Bossy Boy

Sketched him a bit - Basil 🌿

Oscar Isaac as Steven Grant in Moon Knight (for @dameronalone)

Give Me What I want

Pairing: Steven Grant x F!reader

Summary: Steven acts like a brat all day, leading to a much deserved punishment. Left unsatisfied, Steven decides take what he wants.

Warnings: SMUT, NSFW, 18+ ONLY, no use of y/n, Dom/ Sub dynamics, Brat/Needy Steven, teasing, face-sitting, punishment, dirty talk, degradation, hair pulling, cnc (kind of??),unprotected p in v, creampie (Let me know if I missed anything :))

Word Count: 2.2k

A/N: Not only is this the first piece of smut I've ever written but also my first try at writing a fic in general so I would love some feedback. I definitely need some more practice but I really enjoyed writing this so I hope you enjoy it as well :)

There are so many things about Steven that you admire. His intelligence, his kindness, his generosity, how passionate he is. The list goes on forever, but there is one trait that Steven does not possess, however, and that is patience. He doesn't have it in his everyday life, and he seriously struggles with it in the bedroom. On days when Steven is really needy, and he can't have you or you make him wait, he becomes like a whiny child, pushing your buttons until he gets what he wants.

Today was one of those days. Steven was having a rough day at work and all he wanted was to see you and he couldn't. So, when he came home, he was already in a funk, immediately grabbing at you and demanding your full attention. Unfortunately, you had an appointment you absolutely could not miss. But you assured him that once you got home you would take care of him, knowing his day left him stressed and in need of some love.

This offer did little to quell his frustration and he begged you to let him come with. You explained to him that he would be bored out of his mind and that it'd be better for him to stay here and distract himself, but he wouldn't listen. So, the entire car ride there he was trying to grab at you, complaining about not being close enough and when you scolded him, he would huff and pout, then quickly resume his antics. He didn't stop even after you had both returned home and were eating the takeout you grabbed on your way back.

"Stop it Steven, I'm serious. Let me eat. I know you haven't eaten today either so please, finish your food."

And he gives you that look that he is constantly giving you, his eyes glaring and his lips pouting. It's usually endearing but you had reached the end of your rope with him today and were starting to get annoyed.

"What are you, my mother?" he mumbles as he looks back down at his plate. You're not sure if he meant for you to hear that but you definitely did.

"Excuse me?"

"C'mon, I'm not hungry. You know what I want. Now give it to me." He adds a quick 'please' after he sees the look on your face.

He knows he's pushing his luck, but he hopes you'll understand his situation and let it slide. But you had had enough. He had been whining and complaining all evening and gave you attitude each time you called him out on it. You had planned to spend the evening taking care of him, showering him with love and affection while you you ride him until he can't think straight, the way you know always helps him relax, but now you've decided he needs to learn to control himself.

" You need an attitude adjustment. Clean up the plates and go lay on the bed." You toss your fork down and head into the bedroom. He knows what's coming so he drags on in the kitchen, slamming the dishes in the sink and basically throwing a fit. Once he enters, knowing what you expected from him, he takes off his clothes and lays down. You slide the rope onto each of his wrists and tie them individually to each bed post. You do the same to his ankles. You sit in front him on the bed, having discarded your clothes as well.

"You need to learn some patience. I was going to be so sweet to you tonight. What a shame." You drag your nails softly up his thighs and continue up his stomach, not even coming close to his hardening member. He huffs, having already reached his limit and his frustration was becoming overwhelming. If you look close enough you could almost see some tears welling in his eyes. He wants so badly to feel the warmth of your hand squeeze him and relieve the ache between his legs. But you continue your slow, feather light touches up and down his body, avoiding his favorite areas on purpose.

You hadn't even given him a kiss yet. As your face hovers over his, pulling back as he tries to chase your lips, a growl emanates from deep within his chest.

" I've held on long enough. Give it to me." He demanded. No 'please' this time, in fact no pleading in his voice at all. This was supposed to be a punishment for the attitude he was giving you earlier and he clearly hadn't fixed it.

"Tsk tsk tsk…that mouth of yours. I'm tired of hearing it." You climb up him, moving to hover over his face.

"Let's put it to good use." As you go to lower yourself onto his mouth you hear, "Took you long enough…" mumbled from beneath you, his warm breath fanning over your thighs.

Even now he still wants to talk back. An idea pops into your head and you quickly turn around so you're facing the other way. Before he can ask what you're doing, you drop yourself down onto his mouth, muffling him. You let out a satisfied sigh.

"Finally, found a way to shut you up." You slowly start to grind against his mouth, loving the fact that he went right for your clit. You feel him hum against you, sending a vibration straight to your core. He pulls on his restraints, wanting desperately to touch you. No way in hell was that happening, not after everything he's done. He's lucky you don't just leave him tied to the bed to suffer with nothing.

You decide this isn't punishment enough, he's clearly enjoying it, seeing as he's still hard. You lean forward and he grunts, assuming you're going to take him in your mouth. Instead, you dig your nails into his thighs and spit right on his dick. Hard and fast. He groans into you, and you do it again, this time letting it fall onto his tip slowly and it dribbles down onto his stomach.

He starts lapping at you faster, making you whimper as you grow closer to your release. He bucks his hips up into the air as much as he can with his ankles tied down, silently begging for any sort of stimulation. You alternate between scratching and biting around his thighs and lower stomach, making sure to reach everywhere except the one place Steven wants most.

Just as you're about to cum, you pull yourself fully upright grabbing onto his hair, riding his face through the waves of pleasure. Then, too soon for Steven's liking, you lift off him and make your way around the bed and untie him.

"You can finish yourself off." you say without even looking back at him and head to the bathroom to grab a wet washcloth to clean him off when he's finished.

You hear nothing but the sound of running water, finding it a bit odd with the absence of his usual desperate whimpers and moans. Fixing your hair in the mirror, you turn to leave and head back to the bedroom. But just as you enter the hall, you feel a body push you hard against the wall, holding you by the shoulders. You let out a startled gasp as you look up and see Steven with a feral look in his eyes.

"That wasn't very nice." He snarls, eyes going back and forth between your eyes and your lips.

"You were misbehaving all day, Steven. You needed to be punished. Now let me go or I'll bend you over the bed and spank your ass raw." You threaten, although your ragged breathing drowns out the edge to your voice that you're trying to maintain.

"You're going to give me what I want." he says with such a sense of entitlement that you curse yourself for getting turned on by it.

You don't respond, deciding you're going to let him take it. You guys had sat down to talk a while ago and decided to implement a sort of 'take what you want when you want' agreement. Up until now, Steven had avoided taking advantage of it when you were in a more dominant mood, knowing him making a move on you or touching without permission almost always ended in a punishment. But for whatever reason Steven decides in this moment he simply doesn't care. He wants to be inside you so he's going to, despite what consequences he may face later. You also both have a safe word, so you know that the second you said it he'd immediately back off.

But you had no intention of using it. As much as his attitude and disobedience could sometimes frustrate you, the way he's acting right now has your cunt dripping wet. You don't let it show on your face though, still wanting him to know he's breaking the rules, but he takes your silence as a go ahead. He flips you around and presses your chest up against the wall as he holds you close to him, pushing himself inside you in one quick motion.

He slips in easily and starts rocking back and forth, thrusts already sloppy from how worked up you got him earlier. He grunts into your ear, and his shoulders relax at the relief he's been waiting for all day. You let out some wanton moans of your own but try to suppress them the best you can. You want Steven to know that he has made the conscious decision to make this about him and his carnal needs only. It's hard though, as the thought of him using you to get off stokes the fire in the pit of your stomach.

You start to feel your legs weaken underneath you. He notices, and pulls you away from the wall and drags you to the floor. With his chest is flush to your back, he grinds into you with short but incredibly deep thrusts. Your eyes roll into the back of your head and he whines into your shoulder.

"God, you're so warm. I was thinking about this all day. Having to excuse myself multiple times just to try and get myself under control. Didn't want people to know how worked up I was just at the thought of you." He licks a strip up your neck, savoring the taste of you.

"I swear, there were points in the day I even thought I smelled you. That sweet scent you give off seems stuck in my brain, love. It made me lightheaded, didn't hear a single thing anyone was saying to me." His face remains cradled in your neck as he takes deep breaths in, finally getting a whiff of the real thing. As he takes you all in, he's invading your senses as well, making it impossible to silence your grunts and moans anymore. Your breathing has become uneven and each thrust punches a small whimper out of you.

"Fuck, I'm so close, love." He feels each time you squeeze around him, making it hard for him to hold on any longer.

He tries chasing his release, but he's missing your usual words of praise. There is no 'Good boy' or 'you're doing so well for me Steven' which usually leads to his undoing.

You sense this, but instead of giving it to him you turn your head and yank his hair. Now face to face, you grunt, "You think you can just take whatever you want? You're such a desperate whore. Can't even take your punishment without complaint, selfish brat. You're a bad boy, Steven. A bad boy." Your words are followed by a sharp inhale as you feel the coil in your stomach about to snap.

Your degrading words and the pressure of you tugging on his curls launches him over the edge. His movements become frantic, and he moans into your ear with a sob, spilling into you. He feels incredibly deep at this angle and the desperation in his movements brings you to your release.

You clench down hard onto him. His moans turn to whines from the overstimulation, but he waited so long for this he doesn’t want to stop. So, he lays there on top of you, jolting into you every so often as you both experience the aftershocks of your peaks.

When he finally pulls out, and you both sigh. He leans back on his haunches, still trying to steady his breathing. Once you recover, you turn to face him as a small smile appears on his face. He thanks you over and over, clearly thinking that he had received a proper punishment and that he was in the clear. He crawls over to you, and you pull him in, planting a soft kiss on his lips before pulling back quickly and standing up, much to his dismay.

"I hope you enjoyed it, because you're not touching me for a week. Not after that little charade." His face falls, and you smirk, hopefully that will teach him a lesson. Although you had thoroughly enjoyed it, he still disobeyed you. And to be honest, you wouldn't mind seeing him that desperate for you again.

Leaving him speechless, you head to the bathroom to draw him a bath.

The Penthouse

18+

A group of obscenely rich, horrifically powerful, and sex-addicted individuals share more than one dark secret - but their favorite secret is you. The pretty little thing they've got living in the lavish penthouse they bought together, where they can escape to when they need a break from their families.

Series Warning: Multiple Characters x Reader, adultery, hard drug use, smut, depiction of rough sex, dark kinks (specified in each part).

1: Ragdoll ARI LEVINSON

2: Seductress STEVE ROGERS

3: Special STEVE KEMP

4: Mommy RANSOM DRYSDALE

5: Soother BUCKY BARNES

drabbles

• what it's like for y/n living in the penthouse

• rules of the penthouse

• bucky's other life

• how it all began

• the time brock rumlow broke a rule

your miguel fic was insanely good!!! please give us more x

Thank you!! I had a lot of fun with this one and I already have a few more Miguel fic ideas in the works so stay tuned :))

Accidents never happen

Summary: In which you accidentally call Steven Daddy... but he's into it

Warnings: Daddy kink, vulnerable sex, p in v sex, vaginal fingering, dacryphylia, lmk if I missed anything!

Notes: This is an answer to this request from @cosmicblogs on my main blog (I changed the premise just a wee bit I hope you don't mind pookie)

Wc: 1.5k

"Wot?"

Steven pulled himself reluctantly away from your where he'd buried his face inbetween your breasts. He looked so pretty- ruffled hair, flushed skin, titty drunk eyes. Steven was definitely a boob man.

You however couldn't appreciate the gorgeous scene in front you, too focused on the embarrassment churning through your body in cold waves. You could barely meet his eye, turning away and pretending you hadn't said anything.

"Wot was that, love?" Steven giggled, nosing your neck. "Hm? Did I hear you right?" "I-i didn't say anything.." "Oh I think you did darlin', yeah I think you did. Come on then, wot was that for, eh?"

Whining, you hid your face in your hands. The possibility of you having a Daddy kink was not something you wanted to think about! It was weird, and you'd half convinced yourself you didn't actually have the kink thanks to your anxiety around it. Swearing yourself to secrecy, you had promised yourself you would not, under any circumstances, utter the word "Daddy" around anyone, especially your three boyfriends! Steven least of all, he was so sweet and needy, you didn't want to taint his innocent naivety with your depraved lustings.

And yet.. in the heat of the moment, it had slipped out. Steven was moaning into your chest, palming your tits, suckling on a sensitive bud and rolling the other between his fingers. With the ripples of hot, velvet pleasure winding through you, you hadn't even realised the word begin to rise in your throat.

"D-daddy.." you had all but whimpered out, quiet, but loud enough for Steven to clock it, and this led you to your current predicament;

"Now.. I don't think I'm old enough to be going deaf love, I think I heard you call me Daddy, huh?" "No-! I didn't." Steven chuckled, and gently attempted to pry your hands away from where they covered your mortified expression.

"Aw, come on sweetheart, 's alright, come on, you're really not gonna let me look at your pretty' face?" Slowly, you took your hands away, and Steven's bright smile eased some of your worry.

"There, there's my beautiful girl." Tenderly, he cupped one of your cheeks in his big hands, and pet your skin with his thumb.

"See now, not so bad, is it?" "..Can we just forget I said that Steven?" "Why? S' not all that weird, I don't mind at all darlin' if that's what you like." You whined again, kicking your legs in frustration;

"But it's so weird!" "S' not! Besides, even it if it was, anythings' cute when you do it." "Stooopppp-" you groaned, Steven only laughed again, leaning forward to kiss your hair, and whisper into your neck from where he lay next to you;

"We can stop, if you want darlin'.. but all I'm sayin' is.. I'm not judgin' ya, okay sweetheart? Don't mind at all. Not one bit."

You peered at him suspiciously. "..Really?" "Promise! In fact.." Steven's dextrous fingers slowly danced over your nipples again, ever so gently, before travelling lower, and lower, to your pubic bone. However, even as you whimpered, and rolled your hips up to meet his fingers, he didn't touch you there, not yet.

"I quite like the idea." "You do?" Your voice was breathy, Steven swallowed your noises with a searing kiss and moaned with you as he lightly began to circle your tiny clit with his fingers, you felt his cock throb and twitch against your thigh. He pulled away, a string of saliva connecting your two tongues.

"Yeah I think I do, hm? Would you like that?" You keened, nodding furiously. "Aw, yeah? Baby wants to be taken care of by Daddy, hm? I'm sure Daddy can arrange something-"

The juxtaposition between the strength and tenderness he showed when plunging his two fingers into your greedy cunt was mind boggling, and had you crying out into the flat. The rhythm of his fingers rolled inside you like soothing warm water, again and again stroking that spongey patch inside you. This tempo continued for a few more minutes, until you reached the precipice of orgasm, cunt fluttering around Steven's fingers- but it was all taken away. You whined like a petulant child when Steven withdrew his soaked fingers from you.

"Hm? Now don't be like tha' love, come on, be a good girl for Daddy, yeah? Open your mouth, that's it- oh good girl.. don't even have to tell you what to do eh? You just know, such a good girl f'me." You had obeyed Steven's desires by sucking.his fingers into your mouth, tasting the rich, tangy flavour of your own juices. Steven moaned at the sight, and kissed your head when he felt his fingers had been thoroughly licked clean. Climbing over you to kneel between your open legs, he finally positioned his cock between your folds, notching it just under your clit. You shivered, a sudden shock of pleasure darting though you. Steven rested his hands on your knees, spreading you open further and allowing him a clearer view of his cock stuffing you to the brim.

He couldn't help himself, it seemed, as he was asking you, "You ready love?" only when he was halfway inside you. Steven always stretched you out so good, like all the boys. It was always just right. You arched your back as he finally bottomed out, Steven bringing his hand around to cup your back, and hold you firmly on his cock.

You had sex with Steven many a time before.. but this time felt different. You were, both of you, uniquely vulnerable today, having shared something so personal. The man himself needed a moment to adjust, nevermind you, it was usually like this; the hot, wet pressure of your cunny was always something Steven needed to adjust to. His laboured breathing now matched your own.

Though eventually, it was too little. You needed more, and you grabbed at his shoulder, pleading with him with the best puppy-dog eyes you could muster;

"Please Daddy," you whimpered, "Please, I need it, please-" Steven groaned, pulling back his hips before roughly rutting forward again. You cried out, louder this time, writhing against the sheets.

"Y-yeah? This what you want, little girl? This what you need?" You nodded, unable to speak as the feeling of climax mounted once again.

"Oh, baby girl, you cryin'?" He moved one of his broad hands to wipe away the tears you hadn't realised had formed, so overwhelmed by the flood of positive emotions. Now that he mentioned it, your vision was getting a little blurry..

"Ohhhhh fuck, baby, sweetheart, my precious girl, that's so hot, oh fuck- it's that good huh? Yeah? Daddy makes you feel that good?" You could only babble and hiccup in response, the mind-blowing sensation of him drilling into you over and over and over, in the vulnerable setting you had accidentally forced yourself into, was overriding all capacity for thought. Steven moaned, "Ohhh shit, I bet you said that on purpose, yeah? You just wanted to get fucked real, deep, huh?" He punctuated each word with a snapping thrust of his hips, leaving you a sobbing mess beneath him.

Soon it became too much to even look at him, his gorgeous brown eyes and dark curls above you, and so you squeezed your eyes shut. You felt him shift, and suddenly you were held close to the comforting warmth of his chest. Steven leaned down to kiss your head for the nth time that night.

"Come on baby, you can cum whenever you like sweetie, okay? Come on, I know you can do it, let go for me, let go for Daddy, thaaats it, there we go, good girl, such a good girl for Daddy..." He held you tight, rocking you through your orgasm as it hit you like a freight train. Sure, Steven blew your mind everytime he made you cum, but again, this time, so open and honest, was different. As the loud thumping of your heartbeat pulsed in your ears, and the starshattering climax wracked through your entire body, Steven followed soon after. He hunched over, whimpering and moaning in your ear as he spilled his hot ropes of cum deep inside you, rolling his hips in tandem with yours, until he propped himself up above you, huffing, his cock still twitching within you.

He gently brought you up and over, so that he lay on his back, and you on his chest, still with his dick softening inside you. Steven always glowed after an orgasm, though in your aftershocks and subspace, you didn't really have the energy to appreciate the way his skin glittered with sweat, and the way his smile light up the entire flat. He stroked your hair; "That wasn't so bad, was it? Eh?" You hummed. "See? Exactly. No need to be embarrassed about anythin', okay sweetheart?" Again you hummed, and rubbing your shoulder, Steven seemed satisfied with this answer.

"...I still think you said it on purpose." You were too weak to argue back, other than with a loud, keening whine, and a smack to his shoulder. Steven chuckled, and peppered kisses against your head, smiling down at you;

"Well, I suppose it doesn't matter now, does it?"

Skip to Dessert

Pairing: Miguel O'Hara x f!reader

Summary: Having gotten into an argument with Miguel before dinner, you both find a way to let out your frustration.

Warnings: SMUT, NSFW, 18+ ONLY, afab reader, mentions of previous argument/ bickering, teasing, flirting with a stranger, flashing a stranger( he sees your underwear, waiter is kind of a perv/creep, exhibitionism(kind of), getting caught in the act, oral (f and m receiving) spanking, begging, dirt talk, rough sex ( let me know if I missed anything)

WC: 3.8K

A/N: Completely stopped writing for over a month. Oops. But I got the inspiration to write again so I decided to finish this Miguel fic that's been sitting half-finished for months. Enjoy!! Also, PSA, don't flash strangers or involve them in your sexual escapades unless you have their consent. Tried to write the waiter character like he was a creep who enjoyed it and this is fiction so no harm done, but please don't do that irl.

The tension in the car is palpable, but not the good kind of tension. Not the kind where lust and desire hang heavy in the air, where you can't bear to be apart even though you're right next to each other. Not the kind where you can't keep your hands off of each other and the temptation to pull over and submit to your desires right then and there feels impossible to resist.

On any other date night, this would be the norm, but tonight, a different tension is felt between you and Miguel. Residual feelings of frustration and annoyance brought on by the argument you two had back at the apartment. The disagreement was petty. Nothing that a little healthy communication couldn't resolve. But the incredibly stressful and tiring day you two had had both of your patience hanging on by a thread, and it was just a matter of time before one of you snapped. This time it just so happened to be you. 

You were both looking forward to finally spending some quality time together, considering both yours and Miguel's schedules are so hectic. But any bit of excitement you had vanished as you walked into your shared bathroom and tripped over the pile of clothes he left in the middle of the floor. You came to find out about this little habit of his when you first moved in together. You had brought it up to him, expressing your annoyance, and asked him to try and be mindful about it. He made a genuine effort to stop, only reverting to his old ways when he was in a rush or had a million things on his mind. Today seemed to be one of those days.

You growled annoyedly, and the second he walks through the bedroom door, you get on him about it. Was it right to take your frustration out on him? No. But you couldn't help it. He clearly wasn't in the best mood either, as he marched after you when you stormed off and started arguing right back. You two spent the next ten minutes bickering and even continued to mumble angrily to yourselves and throw around passive-aggressive comments as you got ready to go to dinner. 

It was a terrible way to start date night, but as you sat side by side in the car and the negative emotions started to dissipate, you both realized how silly it had all been, and you didn't want to let it ruin your night, not knowing the next time you'd be able to go out like this.

Although the irritation you were feeling earlier had subsided, you couldn't resist messing with him. Usually, when you get into petty disagreements, you both end up in bed, letting out your frustrations and subsequently making up by fucking each other silly. But you had reservations that had been made months in advance that you did not want to miss, leaving you with pent-up frustration, so you decide to find other means of letting it out. 

You plan to do that by pushing his buttons in hopes that he'll drag you off somewhere to fuck the attitude right out of you. As you peruse the menu, you begin contemplating different ways you could rile him up until you realize the perfect opportunity to do so is standing at the table, filling your water glass.

Conveniently, the waiter has been flirting with you from the very first moment he walked up to the table, something both you and Miguel picked up on, and it's safe to say your boyfriend is not thrilled about it. Normally, you wouldn't be either, but in this case, it's working to your advantage.

As he fills your glass, he doesn't even look you in the eyes, opting instead to stare directly at your chest. Any other time, you’d tell him off for being a creep, but you see Miguel staring daggers at him, and that makes you want to egg him on further. You notice his reaction out of the corner of your eye, but the waiter doesn't seem to. Now that you think about it, he hasn't acknowledged Miguel once, his gaze only straying from you long enough for him to fill the other glass before he's looking back at you.

You proceed to ask him a question about the menu, all while pushing your tits up on the table and giving him a full view down your blouse. He doesn’t try to hide the fact that he's shamelessly ogling your cleavage and, again, neglects to make eye contact with you as he answers your question. You giggle at everything he says, and you can see Miguel roll his eyes as you do so. After chatting with you longer than your boyfriend, or you presume even management, would deem necessary, he quickly jots down your orders and walks away. 

When he's out of earshot, Miguel asks, “What are you doing?”, looking unimpressed and letting you know he’s on to your little game. But you don’t care.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about. I’m being polite to our waiter. You should try it,” you answer, feigning ignorance.

He scoffs, “Polite? Yeah. Polite means saying please and thank you, not giving him a good look down your shirt and letting him fuck you with his eyes.”

“I can’t control what he does. It's not my fault he can’t resist sneaking a peek. You do the same thing,” you respond, raising one brow as you see his eyes fall to your chest, proving your point.

His eyes move back up quickly, and he says, "Well, I also fuck you till you can’t walk. You want to let him do that too?” 

His question has your mind conjuring up the memory of just last weekend when he gave it to you so good that you spent the next day recovering in bed. You remember the delicious ache he left you with, and you press your thighs together at the thought. 

“Maybe I should. If he’s capable of picking up after himself, I’d get down on my knees for him right now,” you sass. Knowing he won't let that slide, you wait for his reaction. He slams his hand on the table, not hard enough to draw the attention of the other patrons, but it got yours. 

“I said I'm sorry, ok? I was rushing out of the house this morning and I wasn't thinking. Will you just let it go?” He asks, the frustration clear in his voice. 

You playfully roll your eyes and try not to smile. You’re not upset anymore, and honestly, you weren't to begin with. You were just agitated because you had a particularly hard day at work. You just can’t help but push his buttons. You wouldn't taunt him like this if it wasn't something he does to you all the time. He's even admitted that he likes messing with you, riling you up just to see you wear that cute little annoyed pout on your face. So, you’re just giving him a taste of his own medicine.

“Fine. I shouldn’t be giving him a show. But how about you?” You ask in a sultry tone as you run your foot up his leg and lean forward, giving him the same view you gave the waiter just moments ago. 

He licks his lips at the sight. “Fuck, you look so good in that dress. Too bad I'm going to have to rip it off you,” he says, reaching down to your foot that has made its way to the inside of his thigh, and he softly caresses your ankle.

“You tear it, you die,” you warn. This dress was expensive, and you’d like to wear it more than once. You've lost more clothes than you can count to his lack of patience.

He chuckles. “Ok. Pull it off of you,” he corrects himself.

“I don’t know if I can wait,” you whine and glance over at the bathroom, mentally calculating if you'd have enough time to sneak off without anyone noticing.

“No, not after last time,” he replies, shaking his head and smiling at the memory. You two had been just a little too loud, and as you walked out, you were met with a very concerned hostess who came to make sure everything was alright.

You pout but agree; you’d like to save yourself from that embarrassment again. You decide to give him a view of what he's missing out on and spread your legs and pull up your dress, prompting Miguel to glance under the table. He spots the bright red mesh panties he had recently bought you but has yet to see you wear. 

“Naughty, naughty,” he says, shaking his head, but it takes everything in him to pull his eyes away as the waiter comes back, carrying your food. 

“Here you go.” He sets your plates down, Miguel’s first and then yours, and he smiles down at you, this time hungrily eyeing your lips.

You can see the anger on Miguel's face, and the brattiness bubbles up inside you again. You move your hand and knock your fork under the table, feigning an “oops.” 

“I’ve got it, miss.” Your waiter quickly offers and squats, moving to reach under the table. Legs still spread, he’s met with your clothed mound, and he stops in his tracks, lingering under the table.

Realizing what’s happening, Miguel uses his foot to push your knees together, blocking the waiter's view, and he retreats from under the table. The guy must not sense Miguel's anger, or he simply doesn’t care, because when you thank him for picking it up, he replies, “No problem, beautiful, I'll go get you another one.” He then places his hand on your arm while shooting you a wink. 

Miguel, having had enough of this little display, stands up, reaches into his pocket, and pulls out a wad of cash. He proceeds to shove it into the waiter's chest, and the guy almost topples over. 

“Keep the change,” he grumbles and pulls you from your seat, guiding you out of the restaurant with his hand placed firmly on your lower back. 

“Decided to push your luck, huh?” He says as he opens the door to the back seat and pushes you inside. “Big mistake.” 

After shutting the door behind himself, he cages you in against the seat and begins grinding himself against you. Even through the layers of clothing, the friction feels divine, and your breath hitches.

“I can’t keep people from looking,” you try to reason, hoping you haven't genuinely upset Miguel. But judging by the way his hands run up and down your body, grabbing every slope and curve, it seems like you've garnered the reaction you'd been hoping for.

He kisses your neck and chest, moving down your body at a maddeningly slow pace, and continues to speak as he does so. 

“I’m not jealous because I know he wants to get with you. I love when you show your body off and all the looks you get. I get to see people crave so desperately for something they can’t have, for something only I can have.”

You feel your skin warming up, not only under his touch but at his confession. You know deep down he's never genuinely jealous. You've made it abundantly clear that you are his and that he is yours, and nothing and no one would ever come between the two of you. But knowing a part of him gets off on seeing other people staring at you or hitting on you all while knowing they'd never have a chance turns you on even more.

He finally gets down between your legs and slowly starts lifting your dress. He begins kissing and nipping at the newly exposed flesh of your thighs.

“What I didn’t like was the way he disrespected you by acting like a little perv. He’s at work for god's sake, and he has the nerve to be staring down your shirt and touching you. He’s lucky I didn’t reach over and break his wrists,” he says through gritted teeth as the image of the stranger touching you flashes in his mind and rekindles his anger.

The sentiment that he was more upset at the fact that the man was being touchy with you, which did make you uncomfortable and was unprofessional to say the least, was what upset him rather than a territorial thing did warm your heart. But the warmth blooming in your chest quickly relocates to your core as he places kisses across your panty-clad center.

"I'm not thrilled he got a glimpse of these," he comments as he massages you through the fabric. You hum at his touch.

"Maybe he wanted a taste," you tease and angle your hips closer to his face.

"If he tried that, he would’ve come out from under the table without any teeth," he threatens, and you know he isn't kidding.

“And a heel in his eye,” you add, disgusted at the thought of that creep trying anything on you.

He chuckles and slips your underwear off, and you hear a soft hum as he's faced with the sight he's been longing for. He momentarily drags his fingers through your folds, saying, “I can’t say I blame him for wanting a peek, though,” and then he dives in.

His skilled tongue has you cumming on his face quicker than you'd thought possible. As you come down, he's lifting his head, and you see your arousal dripping down his chin. The sight has you grabbing for him, and you pull him up to you. You lick up his chin and then capture his lips in a kiss, moaning at the taste of yourself on his tongue. 

You take advantage, as he's left a bit dazed by the heated kiss, and push him into a seated position with his back against the door. You hurriedly place yourself between his thighs, mirroring his position between yours. You undo his belt and pull him out. Always impressed with his size, you eye his length hungrily.

“Think he’s as big as you?” you ask, already knowing the answer, and begin stroking him slowly.

 He lets out a dry laugh, then says, “Not a chance.” 

The cocky tone with which he says it and the smirk on his face would make you cringe if it were anybody else, but you know he can back it up.

“He'd leave you disappointed, I know it. You can tell just by the way the little weasel carries himself,” he says, and there’s no doubt in your mind that he’s right.

Not able to resist any longer, you take him in your mouth. You grab him at the base and start moving your hand in tandem with your mouth, stroking up and down his dick while dragging your tongue on the underside of his length.

His head falls back and rests against the window as he gets lost in the feeling, bucking his hips every time you come up and swirl your tongue around his tip. His breathing starts getting ragged, and he gently pulls you off him. He holds you by your hair and brings your mouth to his; the kiss isn't too rough but is still filled with need.

You pull away and quickly shuffle onto all fours, facing the opposite window. He sits back, allowing you to position yourself comfortably, and appreciates the view as your ass sticks in the air. As you sink down onto your elbows, you teasingly wiggle your hips, and he smiles and grabs at the jiggling flesh before giving your ass a quick slap.

He positions himself behind you and begins rubbing his tip through your folds, repeatedly catching on your entrance, but doesn’t enter you like you desperately want him to. You whine, so he begins pushing his thick cock into you, but doesn’t get any further than his tip before he’s pulling out and rubbing his length through your folds once more.

He does this repeatedly, and not being able to take his teasing any longer, you whine, “Give it to me. Or should I go get what’s-his-name to do it for you?“

You suck in a harsh breath as he fully sheaths himself in you in one quick motion, and you feel your walls stretch around him. “Is that what you want?” he asks. 

“Mmhmm,” you reply, pulling your bottom lip between your teeth as he begins moving slowly, allowing you to adjust to his size. When you begin reaching for him to get him to move faster, he knows you’re ready. He grips your hips and gives you faster, deeper thrusts that pull moans from both of you each time he bottoms out.

You both begin feeling the stress of the day melt away, adding to the mix of pleasure. The fatigue from the long day, and the never-ending problems and drama at work, and even the tension from the argument fade away as the pleasure overtakes both of you.

Your quick, shallow breaths and the way your toes curl let him know you’re getting close, and he reaches underneath you to start toying with your clit. This pushes you over the edge, and Miguel groans as he feels you pulsing around him.

He continues swirling his fingers around your clit to help you ride out your high, and you already feel your next climax building. You feel him begin to slow down and fuck into you at a gentler pace. Needing those deep thrusts back, you find yourself begging him to go faster.

“No, don’t stop! More, please. Please!” You plead as you reach behind you to grab the back of his thigh, urging him on.

He chuckles at the desperate tone in your voice. He pushes you down by your shoulders until your body is flush against the seat and then hikes your right leg up. As he’s shifting you into position, he says, “That boy wouldn’t know what to do with a woman like you. Look at you; you’re insatiable.”

You let out a sigh at the new position, his dick reaching deeper and his tip dragging along that spot inside you that has you squirming. Heeding your request, his pace quickens. His breathing quickens as well, making his impending release evident, and he tries to hold off, wanting to give you one more. 

“He looked like he was about to cum in his pants when he came up from under the table. No way he’d last long enough to give you what you need,” he continues.

“Think you can?” You tease as you look behind you and smirk, all while intentionally squeezing your walls. He lets out a low, throaty moan.

You continue clamping down on him intermittently, and his harsh grip on your hips and the deep furrow in his brow let you know he’s struggling to hold on. So naturally, you decide to tease him further. 

“Oh, I don’t think you can. I guess I’ll just have to get waiter boy to come and finish me off. I’m sure he’d be more than happy to.” You feel him place a firm grip on the back of your neck, and he uses the leverage to pull you to him and meet each of his thrusts.

Your mouth falls open and your eyes close at the feeling, but they fly open as you feel a harsh slap against your ass. You moan as he grips your stinging flesh and squeezes it in his hand.

“In. his. fucking. dreams.” He punctuates each word with a deliciously hard thrust. 

He begins rubbing your sensitive nub again, and your eyes roll to the back of your head. You barely muster the strength to lift your head as you hear Miguel mutter, “Speak of the devil.”

Confused, you attempt to focus your eyes and you see a shadowy figure rounding the side of the car. Miguel grabs the back of your head and smooshes it against the glass. As the person comes into full view, you see the familiar face of your waiter as he stands in front of the window. The fog that has formed on the glass makes it impossible for him to see anything but your face, but he definitely sees you. You know you should try to hide, but in the moment, you don’t care. It all feels so good, and you’re too cock-drunk to think or act with any reason.

The waiter looks confused, and then you see his face redden as he realizes what’s going on. He stands there for a minute, listening to your muffled moans through the window.

“Tell him who gets to fuck you,” Miguel commands.

You barely hear what he says as you feel the pressure building in your core. You babble out some incoherent response, so he repeats himself.

“Tell him. Tell him who gets to fuck you.” He’s rubbing at your clit even faster now, and you squeal at the almost overwhelming sensation.

“You, Miguel! Only you get to fuck me like this!” You finally answer. You’re not sure if the waiter heard what you said, but the way his eyes widen makes you think he does. Having the creep hear what he wanted him to hear, Miguel leans over and bangs on the glass, effectively startling the guy. He jumps at the sound and when he quickly tears his eyes away from you and shuffles away hurriedly.

As he steps away, you finally let go, and you topple over the edge once again. You shake underneath Miguel as he holds you to him, reaching his release as well. He kisses down the back of our neck before pulling out and flipping you over, so you’re face to face.

“Think he got the message?” Miguel asks, his face flushed as he attempts to catch his breath.

You cradle his face and push his hair back, admiring the view of him hovering above you. You pull his lips yours and kiss him deeply before pulling away to place a few soft kisses on his face, and he does the same to you in return.

“Yeah, I think he heard you loud and clear,” you respond.

"No, I think he heard you loud and clear,” he counters and laughs when you playfully smack his chest. You cover your eyes with your hand and groan as the reality of what you just did sets in.

“Well, I guess we can never come back here,” you say dejectedly as you mentally add this restaurant to the list of places you can no longer go because of you and Miguel’s collective lack of control.

He chuckles, and you pull your hand away and look him in the eyes. “It’s not funny! If we’re not careful, we won’t be able to show our face anywhere in this town,” you say playfully.

“Eh, worth it,” he responds, kissing your forehead.

Fractional Focus

About this: Steven/fem!reader, fingering. Daddy kink is mentioned, but not an active kink element.

For Rose <3

*

How are you meant to help it? 

Steven sits at his desk with a book in hand. When you’d (long ago) come to the realization that everything about him turned you on, you still hadn’t imagined this, that even the most mundane of actions could have your mouth dry and knees shaking. 

But it’s the way his lips will mouth the words he reads. It’s how broad his hand is, cradling the spine of the book with all the tenderness he uses to touch you. It’s the lines of his body when he sits back and puts his feet up on the desk to make himself comfortable. It’s the way he turns the bloody pages, the rasp of his calloused thumb against the paper as he performs the well-practiced flick. 

No one has any right to have you so hot and bothered just by reading a book. Steven makes a sound in his throat and sits up, letting his feet return to the floor so that he can plant one elbow on the desk and stare down into the book rapturously. His focus is so singular, so intensely devoted. So not yours. 

“Steven?” you murmur, coming to stand behind him with your hands on his broad shoulders. 

“Hm?”

“Do you think you’ll read all day?” 

“Course not,” he says. Your heart lifts, then stalls and free falls when he adds: “I should be finished by dinnertime.” 

You frown at the back of his head. His curls are so dark and thick. One of your thumbs skims up the back of his neck and strokes the soft strands. He hums but makes no other movement—except to turn the page. 

“Steven?”

“Hm?”

“Do you think you could take a break?” 

This has him pausing, finger moving to mark his place on the page while he turns to glance at you over his shoulder. He really should have his glasses on when he reads, but he’s misplaced them. By dinnertime, he’ll have a headache for sure. “A break? Absolutely. I’ve got about fifteen pages left in this chapter—” 

You manage not to groan, but it is a very near thing. Your lips press together tightly to hold in the unhappy sound, but Steven’s eyes miss nothing, zeroing in on your minute, unhappy expressions. He raises one brow but says nothing. Something about his gaze has your ears growing warm, like you’re a child that he’s chastising for distracting him. Let daddy work, baby, and I’ll take you out for an ice cream cone later. 

And oh, god, that’s a whole can of worms you aren’t ready to open. 

“Am I neglecting you, love?” he asks lightly. You hold up your thumb and forefinger, the tiniest sliver of space between them. “I’m so very sorry. Good thing for you, I’m good at multitasking.” 

He pats his lap. Smile brightening, you move to straddle him, ready to wrap your arms around his torso, bury your face in his neck, and nearly doze off to the sound of turning pages. But with a hand he stops you, twirling his finger to show that he wants you to sit with your back against his chest so that you are facing his book. 

“Aztec History: a Captivating Guide to the Aztec Empire, Mythology, and Civilizations,” you read blandly. “Not really in the realm of my interests, Mr. Grant.” 

“Well, ‘s not for you, is it?” he returns, looping an arm around your waist to draw you more firmly against him. “Now be good for me, yeah?” 

You sigh as quietly as you can, lean your head back against his shoulder, and resign yourself to your fate. Steven deserves to enjoy his book. There will be other times—

His hand slips beneath your shirt to rest flat against your tummy. As warm as you are, he is burning hot in the best way. His rough palm smooths across your skin before falling still as he is distracted by the book. You can feel his lips moving soundlessly against your temple as he mouths the words. 

Then his hand rises up to cup one of your breasts, holding the heft of it in his broad palm. You suck in a breath, holding it. Distractedly, he drags the pad of one thumb across your nipple. 

“Fuck,” you whisper. 

“Shh.”

He teases the bud into one aching point with lazy, aimless touches that have your thighs clenching together. All you want is for him to take it between his fingertips, to roll it so firmly and sweetly, to stoke the wetness between your legs. 

But pulling his hand away, he reaches out to turn the page. 

You breathe a laugh. “So it’s like that, is it?”

“Right?” he mutters back. “Eighty pages in and we’re finally getting to the comparisons between Egyptian and Aztec culture. Feel like I’ve been waiting eight hundred pages, personally.”

Page turned, he lets his hand fall back to rest on your lap, fingers gripping one bare thigh gently. He reads that way for several minutes, turning one page and then two until you’re just about to give up hope. 

“Love, you’re squirming,” he says. “Be still for me, would you?”

You try.

His hand moves up to rest against your stomach again, immediately stilling your breaths. This time, he slips his fingers beneath the waistband of your sleep shorts. He cups his entire palm against your mound and just rests there. Something in the book must amuse him, because he snorts softly. 

It’s degrading in the best way to be given only a fraction of his attention and to revel in it, to ache for it, to be so fucking grateful for it. Absently, he lets his fingers dip into the wet little seam between your legs, the tips of two fingers resting against your slick opening. He drags them up and right over your clit. Your entire body jerks like he’s electrocuted you. 

“Still, please,” he reminds you. 

“Steven,” you whine. 

“Hush, none of that. This is just getting good.” You suspect he’s talking about the book, but you can’t help but agree. It takes all of your self control to stay still and let him strum his fingers, warm and wet with your slick, across your clit until the slide is smooth and frictionless. He begins to play with you without aim as if you are nothing but an outlet for his distractible energy, something he can toy with while his focus is on other things. 

Just as you begin to climb that peak that has your legs already shaking in anticipation—he pulls his hand away to turn the page, pausing only to wipe your wetness on the bare skin of your thigh so that he doesn’t smear any on the pages. 

“How’s he just going to skim over that?” Steven suddenly rants out loud, the fingers he’s just been using to torment you pressed against a line in the book. You couldn’t focus on the words if you tried, your brain fuzzy and blurry. “I’d read a whole bloody book about that on its own.”

He returns his hand to beneath the waistband of your shorts, rubbing those lackadaisical circles across your aching clit again and again. It becomes a race then, to finish in the space between one page in the next, in the time it takes for him to need to turn a page. He drives you upwards slowly and steadily, pausing every now and then to dip back to your hole to coax more wetness from you. 

When you’re nearly there, legs shaking, you feel his hand tense, ready to withdraw to turn the page. 

“Please don’t, please,” you pant. “I’m almost there Steven. Please?” 

He sighs against your temple. “Turn the page for me, then, won’t you?” 

Your hand trembles as you reach out. He increases the pressure of his fingers, and as soon as your own touch the page, you reach the crest you’d been climbing for the last half hour. The band deep inside your belly snaps, pleasure arcing over you like lightning, stiffening all your muscles. You only have a moment to think how you wish he was inside you before he tucks his fingers into you knuckle deep, sighing shakily at the way your cunt clenches around him. 

“Such a good girl,” he says, kissing your temple. “Don’t forget to turn that page for me now, yeah?” 

Yes, Mr Miller

Pairing: dbf!Joel x babysitter!Reader

Summary: "You yourself wouldn’t consider Joel a friend, he was more so an acquaintance who paid you to hang around the house with his kid. A very handsome acquaintance."

Warnings: SMUT (18+ MINORS DNI), age gap (reader is 20-22 age range, Joel is mid 50s), dom/sub dynamics (dom!Joel x sub!Reader), verges on exhibitionism but isn't quite, fingering, cum play, degradation, praise, Joel has an absolutely filthy fucking mouth, no outbreak, Sarah is like 9, if I missed anything please let me know!

If you had to choose one word to describe Sarah Miller, it would be “firecracker." Not only was she the most energetic child you had ever met, but there were days you genuinely couldn’t keep up with her antics; she ran circles around you, bouncing excitedly before jumping into the pool and demanding you race her—so that she could show you how easy it was for her to win.

And you loved it. Babysitting her was a brief respite from your days of research papers and early mornings. You considered it luck that your parents had moved into the Miller’s neighborhood after you left for college; it meant job security when you returned home from school.

Your father had quickly bonded with Joel after the move over their shared, niche interests; the watch brand they both wore, the tools they used for odd jobs—it was sweet, really, to see two men with little outward emotion confiding in each other. Though you'd never heard either of them say it outright, the long nights they spent in your family's garage drinking and muttering football scores to each other was enough for you to deem Joel Miller your father's best friend. You yourself wouldn’t consider Joel a friend, he was more so an acquaintance who paid you to hang around his house with his kid.

A very handsome acquaintance.

When he called you that afternoon to see if you were around, you nodded against the phone, wrapping the wire in your fingers and enthusiastically accepting the offer to babysit. An opportunity to spend time with Sarah, and the opportunity to speak to Joel—no matter how short the conversation—was not one to waste.

It wasn’t like you actively planned to seduce your father’s best friend, but in your head, it was a fun game to amuse yourself with; you had never exactly been the sexually-outgoing type, and it was exciting to play around and flirt poorly with a man as stoic and flawless as Joel Miller despite the fact that you knew he would never acknowledge, let alone cave, to your shy advances. Who cared if every interaction was fuel for your late-night activities, alone in the dark with your fingers pressed against you? Who cared if you remembered every time he looked at you, and all the ways he brushed up against you?

Nobody had to know.

Clad in a sundress that let you show off maybe a little more skin than you should as a caretaker, you meandered down the path to the Miller household from your own. You rang the bell, always hesitating to walk right in despite the fact that Joel had told you countless times in the past that you could come and go as you pleased. Joel opened the door and gave you a brief up-and-down, letting out a playful whistle.

“Just babysittin’, darlin’, didn’t have to get all gussied up.”

 “It’s an old dress, Mr. Miller,” you blushed, always referring to him with the honorific, “not anything fancy.”

“Fancier than anythin’ I ever wore.”

You examined the well-loved flannel and jeans he wore, “That’s not saying much, is it?” You smiled up at him.

Chuckling, he ushered you into the house, and you leaned against the counter. You weren’t uncomfortable around Joel; he was a nice man, despite the grumpiness he exuded, and you’d known him long enough now to feel at ease in his presence—never mind the fire that ignited in you when he spoke. “Sarah’s out in the pool. You can order dinner, ’m good for it,” he grabbed his keys, “don’t know when I’ll be back.” He crossed his arms, biceps bulging through his shirt, mulling over any other details he had to share with you. “Remember where everythin' is? Food, bandaids?”

“Yes, Mr. Miller.” You spoke up. This had become the usual back-and-forth between the two of you: he would over-explain the job you’d been doing for two summers now, and you would let him.  

“I’ll have cash for you when I’m back.”

“Don’t need it.” This was another game you enjoyed—pretending you didn’t expect anything out of him. Obviously, you’d watch Sarah for nothing, you loved her, but a college student living with her parents didn’t necessarily have the room to deny money being offered to her. You did it more out of courtesy than anything, with the added bonus of getting to see the roguish frown he directed at you.

Joel made a noise in disagreement before opening to back door to call for Sarah. “I’m leavin’!”

You watched as Sarah, sun-kissed and still soaked from the pool, bum rushed her father, letting him kiss her on the head and exchanging “I love yous” and “be goods” before she turned her attention toward you, grabbing your hand and leading you outside. You smiled a goodbye at Joel as you were pulled through the door to the backyard.

~~~

You didn’t remember falling asleep. Not that anyone ever really could, but you had no recollection of setting yourself up on the couch and nodding off.

You woke up to the feeling of something gently brushing at your knee. Opening your eyes and looking toward the source of the touch, your hazy brain registered Joel standing in front of you.

“Sorry ‘m so late, darlin’.” He was speaking softly, but his voice still managed to come off gruff. You savored the gravelly sound, and the way the nickname made it seem as though he was apologizing to a significant other for coming home late, rather than a babysitter he paid to be there.

“It’s alright,” you rubbed your eyes, trying to delay the post-nap grogginess you already felt seeping into your bones, “what time is it?”

“Little after two,” Joel frowned, brow knit “should’a called you.”

“It’s alright,” you reiterated, “Sarah just ran me kinda ragged.” You explained why you were passed out on his sofa. “Gets harder to keep up with her every summer—makes me feel old.” You grinned, tugging the hem of your dress down to cover the bare skin of your thigh to retain a bit of modesty.

Joel watched your movements before quickly refocusing his attention to your face. “How’d’ya think I feel ’round the two of you?”

You smiled at each other, too tired to grasp the atmosphere of the compromising situation you had found yourself in. “I should get going.” You stood, but Joel blocked your path.

“Not this late on your own, y’shouldn’t.”

“It’s a five-minute walk.” It was more like ten, but you didn’t bother with details, trying to quell Joel’s anxieties.

“I’ll drive you.”

“Mr. Miller…that’s excessive,” you argued, “I’m a grown up.”

“Like hell—don’t want you walkin’ on your own. It’s dark," he put his hands on his hips, leaning down to meet you at eye level, "what would your daddy say?"

“Don’t want you to drive me if you’ve been working all day.” You muttered, ignoring the way his phrasing and tone nearly made your knees buckle.

“That’s sweet,” he quirked a brow, “get in the truck.”

~~~

You liked Joel’s truck, it smelled like him; sweat and shampoo and sawdust, with a hint of the cologne he wore. He’d driven you around plenty, but usually it was still light out, and Sarah or your father would accompany the two of you.

You were comfortable with Joel—but that comfort went out the window when you were tired and alone, with the man that consumed many of your private thoughts, late at night. You felt somewhat self-conscious sitting next to him now, watching him fumble with the keys and white-knuckle the steering wheel.

“Seatbelt.” Joel reminded you, bringing you out of your thoughts and allowing you to rejoin him in the waking world. You buckled yourself in.

“So…” Joel seemed to be aware of the tension, “What’s your plan, when you get your degree?” He attempted small talk.

“Dunno,” you were honest, “wanna stay here.” He nodded, starting the engine and peeling out of the driveway. “Don’t really see myself joining the work force. Not yet. I’m only a junior—still got time.”

Joel laughed softly, “Give it a few years. You’ll get sick of doin’ nothin’.”

“I’m not doin’ nothin’,” you mimicked his thick drawl, “working for you, aren’t I?”

“Hardly,” Joel glanced over at you, “not payin’ you nearly enough.”

“It’s a good thing I like Sarah, then.” You joked. You enjoyed this, the repartee you were experiencing with Joel. You had known him since you were 18; fresh and unsure of yourself. Not that much had changed, personally, but it was rare that you got to experience Joel all to yourself; it was riveting, and a little nerve-wrecking, but it was nice to be the center of his attention, especially considering he had always seemed to regard you as an equal.

“You’re a good kid, sweetheart.” Joel smiled, thumping a hand on your thigh, just below the edge of your dress. This was new. He had put a guiding hand on your waist or shoulder in the past, but this placement felt more intimate. You stared at it, letting the warmth that radiated from him drain into you.

“Thank you, Mr. Miller.” You squeaked, still enjoying the weight of his hand on your thigh.

“Why don’t you call me Joel?”

“Do you want me to call you Joel?” You peeked over at him.

“Can do what you want,” he explained, “but you’re the only person that ever called me that.”

“I like it.”

“Bein’ the only person to call me that?” He rubbed his thumb over your skin, and you could feel yourself blush, the fabric of your underwear damp.

“I guess. Like how it sounds.”

“Makes me seem respectable.” He grinned, and you leaned back in the passenger seat to appreciate his side profile.

“Aren’t you?” You pushed, emboldened by his sudden physicality and wrapping a hand around his forearm, tracing your fingers across the tanned flesh. You felt like a high schooler, so unfamiliar with flirting and making awkward somatic advances instead of addressing the crush you had head-on. Still, a shot like this wasn't one you were inclined to miss.

Joel pressed the brakes at the stop sign at an intersection concealed by foliage. “Do you think I am?” He felt closer to you now, despite being the same distance in his seat as he had been for the duration of the ride. He let you continue to clumsily hold onto him, his own hand tightening the grip he had on your thigh.

“I—I think so…” You stammered, lips parted, unwavering gaze set upon him.

Joel put the car in park. He leaned in close to you, removing your hands from each other as he shifted, his hand moving to cup your cheek. “Think I can prove you wrong.”

You breathed out, eyes dragging up and down his face, providing the tiniest nod of consent—afraid that if you moved too much he’d take his hand away from you.

He kissed you then, slowly, gently; he let you set the pace with small, closed-mouth kisses. His hand slipped below your jaw and the kiss deepened slightly, leaving enough space for him to lick and nip at your bottom lip. You let out a soft moan at the feeling, the way his stubble rubbed against your lips, and he grunted, smiling. Your hands drifted up to his chest, holding tight to the fabric of his shirt and encouraging him to come closer. He slipped his tongue into your mouth, and you sighed at the feeling. You couldn’t say how long you continued on like that; his hands in your hair and yours planted on his chest, tenderly exploring each other’s mouths.

You felt your panties sticking to you, and you subconsciously began to roll your hips atop the seat you were in, suddenly frantic to find some kind of relief for your aching clit. Joel noticed, chuckling at your desperation.

“Poor thing,” he tilted your chin up to look at him, “need me to help you?” His eyes were darker than their usual shiny umber.

“Yes, Mr. Miller—please.” You pouted, eyes wide, rubbing your thighs together, still hoping to dull the throbbing between your legs.

“Fuck, darlin’,” Joel reached down to help you hike up the skirt of your dress, “such good manners, so pretty comin’ from that sweet li'l mouth.” He traced a finger over your panties, running it along the seam of your pussy. You moaned, bucking your hips gently into his finger, and he smiled, tutting. “I know, honey.”

His smile faded when he felt the drenched fabric of your underwear, eyelids drooping slightly when he let out a gruff moan. “This all for me, darlin’? Tastin’ me get you all wet?”

“Y—es,” you managed to choke out, “yes.” His smile reappeared then, clearly proud of himself and infatuated with you. He moved your panties to the side, grazing his finger over your entrance to collect some of your wet before he began to knead your clit.

You grabbed his wrist, whimpering. “Oh! Uh-huh…” Your mouth fell open and you looked up at him from under your eyelashes.

“Don’t look at me, sweetheart—watch me fuck you with my fingers.” Joel lowered his hand from your clit and plunged two fingers into your cunt. You cried out, squeezing his wrist in your hand, feeling so full from only his fingers. You watched him pump his hand, fingers thrusting in and out of you, accompanied by a squelching noise as your cunt wept for him.

“Oh, yes—yes, Mr. Miller—fuck, yes!” You shrilled the only words you could remember, finally throwing your head back in ecstasy, no longer able to abide by the rule Joel had set for you.

“Young li’l cunt,” Joel pawed at himself over his jeans, still focused on the sounds coming from your mouth and your pussy, “fuckin’ tight f’me.” He pulled his fingers out of you, bringing them to your lips and silently encouraging you to lick him clean. You did, taking them both into your mouth and licking your juices off of him. He slipped one more into your mouth, watching you struggle to handle all three, cheeks puffing out.

His hand came down to your hole once more, and this time he pushed all three fingers into you, using your saliva and wet as lubricant to ensure that they all fit securely inside, stretching you out as best he could.

“That’s it…need’a open you up, darlin’,” he watched the effort it took for you to take his fingers, spearing you on the thick digits while you moaned wantonly. “How’ya gonna take my cock if I can barely get my fingers into this pretty pussy?” You bucked your hips into his hand upon hearing his words, striving to make him proud by fucking yourself open. “Good fuckin’ girl.” He watched you bounce your hips back and forth on his hand.  

“Mr. Miller it—fuck, want—want your cock.” You moaned out, wetness dripping from your cunt and onto the fabric of the passenger seat, the moisture sticking to your thighs.

Joel grunted, punching his fingers up into you and making you scream out. “Yeah? Want my cock, let me fuck you nice ’n’deep?” Your eyes rolled back, and you couldn’t be certain if you were more impacted by his movements or his words, both working in tandem to ensure you were made a mess of.

“Yes! Want your cock!” You let your fingers rub circles over your clit, trying to match Joel’s rhythm, however awkward it was due to the center console he had to lean over.

“Can’t fuck you here, sweetheart,” he didn’t stop, “what would people say if they saw a sweet little thing like you taking Mr. Miller’s cock in his truck?” He was teasing, and he pulled the straps of your dress down, letting the fabric bunch and exposing your chest to him. “They’d know what an easy fuckin’ whore you were.”

You whined, back arched, and he slapped your hand away from your clit, taking over completely. “Want them to know—want them to know I’m a whore for you.” You felt filthy, loving every second of it.

“Comin’ to my house, dressed like a slut every fuckin’ time—this what you wanted, girl? Wanted me to use you like a fuckin’ toy?” You felt his fingers make a beckoning motion, curling up inside of you and putting pressure on your g-spot. You scratched at the headrest behind you, slumping down to let Joel have complete and total access to you, letting him use you up to his satisfaction. Moans and whimpers of his name fell from your mouth as he continued his ministrations. “Yeah, you fuckin’ like that, honey—just needed to whore yourself out.”

“I—‘m gonna cum!” You felt the strain in your body increase, muscles tightening at the impending release of all the tension they held.

“Who’re'ya gonna cum for, sweetheart?” Joel pinched your clit before resuming the massage he’d been providing it.

“You, Mr. Miller, gonna c—um for you!”

“Tha’s’right. Cum for Mr. Miller, darlin’. Be a good girl and cum on my fingers.” He was demanding it; telling, not asking, you to soak his hand with your cum. You felt the gratification come to a head, and your back arched further as you cried out his name. Joel watched with wonder, jaw slack, as your cunt clenched around the three fingers he had buried inside of you. He felt himself try to rut against the fabric of his jeans, horny like a teenager after watching you cum for him with such intensity. But he had meant what he said—he couldn’t fuck you here, at this tiny intersection where anybody could wake up, come out, and see you both. As much as he would’ve liked to fuck you there, it was overruled by the want to do it properly, in a more private space.

“Good fuckin’ girl…so good f’me.” Joel slid his fingers out of you, feeling the aftershocks of your orgasm with every movement he made as you continued to squeeze around him. He sucked on his fingers, eager to taste the juices he had pulled from you. Your chest heaved and your body trembled lightly; when you looked up at him and saw him cleaning his fingers off, you found the strength to lean over and take one of the fingers into your own mouth. The two of you licked at each other around his hand, moaning and panting at the indecent display.

He dropped his hand, focusing on you entirely. If you hadn’t been tired before, you were now, and the satisfaction Joel had given you was enough to put you to sleep where you sat, while his lips brushed your neck and cheeks.

“Think I respect you more after that,” you leaned back in your seat, recalling the conversation that had led you to this, throat verging sore after the screams he had pried out of you. “Been wanting you for so long.” You sighed dreamily, looking up at him through hooded eyes and reaching over to fiddle with the collar of his shirt.

“Could’a said so,” Joel took the hand you had on his chest and kissed your palm, “would’a been happy to give you what you needed.” You rubbed at his stubble, and he kissed your hand again before letting it go. He leaned over to help you fix the straps of your dress, covering your breasts. You sat quietly before he started the car, and he continued to drive you home, placing his hand on your thigh again, holding tightly, as if now that he’d seen you in such an amorous, vulnerable way, you’d disappear. You put your hand on top of his, weaving your fingers around it.

When he parked in front of your house, the clock in the truck read 3:08—a drive that should’ve taken two minutes had taken an hour, and you were glad your parents wouldn’t be awake to question why it had taken you so long to get home. Joel looked at you, tired eyes conveying a glint of gratification when he smiled.

“Thanks for the ride.” You found your voice again, leaning towards him to analyze and appreciate his features.

“My pleasure.” He smiled, just barely, and took your chin in his hand. You stared at each other, not yet wanting to get out of the car despite the fatigue you felt all over. “Y’know,” he spoke again, still holding your face, “think I’ll need you to come over tomorrow.”

“Yeah?”

“Mm. Think you’ll be around?”

You smiled, letting yourself melt into his touch when his hand wandered over your cheek. “Yes, Mr. Miller.”