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It wasn’t a fantasy you even remotely considered until it happened.
You made it very clear to each other from the beginning of your relationship how important fidelity was to the both of you; you couldn’t believe what kind of woman would have it in her to abandon Joel and his beautiful, curly headed daughter, and Joel couldn’t fathom what asshole would take it upon himself to cheat on you after experiencing your tender care for the sanctity of your relationship. Simply put, you had both been burned, and understood what it felt like to crave something secure.
But there was a level to Joel’s devotion to you that went beyond just monogamy. A sort of possession, though never in a way that suggested he wanted control over you. He just didn’t like to share.
You were his, and his only. Just the way you wanted it to be.
Your sex drive was the highest it had ever been with Joel, which was no surprise. In the confines of your bedroom, he was your god. Bathing you in a pleasure no other man had ever succeeded in. Your dynamic on the daily was relatively balanced; a push and pull, give and take, that worked to the advantage of your strengths and weaknesses.
But in the bedroom, Joel liked to take the lead.
One evening, he came home from a particularly stressful day at work. You could always tell when Joel was working to suppress the frustration of a long day; it manifested in the way he craved you.
You had let yourself in about an hour earlier with the spare set of keys he made for you. Sarah was spending the evening studying at a friends house just down the street, which you used to your advantage for some much needed alone time with Joel. The conversation had sparked about you ending your apartment lease during the upcoming term and moving into the quaint Austin home. You assured Joel you would love nothing more, but you wanted to have a diligent conversation with Sarah prior to any decisions. You loved her to pieces, getting along from the moment you two met, but this was her home. Her safe space. Her father. Her opinion meant something to you.
You decided to get dinner going. One less thing Joel had to worry about when he got home. You were in the midst of rinsing off the big dishes you used when the door slammed open and shut. First, the shuffle of his boots being kicked off, and then, Joel called your name inquisitively.
“In here!” you called over the running water, turning over your shoulder to shoot him a smile when you heard him pattering into the kitchen. “Hi, handsome,” you sung contentedly, turning back to the dishes at hand only to feel the press of his broad chest against your back seconds later, arms wrapping around your waist.
“Hi, baby,” he muttered, nosing your neck and breathing you in. He placed a soft kiss below your ear, the sweet spot that made it much harder to focus on your task. The tension in your body melted away upon his embrace, and you found yourself leaning languidly back against him.
“How was your day?” you asked quietly, setting the dish off to the side rack.
Joel grumbled. “Long,” was the only answer he provided you, saving you from the boring details of the world of contracting. Instead, he focused on continuing the descent of sloppy kisses down your neck, one of his hands abandoning your waist to slither up your front, firmly palming one of your breasts through your shirt.
You wrung your hands shakily over the sink, head lulling back against his shoulder with a soft sigh. “The foods gonna get cold,” you muttered, but despite your warning, had zero intent of halting his ministrations. Your body was set alight the moment you heard his voice, desperation a familiar friend that crept into your bones whenever Joel touched you like this.
It took no more than five minutes for him to claw at your clothes, and before you knew it, you were bent over the kitchen sink with your jeans around your ankles, your shirt pulled up over your breasts that rested fully in his hands, while Joel sheathed himself inside of you, thrusting at an unforgiving pace. Normally, he would take ample time to work you up until you were begging for his cock, but on days like this? Days where he needed you more than the air he breathed? He was selfish.
You loved every second of it.
Your nails dug into the edge of the countertop, back arched in way that allowed the tip of him to prod at the sensitive spot deep inside of you. The breeze from the open window above the sink wafted over you, cool air peaking your aching nipples. He had one hand wrapped around your stomach, keeping you steady. The other weaved up to clasp firmly around your throat, arching you further back against him.
“Joel,” you croaked, already feeling the impending release. “The-the window.” His kitchen window overlooked the front street, quiet in the afternoon, but still a lingering threat. Someone could see.
“Don’t care,” he grunted, heavy balls bruising against your ass. “Let ‘em see. Let ‘em all see you’re mine, baby.”
That sent you over the edge; the thought, the thrill of being seen, being watched as Joel claimed you as his. How nonchalant he was about the prospect of it, seemingly the least of his concerns, had you coming undone around his cock, milking him into your walls that were coated in his warm seed seconds later.
That night, when you curled up in his bed on your side, he on his back, you couldn’t shake the image of the crass scene in his kitchen. You had a leg slung over his pelvis, tucked against his rib cage, trailing your fingers up and down his bare chest. Silence was always comfortable between the two of you, but you could feel the tightness in your throat urging you to voice your thoughts.
You didn’t know what you were so embarrassed about. You told Joel everything, and never once in your time together did he judge you. He guided you and offered his advice, but always in the vein of being your biggest supporter, in your corner no matter what.
You took a deep breath before slowly tilting your head up to look at him. He had the arm not occupied around you bent below his head, his eyes closed, breathing steady. “Joel?” you asked softly, making sure he wasn’t asleep.
“Hm?” he hummed, eyes fluttering open halfway to peer down at you. A quaint smile lingered sleepily on his lips when he found you already staring.
You bit at your bottom lip. “I know this is so silly, but—“ you paused momentarily, searching for the right words to make it sound less silly. “I wanted to tell you that I liked…I really liked what happened earlier. In the kitchen…” You knew this wasn’t anything new to report; you always told Joel how much you loved the way he fucked you, made love to you. Swallowing thickly, you clarified: “By the window.”
His brows shot up at this, eyes popping fully open. The once soft smile on his lips curved into a devilish grin.
“Oh yeah?” he asked, tone already laced with taunting. Both of his arms were around you now, ushering you fully up and over him so you could prop yourself up on his chest. His hands rested on your ass, cradling the flesh in his palms and giving each cheek a firm squeeze. “Dirty little thing, likes the idea of being watched.” He tsked his tongue, shaking his head up at you.
You rolled your eyes, giving his pec a playful swat that left him chuckling. “Oh, shut up,” you retorted, but you couldn’t hide the giddy closed lip smile. You had never been able to talk about intimacy so openly with previous partners; all aspects of it, soft and tender, kinky and depraved, Joel accepted. Sure, you both had limits and boundaries, but you also had an open streamline of communication with the incentive that neither of you should ever be afraid to say no.
“Maybe,” you continued, quieter. You focused your attention on the coarse hairs of his chin that your fingers fiddled with now, not quite able to meet his gaze. “Maybe we could…play with it sometime?” It was a suggestion, a mere idea you put out into the ether with no expectations. You had needs, and Joel dutifully met them, but usually, it wasn’t you suggesting something objectively out of the norm. You were both content within your dynamic, but that didn’t stop curiosity from approaching every now and then. Joel was just better at voicing his.
A large part of you assumed this was an idea he would not be all that comfortable with, and you were ready to accept that, pleased to relish in the fleeting moment of this newfound interest that you experienced earlier that afternoon.
But Joel surprised you, eyes looking up at you with a hint of contemplation and something else that you couldn’t quite pinpoint. Something darker.
“I think we can work somethin’ out.”
A week later, you are waiting outside your apartment, the awning above the front doors shielding you from the rain that started to pour. You see the headlights of Joel’s truck round the corner, pulling up in front of the building. You brace yourself for the rain before carefully skipping over the puddles, swinging the passenger door open, and scurrying inside. Out of breath, you shoot Joel a half smile when you’re finally settled in the seat. He’s leaning over the center console, awaiting a kiss to which you graciously plant on his lips, hands finding his hair.
“So good to see you, baby,” he mumbles in between kisses. The last two days had been hectic at work for the both of you, opting to call in early nights of rest rather than make the trek across town either way to sleep beside one another. It was annoying, but necessary. And with the weekend approaching, you are eager for some quality time.
“Is Sarah home?” you ask as he pulls away from your apartment, down the all too familiar path towards the Miller home.
“Nah, some birthday sleepover. Kids popular,” he says, the hint of pride palpable.
“Darn,” you tease, eyeing him rather cheekily through your peripheral. “I was really hoping for some decent company tonight.”
He laughs slightly, but says nothing, and you can’t help but notice a twinge of something in his expression. You try to decipher it; concern? Anxiety? Maybe he’s just tired, you’re no stranger to the exhausting days. The shift unsettles you, but you decide to mute it for the time being, his lingering hand on your thigh the entire ride a solid reassurance.
Twenty minutes later when you pull into Joel’s driveway, you yank at the handle to step out of the truck only to find it still locked. You give him a look, expecting him to pop the lock, but he remains unmoving. His eyes are aimed at the garage, fingers tapping against the wheel. He seems nervous.
“Joel?” you ask softly, furrowing your brows. You let go of the handle, resting an elbow back on the middle console. “Are you okay?”
He perks up from whatever thought is clouding his head, cocking his head towards you with a reserved sort of grin. “Yeah. Yes. Sorry, baby. I uh…” his hands drop from the wheel into his lap, picking at the corners of his thumbs. When his eyes meet yours then, he’s studying you carefully. “I’ve gotta little surprise for you.”
The way he says it, a low mutter under his breath, equally terrifies and excites you. You lean forward, placing a hand atop of his nearest forearm, giving it a gentle squeeze. “Oh?” is all you say, tilting your head at him in curiosity.
He is gnawing on the inside of his cheek, eyes darting between yours and the spot where your hand touches him. “Yeah,” he reiterates. “But I…I need’ya to know that if you don’t like it, you ain’t gotta go through with it.”
Your brows scrunch up at this. You don’t like how cryptic he’s being, a bubbling anxiety forming in the pit of your stomach.
“I don’t understand?” you half state half question. You are left just as stumped when he does unlock the door then, sweeping over to your side to help you down, telling you that it would be easier to explain if you just came inside.
You are aware of him lingering close behind you, hand on the small of your back as he unlocks the door, ushering you in first and following after. You take a curious peer around the space; the foyer, the living room, the entry to the kitchen — it all looks the same, no astounding changes. You gravitate towards the stairs, your usual routine normally sending you up to his room instantaneously. You can hear him following, a few steps behind you the entire trek.
When you reach the top floor, the light to his bedroom is already on, door slightly ajar. You’ve migrated this way a million times before, but for some reason, this time feels different.
And it is.
When you give the door a push, letting it bump back into the wall, you are certainly surprised to see none other than Tommy Miller lounging casually on the cushioned chair tucked in the corner of Joel’s room.
His eyes perk up when the door opens, catching yours and gracing you with the suave sort of smirk that always dangles on his cheeks. The soft glow of the lamp on illuminates his tan skin, casting a silhouette around him when he rises to his feet.
“Tommy,” you breathe, hoping he won’t mistake your confusion for disappointment. You are always pleased to see the younger Miller brother; he had welcomed you with equally open arms the moment you met, carrying the same tenacity and loyalty as Joel. Family is the utmost important thing to the Miller boys.
“Hey, sweetheart,” he drawls, sinking his hands in his jean pockets. He only takes a few steps towards you, unlike his usual bear of an embrace.
You muster up the warmest smile you can manage in your dubious state. “What are, um…what are you doing here?” you ask, maintaining a polite and even tone even though you are buzzing inside to know the answer.
Tommy’s eyes flicker over your shoulder to Joel whom you had nearly forgotten is still standing behind you. He looks like he’s waiting for some sort of permission, and when he finds it, his eyes are back on you.
“My brother tells me there’s somethin’ I may be able to help’ya with,” he states plainly, calmly. Like whatever it may be is something he wouldn’t even need to consider assisting with.
Your brows deepen their furrow at this, and you’re about to question further when you hear heavy footsteps pick up behind you.
When you feel the sudden heat of Joel’s chest at your rear, you go rigid. You aren’t expecting him to slide his palms over the curve of your hips, drawing you back into him. His chin is rested on your shoulder then, breathing in your hair as he has done time and time before. Before he would ravish you. The display of it so blatant before his brother within the confines of such an intimate space has you gasping, clumsily reaching for his hands on you and clenching at them.
“Joel,” you whimper. It’s a warning. Your eyes are still on Tommy, wide and sheepish.
He places his lips on the shell of your ear. “You said’ya wanted someone to watch,” he whispers, and when the realization hits you, you feel your cheeks set aflame.
You suck in a sharp breath, fingers digging into Joel’s hands that squeeze at your hips, the warm familiar feeling of his lips on your neck. All of your senses mixed with the heightened state of Tommy’s eyes on you is overwhelming, equally aroused and dumbfounded.
Your lips part to speak, but nothing comes out. A lodge in your throat preventing you from admitting the fantasy out loud; one you had never expected to be fulfilled by Joel’s brother. You are ashamed that you can’t deny the fluttering thrill the idea sends between your legs.
“You don’t gotta be embarrassed, sweetheart,” Tommy says as if he can read your thoughts, taking another calculated step towards you. You aren’t sure where to focus; the gentle caresses of Joel’s hands on your sides, or the intense gaze his brother gifts you with.
You feel your head spinning, but your hands release Joel’s ever so slightly, allowing him to run his hands across your middle, the edge of his thumbs tracing under your breasts. “S’okay, baby,” Joel continues softly, nosing at your hairline. “You can be honest with me.”
You could tell him anything. You could tell him to stop, and he would oblige. It had happened before — adding something new into the mix that didn’t end up sitting well with you, Joel would tell you the same thing every time:
“You don’t know if ya’like it till you try it, and you ain’t gonna like everything. And that’s okay.”
Or, you could tell him the truth.
That the idea makes your cunt start to ache, an uncomfortable stickiness sitting in your panties. That your chest starts to tighten watching the way Tommy’s eyes look you over, following the path of Joel’s hands. It makes you shudder, the room feeling much hotter. You turn your head slightly over your shoulder, your cheek brushing Joel’s. The coarse hair of his face tickles your skin, and you feel the goosebumps rise on your arms.
“Are you—are you sure?” you ask, voice hardly audible.
Joel hums softly. “Wouldn’t trust anyone else, darlin’, you know that.” Of course you do; Joel would never trust any other man the way he trusts his brother. Trusts him so much so to help you feel good without worries or judgement. And by the look on Tommy’s face, you think he must feel the same way.
Oh. Oh god. You crave it. So badly that it feels as if every nerve in your body is firing at a rapid pace, perspiration casting a sheen reflection across your skin. You think Tommy must notice the resolution because he gives you a knowing smirk, slowly sauntering himself backwards until his knees hit the back of the chair again, plopping down all too casually.
Meanwhile, Joel’s hands have traveled further up your front, groping firmly at your breasts. You hiss, throwing your head back against his shoulder when his thumbs roll over your nipples through your shirt. Your hands reach for his wrists, this time, working to keep him closer rather than pulling away.
“Joel,” you sigh again, this time a needful whine.
“I know, baby,” he purrs back. “Gonna take real good care of you, I promise.”
With a final kiss to your shoulder, he is suddenly stepping back from you. Your body instantly responds with rigidity, already missing the feel of him pressed against you. You hear him shuffle out of his shoes before he is crossing the room, finding refuge on the center of the mattress, propped against the headboard. You remain unmoving, stuck between two pairs of intense eyes, chest heaving in anticipation.
You see Joel bite at his bottom lip, dark eyes raking over your trembling form. “Go ahead, darlin’,” he instructs. “Let us see you.”
When you register what he is asking of you, you have to swallow back the lump of anxiety in your throat. Not for lack of wanting, but the thrill is new, and you haven’t had a chance to process it yet. Keeping your eyes on Joel, you shakily reach for the hem of your shirt, toying with it before carefully pulling it up and over your head. It falls to the floor, the cool air increasing the tingling on your skin.
Your jeans are next, undoing the button and zipper slowly before dragging them, admittedly rather tantalizingly, down your legs and stepping out. Left in just your black lace panties and bra, you see Joel shift on the mattress, his legs spread open in front of him, the evident bulge already prominent below his own jeans. You are too shy to see if the case is the same for Tommy, so instead you maintain your focus on Joel, your comfort in the unknown, reaching a hand behind you to unclasp your bra, letting it fall on its own off your shoulders.
You’re aware of just how bare you are to lingering eyes when a collective sound erupts from the both of them, the familiar vibration of approval through Joel’s chest accompanied by a low groan from Tommy across the room. You eagerly reach for your panties, a momentum of confidence slowly building inside of you. But Joel has other plans.
“Keep those on for now,” he instructs you, and you obey, hands freezing at the waistband and falling back to your side. Your desperate eyes search his dark ones, longing for his direction, grateful for it.
“Turn around, sweet girl,” Joel urges, nodding his head once in Tommy’s direction. You still hadn’t faced him yet. “Let ‘em see all of you.”
You take a deep breath before doing as you’re told, turning slowly on the balls of your feet. Nothing can prepare you for the sight in front of you now, breath hitching in your throat to find that your assumptions were all too correct.
Tommy is leering at you through hooded eyes, mapping every inch of your curves. It’s a different kind of excitement having his eyes on you, only casted under Joel’s permission. His thighs are parted in a similar fashion, one hand resting dangerously close to his growing erection, clearly visible.
“Fuck,” he breathes, unabashedly beginning to palm himself over his jeans. “She’s so goddamn pretty, Joel,” he mumbles, but he is still looking at you. Painfully handsome; you cannot believe how lucky both of them are to be graced with such features. Both the similarities and differences enticing to you, leaving you to grow increasingly aware of how needy you are becoming.
“Don’t I know it,” Joel gruffs in response, and you cannot stop yourself from rubbing your thighs together where you stand, a soft whimper dropping from your lips. Joel must notice, because he calls your name. You turn towards him without hesitation, and he curls his fingers in the air, gesturing you to come forward. You step carefully towards the end of the mattress, and he drops his hand between his legs, patting the empty spot. “Right here, baby,” he beckons.
You don’t waste a moment, hoisting your legs onto the mattress and crawling carefully into his lap. He guides you around, settling your back against his chest, the firm press of his cock against your ass. Joel reaches forward, gingerly prying your legs apart over his, your feet flat against the sheets. You feel a daze cast over your head as you realize what this means for you; sat in Joel’s lap, you are on perfect display for Tommy across the room. The heel of his hand has increased its pressure against the front of his jeans, eyes falling to the place where your legs spread open. You are grateful for the dark panties, knowing that if they were any other shade, he would see the evident wet spot soaking through them.
You feel Joel’s lips tickling your neck again, the heat of him so close yet so far from where you need him most has your eyes rolling shut, reaching your hands for either of his thighs and gripping hard. His hands are on your shoulders, your ribcage, your stomach, everywhere but between your legs. But then, he is snaking one of his hands up, coming to delicately wrap around your throat. He loves to stake his claim on you this way, making sure you’re listening, focused on whatever it is he will ask of you. He holds you still to him, grazing his teeth against your earlobe.
“Are you gonna be a good girl and keep your legs open for me?” he inquires in a devilishly low tone, giving your carotids a firm squeeze. The rush of pleasure that buzzes through your head has you moaning.
“Yes, Sir.” The honorific falls from your lips before you have a chance to filter it out. Your eyes go wide, finding Tommy again to gauge his reaction. You know he knew what he was signing up for when he agreed to this, the possibility of seeing all the intimate sides of you and Joel’s relationship. But that doesn’t stop a part of you from fearing judgment.
It never comes. Tommy has his head thrown back while he elicits a soft chuckle, peering back up to you with that dangerous smirk. Something tells you he likes the feeling of control just as much as Joel.
You relax a little into Joel, going to lean your head back against his shoulder, but he stops you. His hand leaves your throat for your jaw, gripping it steadily. Giving you no choice but to look straight ahead to the eyes in front of you.
“Eyes on him, baby,” Joel grunts into your ear, the coarseness of his voice sending flutters to your tummy. You know he is just as riled up as you. “I want you to look at’em while I play with your pussy, understand?”
Your throat goes dry, and you lick your lips before nodding eagerly. And with that, he slips his free hand underneath the waistband of your panties, cupping your mound, the pads of his fingers prodding at your hole. You’re mewling at the relief his touch provides, nearly letting your head fall back, but Joel’s other hand is on your neck again in an instant, keeping you upright. By the low grunt he makes, you know it’s your one and only warning.
You will your eyes across the room when two tips of his fingers dip into your pussy, gathering the liquid that lingers there and dragging it up and over your clit. Tommy’s eyes are on you the entire time, studying the way your lips part with a sharp puff of air, the instant tremble that overtakes your legs when Joel begins to gently rub circles over the taut bundle. You study him, too. The dampness of his plush lips, the dark curls of hair that linger around his temples, beautiful little freckles on the bridge of his nose and cheeks. He watches you with a familiar intensity, the warmth of his brown eyes, now blown wide in lust, all too similar to those of the man behind you.
You can’t shake the thought of what it would feel like to have his hands on you, too.
“You gon’ keep her in those panties all night, or what?” Tommy chides, and fuck are you thankful for it. You’re practically bucking up into Joel’s hand, the resistance of the garment preventing him from reaching the spots you need him most.
You hear Joel scoff behind you, and then his touch is gone, and you’re whining pathetically at the loss of contact. “Patience, baby,” he soothes, running his fingertips gently over your upper arms. “Take those off for me,” he pants against your ear. “Nice and slow.”
You are eager to comply, but make sure to abide by his rule, slowly slipping your fingers under the waistband, lifting your hips, until the fabric dangles over your thighs. You make a show of dragging them over your skin, lifting your knees to your chest to shimmy them off your feet. You keep your eyes on Tommy, noting the way he follows the path of your hands, sucking his bottom lip between his teeth and stilling his stiff grip on his cock when your glistening flesh is revealed to him. Joel doesn’t have to ask; you toss the garment off to the side, legs immediately falling back open over his own.
Tommy releases another guttural noise from the back of his throat when Joel reaches both hands around you, rubbing over your inner thighs before both of his middle fingers are spreading the lips of your cunt on full display. You grip hastily onto his biceps, studying the way Tommy falls drunk just at the sight of you. You clench around nothing, feeling the wetness dribble from your awaiting hole and onto the sheets below.
“Fuckin’ hell,” Tommy rasps, the roll of his palm against his jeans returning. “Gotta be the prettiest pussy I ever did see.”
You are moaning fiercely at his praise, digging your nails into Joel’s skin. The ache between your legs growing painful. “Please,” you whine softly to Joel, but you flash your wide, begging eyes to Tommy. He stares at you in awe, perpetually magnetized by you.
“C’mon, Joel,” he teases, his own voice dropping an octave. Joel’s still got you spread open for him. “Think you’ve made her wait long enough.” The truth is, you could’ve waited longer. You have waited longer. Joel is no stranger to denying you when he knew you could take it; but this didn’t seem to be one of those times, every soul in that room overly sensitive to the unfolding sin.
It is then that you feel his fingers leave you, only for a moment, before he rests one hand at your hip, the other sliding back over your mound the same way he did before. This time, though, it is accompanied shortly by the comforting stretch of his ring and middle fingers sinking inside of you. You sigh with relief, instantly feeling the flutter of your walls around his digits. You are so worked up, they slide in and out with ease, the tips of them curling up perfectly inside of you. He pumps at a steady pace, the heal of his hand bumping your neglected clit with every thrust. Your feet lift off the mattress slightly, toes curling, and you struggle to keep your eyes open as the tightness builds in your lower stomach.
You are unaware that Tommy has pulled himself from the confines of his jeans until you hear him spit, forcing your eyes back open to see him coat his cock in it before pumping slowly. Your mouth hangs open, both in awe of the sight of him and the delicious ways Joel plays your body. Tommy isn’t as thick as Joel, but certainly no less endowed. Something about the picture of him across the room, fucking himself into his hand at the vision of you coming undone, has your mouth watering. And when Joel brings his free hand up to tweak at your nipple, pulling his fingers out of you to focus on massaging over your clit, hard and sensitive, you sputter out a gasp.
“Joel.” You wonder if your nails have broken skin yet, clinging to him for dear life. “Need to—need to cum.” The build up is almost unbearable, a glorious crescendo awaiting its climax. Joel increases the pressure on your bud, and your hips buck in response, eyes rolling half shut and thighs trembling.
“Oh, baby,” Joel taunts, switching his pinch to the other nipple. You’re sweating, shaking. “I know you can do better than that. Show him how you ask nicely.”
You sob a heavy breath, head inevitably falling back against Joel’s chest. He doesn’t let up, having your entire body clench to ebb the impending release. “Please,” it’s a frantic plea, coming off quivering lips. “P-please, Sir. Please can I cum?”
Joel hums in approval. “So much better, darlin’.” He places a tender kiss on your temple. “Yeah, you can cum. Go ahead, sweet girl, show my brother how pretty you look when you do.” And then, his pace is a rapid back and forth over your clit, the shift instantly tipping you over the edge.
Your thighs clamp around his hand, an echoing wail coming off your lips as the wave crashes inside of you, but that doesn’t stop Joel. He’s rubbing you through the entire high, until your body is convulsing and your brain is blank.
It it easy to fall into submission like this; the headspace is comfortable and familiar with Joel, Tommy’s presence throwing it for a loop in the beginning. But now, you welcome the vulnerability. You bask in it, body pliable the way it always is when Joel takes care of it.
You hardly even notice Joel has moved you until you no longer feel the heat behind you, but above you. He has you horizontal across the mattress, near the edge of the bed where Tommy has a perfect view of your profile.
Attention. The attention. You fucking love it. Can barely tolerate it, blissfully overwhelming. Perhaps it classifies you as some sort of depraved freak, but you don’t care. In that moment, you can’t care about anything else other than the weight of Joel’s body on top of you moments later. He doesn’t have the patience to bother with his t-shirt, opting to hurriedly rid himself of his jeans and boxers before his hips are nestled between your thighs.
Your legs engulf him, hands frantically finding his hair when he leans down to capture your lips. It’s the first time he’s kissed you directly since you walked into the room, and you did not realize how badly you needed to feel it. It’s hot, deep, wasting little time in tasting you with his tongue. He nips at your bottom lip, one arm stabilizing himself beside your head, the other hand running down the length of your side, caressing, kneading at every bit of flesh he can grasp.
When he pulls back, resting his forehead against yours, you are both breathless. A lewd string of salvia still connecting your wet lips.
“You ready for me, baby?” he asks hoarsely, and you are nodding relentlessly, hands weaving under his arms so that you can claw at his back.
“Yes, please,” you beg while he steals another kiss. “Need you inside of me.” And for a brief moment, while he reaches between your bodies and notches himself inside of you, it is just you and him. Your eyes fall shut and your back arches off the mattress, the long awaited relief of fullness coming in a single, swift thrust. Your body welcomes him, coating his cock in the sweet nectar he worked so diligently to coax from you. You moan in delight when you feel the tip of him reach its furthest depth, hands clinging to his shirt in tight fists.
The lengthy grunt that falls from Joel’s lips is like sweet music to your ears, and when you open your glossy eyes, you are met with his dark ones, peering down at you like a predator ravishing its prey. He rocks into you at a firm, deep pace; every time he ruts to the brim, a breathless whimper falls from your lips.
You are entirely inundated by him, just like you always are; his touch, his scent, his lips that whisper gentle praise into your ear while he fucks you. Joel Miller has you completely and entirely consumed by him, so much so that you had nearly forgotten about the other pair of eyes on you until Joel’s hand comes up between you to grab at your jaw again, forcing your head to the side against the mattress. He presses his cheek against yours, his gaze taking the same path towards Tommy who is watching you just as intently as before, the strokes of his cock growing faster, sloppier. You try to find a steady breath, but the sight of him getting off to Joel taking you is intoxicating, leaving you to pant and weep pathetically.
“What do ya think, baby?,” Joel growls against your cheek, fingers digging into your jaw. “You love the way he’s watchin’ you while I fuck you, don’t you?”
He is merciless, hips rutting into you all the way to the hilt, your legs pressed up into your chest. “Yes,” you sob, the tears that had built in your eyes falling over your cheeks, mixing with sweat and saliva. “I-I do, I love-love it.” Your response is to Joel, but your eyes are on Tommy; his jaw is slack, and you can see the way he twitches within his grasp. It’s easy to have a loose tongue now; every thought and worry you brought into the room reduced by the absolute need to please them, to earn your pleasure in return.
Joel can read you like a book, so it’s no surprise he notices the way your walls begin to flutter around him, your breath growing increasingly rapid with every crude sound that escapes you, and the way your eyes fall back into your skull. Your hands had somehow found their way underneath his shirt, now clinging your nails into his skin, bound to leave marks behind.
You feel his hot breath on your face again. “Gettin’ close, aren’t you, pretty girl?” He still has his hand on your jaw, and you half expect him to scold you for being unable to keep your eyes open. Your head bobs in the best nod it can muster while Joel never lets up his pace, the sound of slick skin slapping filling the room.
“I want you to ask him,” Joel mutters, catching your earlobe between his teeth when he speaks. “I want you to look him in the eyes, and ask him if you can cum on my cock, darlin.’”
If you didn’t look wrecked before, you certainly did now. Folded in half by the weight of Joel’s body pummeling into you, limbs shaking uncontrollably. Tear soaked cheeks and wailing lips, fully at the disposal of two of the prettiest men you had ever laid eyes on. It wasn’t just you and Joel’s game anymore, his command an invitation to Tommy.
You are not sure if the words even register as coherent. “Please,” you croak, mustering every ounce of strength left in you to open your eyes half lidded and cast them towards Tommy. Every bounce of your body sputtering your words. “P-please Tommy, can I — uunng — can I cum on his cock?”
You think Tommy must have a similar look to your own; fucking up into his grip, hooded eyes absolutely blown in lust from his own approaching release. His other hand is digging into the armrest of the chair to prevent the high too soon. “Shit,” he seethes, flicking his wrist expertly. He never takes his eyes off you. “Go ahead, sweetheart. Fuckin’ cum on his cock for me, s’alright.”
It’s all you need to hear.
You’re screaming. Pure euphoria buzzing through your bones. Joel’s hands move quickly, catching your spastic body from toppling off the bed as you come undone with him still fully tucked inside of you, trembling and clutching onto any part of him you can find. It is mere seconds before the melodious sound of heavy breathing and elongated groans follow, both from above you and across the room, feeling a familiar warmth pour inside of you. You don’t think the orgasm subsides even after Joel has pulled himself from within you, your mind and body separate entities both alleviated by the all encompassing satisfaction.
The comedown is heavy. You stop shaking eventually, eyes squeezing shut and curling in on yourself. You are only vaguely aware of Joel placing a blanket atop of you, huddled at the end of the mattress. His lips press gently to your cheek, and he whispers something about water and being right back. He knows you. He knows how intense these moments can be, the added layer of exploration only heightening the drop. You need time to come back to your senses. You hear the shuffling of clothes, likely his pants, and then he is muttering something you can’t quite make out to Tommy before exiting for the kitchen.
You focus on the things you can control; your breathing, the pressure of your fingers as they curl around each other. The tactile cue a method of grounding yourself you had adopted for many scenarios, intimacy included. You shiver a little, sweat soaked skin now tickled by the cool air, no longer wrapped in the heat of the moment. You’re not sure how many moments go by when you register movement, floorboards creaking under the weight of footsteps that stop just short of the mattress. Another beat, and then, you feel the comforting graze of fingers over your cheekbone, tucking the hair that sticks to your skin behind your ear.
Gradually, you flutter your tired eyes open halfway, blinking to make out the face before you. Clarity slowly seeping back in.
It’s Tommy.
He’s knelt down by the end of the bed, one hand keeping him steady on top of the mattress while the other lovingly strokes your hair. He’s giving you that signature, lopsided smile. Once intense eyes returned to their affectionate softness.
“You doin’ alright, honey?” You wonder if Joel mentioned how you get like this. You wouldn’t doubt it, especially in the careful consideration Tommy takes with his tone of voice, the way he touches you.
“M’okay,” you say softly, finding that slumber approaches much quicker with his fingers drawing such delicate shapes on your scalp. He smells good, softer than Joel’s scent, but just as heady. Somehow, you find the strength to lift one of your hands from under the blanket, finding Tommy’s wrist on your cheek and wrapping your fingers around it. “Thank you,” you whisper, nuzzling into his palm.
He shakes his head. “You ain’t gotta thank me, pretty girl.” His thumb swipes a stripe just below your bottom lip. “Thank you for trustin’ me. We’ll talk more later, yeah?”
You nod, slowly releasing him and coiling back in on yourself. Later is good. Later you could think clearer, find your words better. But whether it is now or later, nothing would change how good you feel. Thanks to Joel. Thanks to him. The comfort in this vulnerable headspace is new to you with just Tommy in the room, but it’s there. Real and raw, allowing yourself to close your eyes once more.
“Goodnight, sweetheart.”
“Goodnight, Tommy,” you smile lazily, and you hear him rattle a soft chuckle before his warm lips press a delicate kiss to your forehead.
Not long after his footsteps subside and the front door closes, Joel is coming back into the room. You hear the clank of a glass on the bedside table, and then, sturdy arms are hooking under your shoulders and knees, cradling you up into his chest. He carries you to the bathroom, aiding you to the toilet, to the sink, wordlessly helping you wipe yourself up with a washcloth he dampens. You are both in desperate need of a shower, but it would have to wait. Sleep and snuggles taking a higher priority.
He doesn’t let you walk back to the bed, sweeping you back up off your feet. When he settles you on your side of the mattress, he sits beside you, one hand at your lower back and the other lifting the cool glass of water to your lips. You gulp it down, not realizing just how parched you had gotten. When you’re finished, he takes it from you, and you sink under the covers. The pillow soft, sheets cool until he leans over to flicker off the lamp, and the warmth of Joel’s body submerges you.
This time when you curl up, it’s into his chest, his arms wrapping around you and pulling you close. He runs his hands up and down your spine, calloused fingers sending shivers over your skin. He’s placing tiny kisses along your hairline, and when he speaks, it’s temperate and quiet.
“Don’t gotta talk to me now if you’re not ready,” he starts calmly. “But I do needa know where you’re at, baby.”
This is common practice. Joel’s scale of determining your mindset post coitus. You were grateful when he suggested the idea, seemingly less rigid and awkward than some patterns of check ins you had heard about.
“An eight,” you tell him quietly, tilting your head up to press a barely there kiss to his chin. “Just sleepy.”
“A sleepy eight of ten,” he remarks, squeezing you a bit tighter. You adore the comfort of his arms. “I can work with that.”
You blow a soft chuckle through your nose, nuzzling your head into the crook of his neck. You will never get use to how much solace his embrace brings you; always so safe, so familiar. You don’t think you will ever find any other man who will care about you as much or in the way Joel Miller does. It’s what makes your next choice of words so easy to say.
“I love you,” you whisper, slipping into the blissful state of unconsciousness.
“I love you, too.”
You hear it echoing in your dreams, looking forward to the morning when you can hear it aloud again. When you would inevitably decide what the evenings events meant for you.
All three of you.