–but your eyes drop toward the edge of the tub. Fingers trail through the water.
“It’s nothin’,” you say.
And it’s a lie.
“Ya don’t gotta tell me,” Joel says. “Not if ya ain’t ready.”
That was the thing about him. He doesn’t push, don’t pry. Just waits. Quiet. Patient. And somehow, that’s so much worse. ‘Cause it makes you wanna talk. Makes you wanna spill things you’ve kept to yourself for so long. Say shit you probably shouldn’t.
“My mama called.”
Your eyes stay on the water. Joel doesn’t say nothin’. Just sit there, like it’s the most ordinary thing in the world. Like you ain’t sittin’ naked in his tub. Like there ain’t a hundred different things hangin’ between you two.
He rolls up his sleeves, slowly. Like he’s got nowhere else to be. Then his hand dips into the water.
He doesn’t press. Just waits. Let’s you talk when you’re ready.
“She, uh…she wants me to come out to California,” you say. “Says I’m wastin’ my time here.”
He still doesn’t say anythin’. His hands finds your ankle–wraps around it. Slides his hand up slowly over your calf, then down again. Same pressure. Same drag.
“Feel good?” he asks.
You just nod.
Can’t speak.
He’s tryin’ to help you relax.
His thumb presses in deeper. Slow circles, right against the muscle. He shifts–just a little. Closer to the tub. Legs stretched out, elbow restin’ on the edge now.
“She say anythin’ else?”
“No,” you say. “But…y’know maybe she’s right.”
Joel’s hand don’t stop. Just keeps movin’. The water shifts with him. Bubbles break up around his knuckles. His fingers slide higher–settle just under your knee.
“I’ve just…been here.” you sigh. “Not payin’ rent. Not in school. Not doin’ much of anything.”
You pause.
“You’re takin’ care of me and I’m…I don’t know what the hell I’m doin’.”
Joel leans in a little more. Sleeve soaked near his elbow now.
“Haven’t told you to go, have I?”
Simple. Just like him. And he hasn’t. Not once.
Not since that first day–
Just til ya get settled.
And he hasn’t brought it up since.
“ No ,” you whisper.
You think back to the garage. The way he told you were workin’ too damn much.
“Ya don’t gotta go,” Joel says. “Not unless you’re wantin’ to.”
It’s hard–lettin’ someone help. Hard lettin’ them stay in your life. Letting someone take care of you without feelin’ like you owe them the world back.
Joel’s still beside the tub. Lookin’ at you like there’s somethin’ he wants to say. But he doesn’t. Just slides his hand up your thigh–slow. Then back down. Up again. Most of the bubbles are gone now, just a few left, clingin’ to the side of the tub.
There is a silence between the two of you for a while.
His hand on your thigh, helpin’ you relax.
You forgettin’ anythin’ to do with that shitty phone call.
He leans in, voice rough.
“Stand up.”
You blink. “What?”
“I said–stand up, princess.”
And that’s all it takes. You don’t ask again. Don’t think. When he says it like that—it’s like your brain shuts off. There is no room to question. No room to second guess anythin’.
You stand up from the bath and step out. Water runnin’ down your skin, your hair wet.
He’s looking at you. God, is he fuckin’ lookin’. But he doesn’t reach for you. Doesn’t reach for a towel. Doesn’t touch you. Just sits there, lookin’ at you, wet, naked, standin’ in his bathroom.
Not until you whisper, “Joel.”
He stands slowly, towerin’ over you. His big hands find your hips, pullin’ you against him. You’re still drippin–water soaking the front of his jeans, his flannels soaked through where it touches your skin.
Then he backs you up until your back hits the sink.
Joel’s hands slide down to the back of your thighs, grippin’ firm, then he lifts you–fuckin’ effortlessly. Like you don’t weigh nothin’ at all. Sets you down on the edge of the cool counter.
The mirror behind you’s still fogged up. You don’t look at it. Just grip the edge of the sink with one hand–tight. Tryin’ to keep still.
Joel stands between your thigh, his flannel is clinging to him. Breath ragged. Hands gripping your thighs.
“Shit,” he mutters. “We shouldn’t keep doin’ this, darlin’.”
You look up at him.
“Then stop.”
“Don’t fuckin’ wanna .”
He leans in. Not enough to kiss you–just close. His breath brushes your jaw, but his mouth never lands on yours. It drives you fuckin’ mad as his hands move along your thighs.
“Been thinkin’ ‘bout you all day,” Joel admits. “Can’t get you outta my head.”
Your hands fist his shirt, and that low sound he makes is all it takes. He drops to his knees.
His big hands shove your thighs open. The counter digs into the backs of them, sharp, but all you feel is his hands on you. He groans when he finally looks at you.
“Fuckin’ drippin’,” he growls. “All this for me, princess?”
You nod.
But it’s not enough for him.
“Use your words. Now .”
“Yes,” you breathe. “Joel–please.”
He takes his time despite your begging. Kiss the inside of your thighs. Soft kisses, rough beard–just enough to make you feel like you’re meltin’.
“Fuck,” you whisper. “Joel—”
His mouth is on you. You bite your lip hard, tryin’ not to make a sound–but honestly, it’s no use. He circles your clit slowly, then flicks it with his tongue–just right. Your whole body jerks.
He moans against you, low, like he’s gettin’ off by it. He flattens his tongue, licks you slow. Dips down to your entrance, takes his time there like he’s savorin’ every fuckin’ drop.
“Goddamn, darlin’,” he groans. “Taste so fuckin’ sweet.”
You don’t know what’s wreckin’ you more–his mouth or his words. Maybe both. Maybe it’s the way he’s so fuckin’ into it, like he could stay between your legs forever.
His tongue finds your clit again, slow at first. Then circles it with maddenin’ precision before he sucks–hard.
“Oh–” you moan, fingers white knuckled on the counter.
Your hips twitch, lifting up slightly. And he growls–tightens his grip on your thighs.
“Stay,” he says between licks. “Fuckin’ still.”
You try.
Goddamn,
you try.
But he’s eatin’ your pussy like he’s starvin’. Like he’s takin’ his time with it–long, slow strokes of his tongue, little circles on your clit that make your thighs shake.
His beard is rough against your skin–scratching in the best way. You’re already panting, one hand grippin’ the counter like it’s the only thing keepin’ you upright. The other’s tangled in his hair, tight.
You tug his hair, just a little and he groans.
His mouth works faster now. Tongue movin’ quick, lips sealed around your slit—suckin’ just right. Your moans spill out. He groans again when you grip his hair harder.
Your thighs start to close around his head. Reflex. Desperation. But Joel doesn’t budge. He plants one hand on your belly–holds you down firm. You can’t move. Can’t back away from it.
“Fuck–Fuck—Fuck, i’m gonna—” you gasp, back archin’ off the counter.
He doesn’t let up. His mouth stays locked on your clit. Draggin’ you to the edge like he’s got all the time in the world.
Then–you cum. Hard. Your thighs shake, whole body tight, and the sound you make is near a cry. But Joel keeps goin’. Doesn’t flinch as your thighs clamped around his head. Eatin’ you through it like he wants the mess.
When he finally is done, he kisses your inner thigh once.
“One more,” he murmurs against your skin. “C’mon now….I know ya got it in ya.”
You whine.
“No–Joel, I can’t–”
He slides two thick fingers inside you. The stretch makes you gasp, hips movin’, but god, it feels good.
“Joel–” you whimper. “Please–”
“Ya can take it,” he says. “Be a good girl and come for me again, baby.”
Then his mouth’s back on you.
Ain’t soft this time.
Aint’ teasin’.
It’s filthy. Hungry.
His tongue moves in circles while his fingers pump soft and deep. Curlin’ just right, hittin’ that spot over and over like he knows exactly what you need.
You
sob
.
You can’t help it.
His fingers move faster, fuckin’ deep into you. His mouth seals over your clit, suckin’ hard–no mercy now. Your hips buck up. Your head hits the mirror behind you with a soft thud, barely even registers.
You’re burnin’.
Floatin’.
“Oh my god,” you gasp. “Joel–”
His tongue moves faster, fingers drivin’ deep–wet, slick, filthy sounds fill the room.
You’re soaked.
Drippin’ all over his hand, his face, and when your hips roll up–grindin’ down on his mouth like you need it.
He fuckin’ growls, like he likes how desperate you are for him.
He sucks hard on your clit. And you cum hard. Your hands clamp down on the counter, whole body lockin’ up. Joel just keeps lickin’ you through it, slow and steady. Fingers still deep, still curlin’-draggin’ it out until your thighs are twitching and you’re tryin’ to pull away.
It’s too much.
You’re too sensitive.
“No–no,” you gasp. “No more. Please.”
He finally looks up at you. He eases his fingers out, gently, and presses a kiss to your thigh. His beards wet, covered in you. He stands, slow, bringin’ them same fingers to his mouth–sucks ‘em clean without lookin’ away.
You’re still in another world when he lifts you off the counter. Your legs give out, and you fall straight into him.
“Easy,” he mutters, arm firm around your waist.
He keeps you upright while your legs remember how to work. You lean into him–still tryin’ to calm down.
He kisses your shoulder once–softly.
“C’mon. Get dressed, darlin’.”
He pauses.
“You’re stayin’.”
You’re still catchin’ your breath.
Don’t even hear what he just said.
Standin’ there–naked, knees weak, while he opens the door and walks out of the bathroom.
Like he didn’t just make you come on the bathroom sink.
It’s the second time he’s left you like this–so fuckin’ turned on you don’t know what to do.