Archive of Our Own

Chapter Text

When Sarah asked Joel to bring a friend home for spring break, Joel was expecting a peaceful week. He expected to be kept up late by laughter coming from Sarah’s cracked bedroom door, or maybe all of the best snacks would mysteriously disappear from the cupboards.

But when you step out of the car, Joel immediately realizes that won’t be the case.

He’s seen you once before in a photo. Sarah had sent it to him as a college life update, informing him that she’d gone out with a friend to celebrate passing her exam. Which, in theory, should be perfectly fine. Joel’s aware that Sarah’s getting older, and he understands she’s an adult now and she’s going to have the college experience no matter what. He expects it of her.

What he doesn’t expect is for his daughter to be hanging around girls like you. Girls who are a couple of years older than her, who go out to parties in too-short dresses with a joint in one hand and a red solo cup in the other.

Sarah’s been struggling a little academically, and Joel knows that this semester she had to find a tutor who’s successfully managed to save her grades. But that one photo, his very first impression of you, made him wonder if maybe you are the reason she’s struggling at school. You certainly seem quite the distraction.

He wouldn’t put it past you to pressure Sarah into doing things she’d never do. He can almost see it in his mind, and the image provokes an immediate aversion to you.

But just because he knows you’re likely a terrible influence on his daughter doesn’t mean he can’t appreciate the sight, though. There’s an innocence about you, a youthfulness that feels magnetic, and Joel can’t deny his immediate attraction. Your skin looks soft, and your smile is bright, and when Sarah says something that makes you break out into a fit of giggles, Joel admits to himself that the airy sound is infectious.

It’s wrong to look at you this way, he knows. You’re Sarah’s best friend and half his age. But he’s still a man, and it doesn’t hurt anyone if he doesn’t act on it, right?

He greets Sarah with a tight embrace and helps bring her bags inside. The two of you waste no time, and you’re talking animatedly together, gossiping about some boy at school, headed up the stairs. “Sarah, can I talk to you for a second?”

Her face falls just a little at the serious tone his voice has taken, but she nods anyway. She tells you her room is the second door on the left and that she’ll meet you in a second. The moment you’re out of earshot, she asks, “What is it? Someone die or somethin’?”

Joel huffs. “No, no, nothin’ like that.” He suddenly wishes he would’ve thought this out a little more. He doesn’t know how to phrase it without being accusatory, but he needs to say it for the sake of his sanity. “When you said you were bringing a friend, I thought...”

Sarah raises her brows. “Thought what?”

“I guess I didn’t expect you to bring home someone so...wild,” he explains.

It doesn’t have a positive reaction, and he’s not surprised. “Dad, what? You don’t even know her. She’s nice.”

“I know enough,” he says. “Smoking, drinking, God knows what else... that really the kinda friend you wanna have around?”

"She’s not a kid, dad. And neither am I,” she insists. And Joel knows it’s true; he knows his daughter has grown up right before his eyes, but that doesn’t mean he can’t still look out for her.

“Yeah. Yeah, I know. I’m not trying to step on your toes, kid. Just be careful, alright? That’s all I’m sayin’.”

She nods in defeat, and Joel knows it’s likely because she doesn’t want to hear any more of it, but she grins and throws her arms around him, and any residual discomfort that once existed within him dissipates. “Thanks for letting her stay,” she says. “I’ll make breakfast for dinner, just like we used to. She loves my French toast almost as much as you do.”

Later that night, Joel decides to set some ground rules. He can feel your gaze from across the dinner table, heavy against the side of his face. “I know it’s spring break, and I’m sure you both deserve to have some fun. By all means, grab a couple of drinks together. But whatever you do—don’t bring it home. No drinking or partying or smoking in the house. Understood?”

A barely contained laugh leaves you at his words. And immediately, Joel can sense the rapidly growing tension in the air. He hadn’t planned for his own goddamn dinner table to become a battleground, but here he is anyway. He doesn’t plan on losing.

“Something funny?”

You shake your head in response. “No, Mr. Miller. Not at all.”

Mr. Miller. Such a formal version of his name, yet it sounds so filthy in your mouth. Mocking, almost. Part of him wishes you’d let loose that snide remark he can almost see on the tip of your tongue. Maybe then Sarah would be able to see you for what you are, could see you the way Joel sees you. “Good,” he says, fixing you with a stern stare.

“We’re actually going out tonight anyway,” Sarah tells him. “Catching up with a couple of friends. So, you’ll have the house to yourself.”

After dinner, he does the dishes and has a beer, and he can vaguely hear the two of you getting ready in Sarah’s room. He’s placing a dry stack of plates back onto the shelf when the two of you come skipping back downstairs.

His hands freeze when he sees you. You’re wearing a tiny black dress that tightly hugs every one of your curves, low-cut and sinful. A pair of strappy red heels adorn your feet, elongating your bare legs and making his mouth water. Joel wonders what they’d feel like resting on either one of his shoulders, wonders what you’d look like from above him.

Sarah pops her head into the kitchen, and Joel quickly looks away, worried he’d nearly been caught. “We’re heading out,” she says. “Love you!”

“Be safe,” Joel answers in response. He watches Sarah slip out of the front door. And when you follow her, you stop just short of the threshold.

There’s a denim jacket slung over your arm; he realizes. You glance back at him over your shoulder and give him a pretty, knowing smile. Your eyes trail him from head to toe unabashedly, and Joel’s face heats under your inquisitive gaze. “I see where Sarah gets her good looks from,” you say playfully. And without giving him a chance to register the compliment, you say, “Goodnight, Mr. Miller,” and close the door behind you.

It leaves Joel standing still in the middle of the kitchen, trying to determine if your words had been some cruel joke or not. But they have to be, right? You’re flirting, plainly, unashamed. That’s not the part that confuses him. You certainly seem the type, seem like the sort of girl to sweet talk any and every man you come across just to get your way.

But you’re flirting with him—and that’s the concerning part. Because Joel’s old. Nearly twice your age and it shows on his face in the form of wrinkles around his eyes and scars on his palms.

Furthermore, you love Sarah, that’s plain to see. Even if he doesn’t like you, even if you encourage her to do bad things, Joel can’t deny the affection you hold for his daughter. And you wouldn’t do that to her, would you? He thinks of that photo again and thinks that yeah, you would. You seem exactly the type to try and seduce your best friend’s dad.

It’s a relief knowing that you’re out of his home, no longer invading his space, weaving your spider’s web. But on the other hand, it worries him, because what if you convince Sarah to get another drink when she’s reached her limit? What if you sweet talk her into taking some party drug from someone she doesn’t know? Undoing years of careful teachings from Joel and Tommy about how to stay safe in a public setting.

He goes to sleep that night and dreams of you. Dreams of that tight black dress and that devilish smile. Dreams of his name in your ambrosia-soaked voice—of how it would sound whispered, spoken, moaned.

It’s after midnight when he wakes in the darkness, face covered in a thin layer of sweat and his dick half-hard beneath the sheets. He tries not to think of you, but his phone rings on his nightstand, and even though the contact says Sarah, it’s not his daughter that talks when he answers.

“Mr. Miller? Are you there, can you hear me?”

Behind your sweet voice, he can hear a cacophony of sounds—laughter, loud music, cluttered voices, the sound of car tires against stone. “Yeah, I can hear you,” he says. “Is everything okay?”

“Uhm, not exactly.” You let out a deep breath. “I’m sorry to have to ask but do you think you could come pick us up? Sarah’s friend was supposed to drive us home but bailed at the last second. We tried walking but—”

“Where’s Sarah?” He’s already out of bed, pulling on his jeans from yesterday and lacing up his boots. A wave of anger surges in his chest. He knew something like this would happen.

“She’s right here,” you say. And vaguely he can hear his daughter’s slurring voice say through drunken giggles, “Hi, dad!”

He grabs his keys and is out the door in less than two minutes. “Where are you? I’m on my way.”

You tell him the address, and the entire fifteen-minute drive there has him fuming behind the steering wheel. Isn’t the point of going out with friends' safety in numbers? It’s dangerous for girls to be out alone, even more so to be out alone and inebriated. It’s a rite of passage to get hammered, Joel had done it quite a bit at Sarah’s age. But he’d never had to call someone to pick him up. He’d never been stranded in the middle of the city outside of a nightclub. He can’t believe you’d let this happen.

Well, that’s not entirely true. He can believe it. He just doesn’t want to.

Joel thinks tomorrow morning he’ll ask Sarah to put you in a hotel room. He’ll even cover the cost in its entirety if it gets you away from Sarah, away from him.

When he finds you, you’re sitting on the pavement outside a big brick building. It’s crowded, with people walking in and out of the door, flashing lights, and obnoxious music pouring out into the street each time it swings open.

Sarah’s sitting beside you with her head against your shoulder, laughing so hard about something that the apples of her cheeks have gone crimson. You’re smiling but the light doesn’t quite reach your eyes, and you’re holding a half-empty bottle filled with clear liquid to her mouth that she’s refusing to drink.

Joel pulls off to the side of the road and storms over to where you both sit. He rips the bottle from your hands and holds it up to his nose, inhaling deeply.

You scowl up at him. “You can’t be serious. You think I’d be giving her alcohol right now?”

“Well, I don’t know—you let her get into this mess,” he says with a biting edge in his voice. He kneels down and takes Sarah’s hand gently in his. “C’mon, let’s get you home.”

She fights him, pushing him away and muttering something incoherent. She clings to you instead, wrapping her fingers around your bicep and leaning into your side.

“I know, my love, but we’ve gotta,” you tell her.

It’s baffling to him that you have any clue what she’s saying. You must have experience in this situation, he immediately knows. It makes him even hotter with fury discovering that it’s not Sarah’s first time.

You stand on wobbly feet and Joel helps you pull Sarah up with you. Once you’re sure he’s got a good hold of her, you pick your denim jacket up from the ground, dust it off, and wrap it around her shoulders. “There you go,” you murmur affectionately. “We're gonna go to the car now, okay?” Sarah groans dramatically and slurs something in annoyance. “I know, I know—but listen. It’ll be nice and warm inside, alright? We can take a little nap. Sound good? Yeah?”

Reluctantly, Sarah nods and the both of you lead her across the sidewalk to the backseat of Joel’s car. Sarah climbs inside at an agonizingly slow pace and her head lolls against the back of the seat. You adjust your jacket to cover more of her exposed skin and hold your hand out to him. “The water,” you say.

He hands it to you and as you lean into the backseat and attempt to get Sarah to drink just a little more of it, he tries not to look at your ass that’s close enough he can feel the heat of your skin. The back of your thighs look soft and supple and he fights the urge to reach out and touch you.

It seems Joel isn’t the only one who notices. On the sidewalk a man walks by—boy, really—tall and lanky and closer to your age. He lets out a low whistle and says, “Goddamn, mama!”

Before he can think better of it Joel steps behind you to shield you from view. His fury is boiling rage now. He grabs the man by the shirt and seethes, “Keep fuckin’ walking.”

He decides right then and there that if he refuses, Joel’s going to crack his face wide open.

The man raises his hands in surrender. His breath smells like cigarettes and tequila as he says, “Hey, man, it’s just a compliment. My bad.”

Joel pushes him away and turns back to you to see your only concern is his daughter.

The way you take care of her would be admirable if this wasn’t entirely your fault.

When Sarah finishes the last sip of water, she lays down in the backseat and is snoring within moments. You close the back door and slide soundlessly into the passenger seat. The moment Joel is behind the wheel and pulls back onto the road, he lays it on thick. “You shouldn’t have let her drink so much,” he says. “Especially out in a place like this. You have any idea how irresponsible that is? Didn’t your parents ever teach you about this?”

“You’re blaming me?” You sound surprised, like the notion is something bizarre to you.

“I have a real hard time believin’ Sarah would do all this on her own,” Joel says. “Isn’t the reason girls do everything together to keep each other safe?”

“Sarah and I do everything together because we’re friends, Mr. Miller. Ever had any of those?”

“Yes, I’ve had—” He knows you’re just trying to get a rise out of him. The sad part is that it almost works. Joel turns away from the road for a second to glare at you. He shakes his head. “You got a real mouth on you, you know that?”

The corners of your lips turn up into a sinful smirk. “S’that right? You lean your elbow on the center console and lay your head against the heel of your palm. You bat those pretty, long lashes at him and Joel’s breath hitches in his throat. “Go ahead. Tell me more about my mouth.”

Joel thinks maybe he should fill it with something to get you to be quiet for once. He doesn’t say that though, even though the image in his brain forces him to adjust the way he sits in his seat. “Stop that.”

You laugh at his insistence, but thankfully do as he ask, leaning back in the passenger seat. A shiver rakes through you and Joel turns the heat up just a little.

“I mean it,” he says. “What would you have done if I hadn't answered the phone? Spent the night sleeping on the sidewalk?”

“But you did answer,” you point out. “So why does it matter?”

“It matters because she’s my kid,” Joel explains. “An’ I don’t want her out here acting like this. The world is a crazy place these days. Anything could happen.”

“You think this is bad?” It makes you laugh. “She hasn’t thrown up or tried to fight anyone. I call that a win. Can’t say the same for you, stone-cold sober Mr. Miller.” You lower your voice in a mocking tone. “Keep fucking walking,” you mimic.

You’re becoming a real thorn in his side, piercing sharper and harder with each word you speak. He begins to wonder if you’d been sent to him as a challenge from God, a testament to his patience. “You always act like this?”

“Like what?”

Like some sort of harlot, a she-devil, a vixen. “A brat,” he says instead.

You shrug, sporting a pleased look on your face. “Mm. Maybe. It’s fun.”

“You’re not gonna think it’s fun when it gets you into trouble. And when it does, because it will—I hope you leave my daughter out of it.”

Turning fully in your seat to face him, back pressed against the car door, you ask smugly, “And who exactly is going to put me in my place then, Mr. Miller? You?”

Yes, he wants to say. Yes, maybe it will be him. Maybe he’ll teach you how to behave, maybe he’ll show you what it means to be respectful. You could certainly use more than a little discipline. But he can’t say that, and so he says nothing.

Your eyes darken. “Yeah,” you whisper. “Didn’t think so.”

The arrogance has his hands blanching around the steering wheel. He wants to grab you by the jaw and force you to apologize, wants you to witness firsthand the consequences of running that pretty little mouth of yours.

Joel is thankful when he pulls into the driveway. The night air is cool against his heated skin, and he feels like he can breathe again now that he’s not stuck in that car with you.

The two of you work together to bring Sarah to her room, and Joel helps you peel off her shoes and he watches from the door as you rummage through her things, finding some sort of wipes in a blue package.

You clean the makeup gently from her face, sitting on the edge of the bed, and even braid her hair before pulling the blankets over her shoulders. She’s sleeping again by the time you finish. “Can you bring a glass of water and some aspirin? Nothing with acetaminophen. It makes her stomach upset.”

Joel nods and heads downstairs to the kitchen to do just that. It’s not lost on him that his daughter’s well-being, it seems, is the one place where your rivalry ends.

When he returns to Sarah’s room to see you stripping that tight black dress down your legs, he lingers outside in the hall just a little too long. He shouldn't. He shouldn't.

But he is, and you’re wearing a matching set of red lace beneath, and Joel’s mouth waters at the sight. All the blood in his head rushes south. Red is a fitting color for you, he thinks—the devil wears the color red. His breath comes fast, and he tries to quiet it as you reach behind your back and unclasp your bra in one deft movement.

He can’t see, not really, but that doesn’t make this any less deplorable of him. Standing outside the door, watching his daughter’s best friend get undressed with his dick steadily growing in his jeans.

The devil is a whole lot prettier than he once thought.

He can breathe a little easier when you pull on a pair of flannel pajama shorts and a t-shirt that fits snugly against your chest. Once you’re dressed, Joel clears his throat and finally announces his presence as he enters the room. “Here,” he says, sitting both the glass of water and the bottle of aspirin on Sarah’s nightstand.

He turns to leave, and quickly, but then you say his name.

“Joel?” It’s the first time he’s heard it in your mouth. It’s better than in his dream, better than in his fantasies.

His hands shake at his sides. “Yeah?”

“Thank you,” you say softly, crawling into the already cramped bed beside Sarah.

He nods silently, doesn’t trust himself to speak, and not say something disgusting. He flips the light switch and returns to his own bed with a new sort of shame.

The following night, Tommy comes to visit Sarah. They catch up in the way they always do, through shared inside jokes and playful teasing. Joel cooks in the kitchen and smiles to himself listening to the two of them, remembering so many breakfasts and dinners and outings with his favorite people in the entire world. Every couple of minutes he glances behind his shoulder to admire the view. And he does admire it…but you sit there too, across from his little brother, making yourself real cozy in the spot Joel normally sits.

You chime in every once in a while, saying something that makes both Tommy and Sarah laugh, and Joel admits silently to himself that he’s a little jealous of it.

Because from the first time you opened that mouth of yours to speak to him, you’d been nothing but disrespectful. Nothing but teasing, nothing but bratty. And yet there you sit, across from his little brother, acting like the most innocent, perfect girl.

Joel wonders why you can’t be that way with him, why you can’t seem to stop yourself from instigating some sort of negative reaction. Is it because of the rules he’d set? Is it because of his age? Tommy’s younger and arguably better looking, in Joel’s opinion. Maybe it’s a superiority complex or maybe it’s daddy issues.

Either way, seeing you hold a casual, pleasant conversation with his brother leaves a bad taste in Joel’s mouth.

And by the time Joel’s finished cooking and brings everything to the table, he’s a little more than irritated. Which is probably why he nudges the side of your calf with his boot and says, “You’re in my seat.”

The tone in his voice brings the light energy he walked into down a couple notches. Sarah goes silent, Tommy still sports his normal goofy smile but it’s falling.

You turn to face him, and Joel feels something inside him shift. Because you look so fucking pretty like that, looking up at him through your lashes. He wonders what you’d look like even lower. Wonders what you’d look like down on your knees.

Lust drenches him like water, but then you speak, and his irritation returns with a vengeance. “Is that supposed to be a question?”

“A statement, actually. Move.”

He expects you to turn to Sarah for her help, or maybe even Tommy. But you don’t. You square your shoulders and lift your chin instead. “I was here first.”

He was born first, bought this house first, bought that stupid fucking chair your ass is planted in first. “I don’t recall askin'.”

“Dad,” Sarah scolds. “God—just sit here. Don’t be dramatic.”

Tommy laughs, and the tension dissipates but lingers in his blood, lingers in your eyes. “C’mon, Joel. She’s the guest, let her sit where she pleases.”

The corners of your mouth quirk up into a smirk. “It’s just a chair, Joel,” you say.

But he knows it’s not. Sees this act of defiance for what it is; a way to push him, to challenge him. But what is he to do with his daughter and brother sitting right there beside you?

So, he relents. Accepts defeat. Sits in the chair directly across from you instead. Joel forces a smile onto his face and says stiffly, “Alright. Let’s eat, then.”

The tension dissipates slowly and the three of you return to the conversation you’d been having before Joel’s interruption. Tommy seems to have taken an immediate liking to you; Joel realizes. You share that same easy chemistry that you have with Sarah. And it’s only friendly, but Joel can’t help but feel a little envious.

You’re discussing something about one of the professors at college, one that you and Sarah both share. The professor had seemingly given you a hard time about a due date, and you’d given him an equally hard time in return. Joel’s only half listening, but he understands what it’s like to be on the receiving end of your provocation and so he comes to the defense of a man he doesn’t know and doesn’t care to. “You should learn to be respectful,” he says.

You narrow your eyes at him from across the table. “I was two minutes late,” you explain. “Are you saying I deserved a zero for a two-minute delay?”

Joel shrugs. “Not sayin’ that, but you knew when it was due, and you failed to submit it in time. That’s not his fault.”

“The school’s slow internet isn’t my fault.”

“You should have planned ahead, then,” he says. “Regardless, you shouldn’t be mouthing off to your professors. Or anyone, for that matter.”

“What’s your obsession with my mouth, Mr. Miller? You got a problem with the way I talk to people?”

He nods stiffly. “I do, matter of fact.”

Sarah lets out a dramatic groan and stands to her feet. “Okay, this has got to stop. We’re going to go watch a movie, and while we’re gone you and Tommy can do some critical thinking so when we get back, you’ll know how to be nice to my friends.”

She takes your hand in hers and tugs you out of the dining room and up the stairs.

Tommy tries to hold back his laughter but fails.

Joel resists the urge to smack his little brother in the back of the head the moment he hears Sarah’s bedroom door close. “Not a fuckin’ word,” he orders.

But of course, Tommy doesn’t listen. “Unbelievable,” he says. “When you told me Sarah was bringing a friend home from school it went a whole lot different in my head.”

“Yeah,” Joel confesses. “Mine too.”

“You do realize she likes you, Joel. Right?”

It makes him pause with the glass beer bottle in his hand halfway to his mouth. “What’re you talkin’ about, Tommy?”

“You can’t be serious,” he says. “I know it’s been a while since you’ve gotten out there but you’ve gotta be kiddin’ me, right?”

For a single second, Joel almost believes his brother. But then he shakes his head and says, “Nah. You’ve lost it.”

“Look, I’m just sayin’ that if a pretty little thing like that was livin’ under my roof asking about my obsession with her mouth…” He doesn’t finish his sentence, but Joel can interpret the rest.

“It ain’t like that, Tommy,” he says. “She’s Sarah’s friend. An’ I’m way too old for her anyhow.”

“Don’t think it matters much to a girl like that.”

Joel doesn’t understand his brother. Doesn’t understand how he could even suggest something so impractical. “Like what?”

“Y'know what I mean. That girl’s practically beggin’ to be put in her place,” he answers.

Joel hears the echo of your own words in his head. And who exactly is going to put me in my place, Mr. Miller? You?

Tommy leaves shortly after dinner, leaving Joel with obscene images swirling around in his head. He wonders if maybe his brother is right. Maybe you do like him, despite the bratty attitude you always have.

Maybe you’re pushing him on purpose, goading for a reaction to see just how far he’ll bend before he breaks.

When he’s alone in his room that night, Joel does his damndest to not think of you. He tries not to think about the way your eyes darkened when you’d looked up at him, tries not to think about that pretty, sinful mouth, tries not to think about the fact that every time you’ve spoken to him there’s been a sort of filthy undertone in your words. But his strenuous efforts keep sleep far from him, and it’s early the next morning when he finally gives up and opts for caffeine instead.

He’s leaning against the counter, watching each painfully slow drip of the coffee pot when he hears someone padding barefoot down the stairs.

Part of him expects it to be Sarah. Part of him hopes it’s not you.

But it is, of course, it is, and your hair is disheveled, and your eyes are sleepy, and fuck—you look even more beautiful like this than you’d looked all dressed up in that tight black dress.

Joel has it so bad for you, he finally admits to himself. But he shouldn’t, and so he finds himself scrambling to control it to no avail.

“Morning,” you say, nodding to the coffee pot. “Enough for two?”

“No,” he says too quickly. But there’s more than enough for two, and it doesn’t matter because you set two mugs beside one another on the counter and cross your arms over your chest.

“Okay, seriously?” He turns to face you. “What’s your problem with me? I don’t get it.”

“Nothing,” he says. Maybe it’s lack of sleep that’s got him irritated or Tommy’s words plaguing his every waking thought. Or maybe it’s just you, standing there in his kitchen, taking up his space.

“Great. The truth this time.”

He’s silent. Because he doesn’t know what to say, doesn’t know how to explain that you seem to be the most unforeseen and unforgivable thing that’s ever happened to him.

“I don’t want things to be complicated,” you say. “I know you don’t like me, and you don’t want me here, Joel. And that’s fine, but I think we can both agree what truly matters is what Sarah wants. Right?”

On that much, you can agree. “But what Sarah wants isn’t always what’s best for her,” he argues.

A crease forms between your brows. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

You want the truth? Fine. Joel decides he’ll give it to you. “Just think you’re a bad influence on her,” he says. “Never had any problems when she was in high school. Got decent grades, and never went out partying or getting so drunk she could barely stand. None of that started happening until you came around.”

There’s something akin to amusement on your face. And Joel’s about to ask what it is that you find so funny, but then the coffee is finished, and you saddle up right in front of him.

You’re so close he can feel the heat of your skin against his, can smell the remnants of perfume and strawberry shampoo. He loses all train of thought as he watches you pour the coffee into the two mugs you’d pulled from the cupboard, the act so domestic his chest aches.

“Okay, then,” you say. “How about this? If you do your best to be civil, I’ll do my best not to be a bad influence. For Sarah’s sake, I’m raising my white flag, Mr. Miller. I’ll only be here a few more days, and I’d very much like to enjoy my spring break.”

You hold one of the mugs out to him. An offering of peace, Joel realizes. He takes it and says, “Alright. For Sarah’s sake.”

The two of you sip in silence, and Joel finds himself grateful you’d forced him to say exactly what was on his mind. He wonders why it feels so easy talking to you. Natural.

And when you give him a shy smile from over your mug, he can’t help but speak just a little bit more of the truth. “For the record,” he says. “I don’t…not like you.”

The apples of your cheeks turn crimson, and it seems his words have sparked something in you that wasn’t there before because your eyes grow starry and your lips part just slightly.

He wants to kiss you, Joel realizes. Wants it more than he’s ever wanted anything in his life. Wants to feel the softness of your lips against his, wants to know just how you taste. He imagines it’s a little like coffee and a little like ambrosia and a whole lot like blasphemy.

“You guys are up early.”

Sarah’s voice cuts into him, and Joel takes a hefty step backward, putting some much-needed distance between the two of you.

“There’s coffee,” you say easily. “Want some?”

You’re pulling a third mug from the cupboard before she nods in answer. “With cream and sugar, please. Did you see what Ciara posted on her story last night?”

Joel uses that as his excuse to vacate the kitchen, having his coffee instead on the front porch with the company of his guitar.

He finds himself a little more at ease after your conversation. Even with his epiphany about how much he wants you, Joel knows you’re still a bad influence on his daughter regardless of his physical reaction to you, and it works to bring him back down to reality.

Reality being the fact that you’re half his age with filthy habits and an even filthier mouth.

But a truce would be nice. Maybe he’d even be able to make it through the remainder of your spring break without any more gray hair.

Only his hopes are squashed later that very same day, when he goes to check on the two of you lounging in the backyard beside the pool.

You’ve got a red, heart-shaped lollipop tucked in that pretty mouth of yours. It matches your tiny bikini top that leaves almost nothing to the imagination, and Joel's tongue feels like sandpaper as he drinks in the sight of you with one arm extended behind you, face upturned towards the grueling Texas sun.

Sarah lays next to you in the grass on a beach towel of her own, soft snores filling the silence.

He stares at you a little longer than he should. He knows it, and yet he can’t bring himself to look away. Can’t bring himself to notice anything but the curve of your chest or the way your hair falls down your back. You look ethereal, Joel thinks. Like some sort of devilish seductress. “Should be careful with those things,” he says. “Nothin’ but sugar. They can give you real bad cavities.”

You roll your eyes and Joel resists the urge to close the space between you and grab you by the jaw. It’s disrespectful, he thinks, to dismiss him like this in his own backyard. But not nearly as disrespectful as when you say mockingly, “Great. Now you’re going to lecture me about cavities?” You snort incredulously. “Don’t you worry, Mr. Miller, I’ll keep all of my candy far away from Sarah. No bad influences here.”

“That ain’t what I mean.” He doesn’t understand you. He’s just trying to help, to warn you of the dangers of too many confectioneries. Apparently, he’d been wrong, fooling himself into believing you’d made a sort of temporary peace.

“Sure sounds like it’s what you mean.” You pull the lollipop from your mouth, cheeks hollowing as you swallow down the flavor. Joel’s eyes are transfixed, stuck on the swell of your lips as you pull the lollipop out of your mouth at a harrowingly slow pace and stand to your feet.

Joel stands stock still as you near him, not stopping until you’re standing so close a particularly deep breath would have your breasts pushing up against his chest. Your hair falls in pretty waves around your shoulder as you tilt your head up to look at him—eyes full of playful enchantment. He can smell sun lotion on your skin and his hands twitch at his sides. “Well, it’s not,” he says.

Your gaze stays locked with his as you slowly stick the lollipop back into your mouth, tongue swirling around the sticky surface. You take one of his hands in yours, skin soft against his calloused palm. It’s the smallest of touches but it sends him reeling because you’re touching him and Joel’s lungs burn as he tries to remember to breathe. “Never said nothin’ about influencing you, though,” you tell him with a smirk, lifting his big hand to your mouth.

He does as you urge, fingers closing around the pinkened stick of the lollipop and pulling it from your mouth. It’s the most beautiful thing he’s ever seen. It’s also the filthiest thing he’s ever seen. Joel tries to remind himself that this is likely just some cruel joke to you, yet another way to get a rise out of him, but he can’t formulate his thoughts much past the way your skin feels against his.

“I think you could use a little sugar way more than me, Mr. Miller,” you say lowly.

This is wrong. He shouldn’t be standing this close to you. Shouldn’t have your spit lingering on his fingertips, shouldn’t be thinking like this.

Doesn’t matter, though. Because it seems when it comes to you, Joel Miller is weak.

He sticks the lollipop in his mouth and watches as your eyes turn molten and a barely audible whimper escapes you in response. The taste of strawberry and you coats his tongue and Joel feels himself begin to unravel. It’s even better than he’d allowed himself to imagine.

He can feel himself losing this battle and knows, too, that he can do nothing to stop it.

But then Sarah’s sleepy voice cuts through the thick air. “Dad? Hey, can we order a pizza tonight? We’re going out to catch up with some friends and I’m not really in the mood to cook.”

A knowing smile tugs at the corners of your pretty mouth before you turn away and bound over to Sarah, stretching back out across your towel like a cat in the warm sun. There’s an innocence that hangs heavy in your limbs, but Joel knows it’s just for show.

He thinks his favorite flavor may be strawberry.

“Uh, yeah. Yeah,” he stammers. “Sure. A pizza.”

Thankfully, any bratty comments you think of making for the rest of the evening remain unsaid. And though the ease brought on by your surrender doesn’t go unnoticed, it’s all but useless because Joel can’t stop thinking about you.

Can’t stop thinking about the taste of you lingering on his tongue, can’t stop thinking about the way your hands had felt against his or the way they might feel elsewhere.

It almost comes as a relief when Sarah suggests a movie for the three of you to watch together. A distraction is just what Joel needs. Something to get his mind off of you and off of the terrible things he wants to do to you.

Even though it’s some romance movie, it serves its purpose. For a little while, at least.

And then the worst thing happens.

Sarah pauses the movie a little less than halfway through. “I hate to run out on you guys but I completely forgot that Uncle Tommy wanted me to swing by in the mornin’ to help him with a job. I told him I would like two months ago so I think it’s too late to cancel,” Sarah explained to you and Joel. While you sat there, nodding politely to Sarah, Joel felt the urge to beg his daughter not to leave him alone with you.

How pathetic was it that he felt uncomfortable with a woman sitting with him on his couch? Was this what Joel had boiled up to be, a sad excuse for a man who couldn’t assert his authority in his own home? To be bossed around by a young woman, by the likes of you, was deplorable. He was a damn coward.

“Don’t stop the movie on my account. Devin said it’s supposed to get crazy later. I’ll see y’all in the morning.” Sarah leaned down, pressing a chaste kiss to the side of Joel’s jaw before turning away. He wished her a goodnight in return.

Her steps up the wooden stairs felt like Joel’s last moment of peace, knowing that you were waiting next to him, most likely already watching his every move.

His eyes betrayed him, moving to look at you curled up on the couch, your toes pressed into the meat of his thigh. You were already peering over at him, a knowing smile on your lips. They looked soft, still stained red from the sucker you allowed him to taste earlier. He felt a guilty pleasure that his tongue matched that same shade of red.

“I’m down to keep watching it if you are,” you said simply, waiting to see how Joel would react. He wouldn’t let you win this, not now, not ever. Just because you had the upper hand earlier at the pool, leaving him hot and wanting, didn’t mean that you had any control over him.

“Alright.” Joel pressed the remote, letting the movie continue where it had left off. The scene continued, with a man and a woman chatting with each other in a dark bar. Joel hadn’t heard much about the movie, but he wasn’t much of a movie watcher as it was.

He couldn’t pay much attention anyway, not with the way your feet were slowly rubbing up and down his leg. At first, he thought that he was imagining it, considering that you were just restless and needed to shift to get more comfortable. The second he realized it was no coincidence was when your left foot slid up his denim-covered thigh, pressing into his skin. The path you were making had his skin lighting up, shock waves numbing his thigh and leaving his face burning.

Just as you were about to reach the inner part of his thigh, Joel decided to reach down and grab your foot to stop you. He couldn’t sit on the couch with his daughter's friend and allow her to play footsie with him. Not only was it highly inappropriate, and ridiculously taboo, but it continued to prove to him that you were not somebody Sarah needed to be around. You were bringing out the worst in Joel, making him feel like a perverted old man. He could only pray that you weren’t bringing out the worst in Sarah.

Before he could grab your foot, you pulled it away, tucking your feet under your legs. Joel looked over at you to catch your expression, but you were remaining just as stoic as he was, eyes staying on the screen. He contemplated telling you to knock it off, but maybe ignoring you was just the best course of action. Playing into your childish antics would only encourage you to keep them up.

The movie dragged, probably because Joel was only focused on the soft hums that would leave your mouth when something interesting happened on the screen. If the main character got into some altercation, you would gasp under your breath. Joel wondered how easily he could make you gasp himself.

Anytime he had an inappropriate thought, he had to remind himself who you were. His daughter's best friend, who was directly above the living room in her bathroom, taking a shower and getting ready for bed. Letting his thoughts run rampant was the worst way to handle the situation.

But of course, the movie had to transition into some erotic, tension-filled moment between the main character and her love interest. It was building the entire film, similar to the situation that Joel was in himself. It didn’t take long before the main character was on her knees, peering up at her boyfriend through heavy lashes.

He should not be watching this with you. It was so sick, Joel was sick to not turn off the television and walk away right at that moment. He wanted to, his fingers twitched against the power button on the remote that was clenched in his hands, but he couldn’t do it.

The lead reached forward, unbuttoning her lover's pants, the noise of the zipper being pulled down making Joel exhale through his nose. Nothing was hidden from the audience, and Joel cursed the little boy who had recommended this movie to his daughter. Sarah shouldn’t be watching shit like this.

He just sat there stupidly and watched when the lead wrapped her hand around her boyfriend’s cock, pulling it out of his boxers. She leaned forward, running her lips across the base of his length. Her tongue flicked out, tasting him. She wasted no time in downing him in her throat.

Joel simply didn’t watch stuff like this, especially not with other people. God, he hardly even watched porn, only on those nights when his fist and imagination couldn’t get him where he needed to go.

Joel was sure that his poor heart was destined to explode. He was skilled at keeping a straight, stoic face, but not in a situation like this. If the clip would just hurry up, if it would just move into the next scene, please, make it hurry -

“Whatever,” you snorted from beside him.

For a second, his brain short-circuited, and he had to take a second to ground himself back into reality. This was real. He wasn’t having a wet dream, but instead some perverted fantasy was unraveling right before his eyes.

“What?” he managed to grunt out, looking over at you. Your eyes were still trained on the screen, watching the movie like nothing was even going on. How could you remain so calm?

You shrugged, crossing your arms across your chest. It made your breasts rise, your cleavage threatening to spill out of your low-cut tank top. “It’s just unrealistic.”

Don’t do it. Don't.

“How so?” Maybe Joel was a pervert after all.

Finally, your eyes met his, the dark gaze that somehow always seemed to be resting behind them making Joel’s heart thump. He didn’t know what he expected you to say, but the next few words were certainly not what he predicted.

“Because nobody sucks cock like that.”

Joel’s mouth was dry, eyes blinking stupidly. You had done it, you had stunned him into a speechless mess. He was sure that he looked like a fish out of water, gasping for air, but you didn’t grant him any pity. You just kept on going.

“I mean,” you began, shifting in your seat. You began to crawl over to where he was sitting, closing the short distance between the two of you. “I would never just take it all at once. She had the right idea at first, taking it slow. Sucking, licking, kissing all over.”

Every word that you spoke, you got closer and closer. Joel could do anything but watch and pray that Sarah wasn’t coming back down anytime soon. He still heard the shower running, reassuring him that he wouldn’t get caught. He was frozen to his seat, under your spell.

“I like to make sure that whenever I finally get a taste, that he’s squirming and begging for me to suck him off. After all, what’s the fun in rushing?”

You had officially made it to his lap, leaning forward to meet his crotch. His eyes were gazing down at you, Joel’s hands clenching the fabric of the couch underneath his palms. He wasn’t sure what to do with them, but he knew the right answer was to push you away. Instead, he settled with keeping them on his side.

You watched him with those big, naughty eyes, easily finding Joel’s growing erection pressing against his jeans. It was painfully slow to watch you lean forward, each second ticking until you pressed your lips against the light denim of his jeans.

His dick twitched from the slight touch, your warm lips tracing the outline of his cock in his jeans. A moan from the screen made his eyes flick up, watching the main character get fucked while a girl half his age was mouthing against his length.

You alternated between slow movements of your lips rubbing against him to fully licking and sucking on the material of his jeans. What felt like minutes, but Joel was sure ended up only being seconds, resulting in your spit coating his jeans. His light blue denim was now dark from your mouth, and Joel honestly believed that if he kept letting you play with his dick, he’d come right in his pants.

Fuck, fuck this is so wrong. The sound of the shower cutting off upstairs made Joel jump up, making him snap out of his lust-filled haze. He quickly pushed you away from him, accidentally causing you to tumble onto the wooden floor at his feet.

You blinked up at him, your tank top twisted, nipples peeking through the thin material, lips red and raw from mouthing at the rough material of his jeans. You were the definition of horny, and even though Joel had tossed you to the floor, he was sure if he asked you to come over and pick up where you left off, you would.

Not even mouthing an apology, he jumped up, leaving the movie and the image of your sexed-up state back in the living room. His dick pulsed in his jeans uncomfortably, his boxers sticky from where he had been slowly leaking in excitement.

He thought about you that night, even though he used all his strength not to. What he didn’t do, was touch his cock. If Joel fell over the edge and let himself come to the thought of you, all of his anger and efforts would be for nothing.

His dick was begging for release, painfully hard inside of his boxers, but he couldn’t let himself give in. He couldn’t let you win.

Not that it mattered, because he dreamed of you. Thoughts of your red lips and that sinful tongue of yours running up and down his cock. Your needy eyes watching him as you gagged, a pool of spit collecting at the base of his cock, dripping down his balls while you moaned around him.

It was no surprise when Joel woke up the next morning with his ears ringing and his heart racing in his chest. He was face down on his bed, body covered in a layer of sweat due to involuntarily grinding against his sheets while he slept. He rolled over on his back, praying that what he suspected wasn’t true.

Fuck.

His boxers were wet to the touch, his own spill coating through the cotton. He had come to the thought of you. His own body betrayed him.

“Like a fuckin’ teenager,” he grumbled, dragging himself out of his bed so he could change. Instead of walking around the house in spoiled boxers, he quickly cleaned himself up with them and tugged on a dirty pair of pajamas - he was going to take a shower anyway.

He glanced over at the clock before leaving his bedroom, surprised to see how late he had slept in. It was already almost lunchtime. You were even ruining his sleep schedule.

By the time Joel made it to the bathroom he shared with Sarah, he saw that it was occupied. He sighed in annoyance, wanting to get the dried cum off of his abdomen.

He supposed he could just go make a cup of coffee while he waited.

Joel sulked down the stairs, making his coffee in no time since he liked it black anyway. He poured it into a mug that Sarah had gotten him when she was little - a white mug with the words “this guy is one awesome dad” painted in black. The words were slowly coming off with time, but Joel still used them almost every day.

By the time he finished reading the day-old newspaper and drained all of the coffee out of the mug, Joel heard the shower stop. He’d better run in before someone else beat him to it.

Joel dodged both you and Sarah when he went back up, surprisingly, but he heard the sound of laughter coming from Sarah’s room. It reassured him that she wasn’t suspicious of what the two of you were up to last night.

A cold shower was exactly what Joel needed to get all those thoughts out of his head. It deferred him from jerking his cock which was already hard just from thinking about you. The idea of you standing naked in his shower, water running down your body, made Joel’s head swim. Such sinful, sinful thoughts.

When he finished drying himself and attempting to shake out water droplets from his graying hair, he decided that he would go to Sarah’s room later on. Maybe he could offer to pay for a hotel for you, saying that he hates that you don’t have your own privacy or your own bed to sleep in. He was sure he could create some excuse that Sarah would agree with.

The temptation of you being under his roof was becoming all too apparent. If you hung around any longer, he would either end up cussing you out or fucking some sense into you. Probably both.

Joel walked back to his room, a towel wrapped around his hips while he held another one to his head, continuing to dry his hair. As soon as he stepped in, he noticed you standing at his dresser. Your back was to the door, so Joel couldn’t see everything, but what he did see was enough.

You were shrugging on one of his old t-shirts, nothing on but a lacy bra and some panties. He didn’t know where the hell you were raised to strut through someone’s home with nothing on but undergarments, but he was fed up.

“The hell you doin’ in here?” Joel growled, pulling up the door behind him so Sarah wouldn’t hear. You jumped at his voice, your wet hair whipping around as you turned to take him in. His appearance was no better, but it was his own home. He could walk around in a towel if he wanted to.

You looked him up and down, a smile tugging at your lips. Joel just wanted to smack that smile off of your face. You were such an evil little thing, sent straight from hell to test him.

“Sorry, Mr. Miller. I didn’t pack enough shirts and Sarah said I could steal one from your dresser.” Your voice was dripping with feigned innocence. You probably timed your shower, waiting for him to be awake so you could stand half-naked in front of him.

“Look,” Joel began, tossing the towel he had in his hand on the bed, “You have to knock this shit off.”

You pouted out your lips at his words, crossing your arms. Joel had to swallow down his desire to watch your breasts move underneath his shirt that you had stolen. “Knock what off?”

“I don’t know what your game is here, but it’s gettin’ out of hand. You’re my daughter's friend for Christ's Sake, what are you gonna tell her? That you’re tryin’ to fuck her dad?” Joel’s voice was hardly a whisper, but the words were flying out before he could think it all the way through. You rolled your eyes, not even granting him the decency to respond. You attempted to move around his large stature, pushing against him to leave the room.

Joel wouldn’t let you, moving to block the bedroom door with his body. He was becoming so angry, so fed up with your childish teasing. He was convinced that you were getting off on making him uncomfortable. Why would a girl like you want anything to do with a lonely man like Joel?

He hadn’t been on a date in years, much less had sex. It was like you knew his greatest weaknesses and wanted to break him. You were just so cruel.

“You do this to all your friends' daddies or am I just special?”

Finally, he had struck a chord, and he watched your eyes glaze over, narrowing at him in annoyance. “Nope. Only the ones who seem desperate for attention.”

Joel narrows his eyes. “What the hell’s that supposed to mean?” He tries to ignore the way his heart rate picks up at your proximity, reminding himself he’s standing there trying to set a firm boundary.

“You know exactly what I mean,” you say with a roll of your eyes that has Joel’s palms just itching to touch you, to take you over his knee and show you how to behave. “You’re a real hypocrite, Joel.”

He shakes his head and runs a hand down his face in annoyance. God, hasn't anyone ever taught you proper manners? Who insults their host in their own house, in their shirt, covered in the smell of their body wash? He wants to ask, but you explain before he can.

“You like to put the blame on me, to tell me I’m a bad influence. But what about you, Joel? If this is about what’s best for Sarah, maybe she shouldn’t be staying with her dad who likes to stare at girls half his age like some kind of pervert.”

Joel stammered, wanting to deny your accusations. It wasn’t like he sought you out, no, it was the opposite. You were the one who came onto him, who was tempting him. Calling him a pervert simply wasn’t fair.

“You can deny it all you want, but I know you think about punishing me, teaching me how to be a good girl. Because you’re just a lonely old man who has no self-control.”

He was trembling, a few more pushes away from losing it. You were right, Joel had no self-control. No matter how hard he tried to push you away, you found your way right back, a magnet. He secretly liked your teasing, he wanted to know how you would moan underneath his grip when he punished you for it.

You met his eyes, unwavering, threatening him. You knew that he wouldn’t last much longer, and you would be the one to blame. The one that broke him. You opened your mouth again to speak, “I know that-”

“Daddy! Have you seen my car keys?” shouted Sarah from outside the bedroom door, making Joel flinch in surprise. His large palm reached for your face, covering your mouth to prevent you from speaking.

“Check your laundry, might be in your jeans,” Joel called back, hearing Sarah’s footsteps retreat to her bedroom. He moved to take his hand from your mouth, but you grabbed his wrist, stopping him. He looked down at you, the feeling of your skin on his making his head fuzzy.

You stick out your tongue, pressing the tips of Joel’s fingers to your lips. The sound of your wet mouth sucking the calloused ends of his fingers made all his blood rush to his dick. A deep guttural noise escaped his mouth, making it sound like he was choking on his breath.

Your eyes fluttered shut as you worked his fingers, slurping his middle and ring finger. You bobbed your head, little whimpers making his breath hitch. You, wearing his shirt, smelling like his body wash, sucking on his fingers. It was a scene right out of hell. You were a soul-eating demon, sent straight to Joel to make him commit sinful acts.

Joel pushed his fingers deeper into your mouth, taking control of the situation. You gagged a bit before pulling off of him, a string of spit connected to your bottom lip.

“I guess I’ll knock it off then,” you whispered, licking spit from his finger. You pull away from his hand, moving around him to leave, but not before glancing down at the tent in his towel. His neck warms up with the way you giggle, knowing that once again, you had won.

You step back, cracking his bedroom door open and making sure that Sarah wasn’t around. Once the coast was clear, you slipped out, giving him an innocent look of goodbye. You pressed your finger to your lips, shushing him before trailing down the hall.

Joel wondered if it was too late to start going back to church. He hadn’t been since before his divorce, but he needed somewhere his sins could be forgiven. He pushed the door shut, leaning his head against the cold wood. His palm found his cock, rubbing it with a grunt, but he dropped it before he could entirely work himself up.

“Jesus Christ, help me now,” Joel prayed, moving away from the door to get dressed.

He hated to admit that he enjoyed being at work lately. It was the only time that he could get away from you. Yeah, work had been busy and stressful recently, but anything was better than being around you.

Joel knew he was bound to slip up, lose his temper, grab all of your luggage, and send you packing. Sarah would hate him, which would break his heart, but she would get over it. Eventually.

The image of you walking around in his ratty System of a Down t-shirt made Joel’s head spin. He wasn’t even safe at work, his clients complaining that he sent them the wrong set of blueprints. All because of you, your sinful tongue, and the way your eyes looked when you were kissing the imprint of his cock a few days earlier.

He had to stay later to work through the mistakes that he had made earlier in the day, not getting home until after dark. All because of you.

When he finally got home, the house was dark and soundless, indicating to him that the two of you were asleep. Joel moved silently to avoid bothering the both of you, his old bones creaking as he walked. He stepped into the kitchen, wanting to grab a beer from the fridge.

His work boots were heavy on the linoleum tile, and just as he was going to open the fridge, he smelt an off smell. It was a smell that he hadn’t experienced in years, not since the very short period when he was single. Weed. The one fucking request he had made the first moment you stepped into his house.

If it was Sarah, he swore he was gonna tear her a new one. Instead, he found you, it's always you, through the cracked sliding doors that lead to the back porch. You were propped against the worn wood, the darkness of the night camouflaging you. The only light that revealed you to him was the red burn of the blunt in your hand when you inhaled it.

Joel’s legs moved swiftly as he walked to where you were, sliding the door open but not fully standing on the porch. “Pack your shit and go. If you can’t respect my rules, then you’re not welcome here.”

You rolled your eyes, grabbing the ashtray that Joel leaves out for Tommy’s cigarettes, stubbing out the blunt, and slipping it into your pocket. “Calm down. Sarah told me that you wouldn’t get home until later on. Not my fault that you got here early.”

You moved to walk past him, squeezing next to him to move through the doorway. Your breasts brushed against his abdomen, burning his skin. Walking away from him while he spoke was the worst decision you could’ve made.

Joel pulls up the door behind him, locking it quickly so he can follow you. You were trying to leave the conversation, but he sure as hell wasn’t done talking.

“You need to learn some damn manners, little girl,” he growls, unable to contain himself as he reaches forward and yanks you towards him. He finds some sort of sick pleasure in the way your smirk dissipates, a loud yelp coming from your lips.

No matter how much he manhandles you, you just don’t stop, your snarky mouth continuing to run. “Sarah’s the one who gave me it in the first place. Maybe you need to teach her some manners.”

Joel has had it, and against the voice in his head that is begging him to stop, he simply can’t help himself. He hears the slap before he feels the burn of his palm, your cheek matching the red on the inside of his hand.

Everything is suddenly deathly silent. Joel couldn't believe what he had just done. He had never laid his hand on a soul, not Sarah, not his ex-wife, not even Tommy when he would drink and get a little bit rowdy. This was a new low for Joel. Despite how much you enraged him, you didn’t deserve for a man double your age to knock some sense into you. No matter how much you needed it.

Joel sputtered, attempting to form a coherent thought, a proper apology. You were looking right at him, and if he wasn't so caught up in his own humility, Joel would have noticed your reaction to him slapping you. Your eyes were a shade darker, your lips pressed together as if you were trying to hold it together.

“I’m sorry,” he blurted out, but it overlapped with your desperate exhale of, “Do it again.”

He was stunned, unable to speak. Joel considered for a moment that he had misheard you until he saw the tremble of your bottom lip. Your dark eyes, ones that Joel found himself unable to trust, were now entrancing him. You spoke again. “Do it. Slap me again.”

This had to be a sick joke. There was absolutely no way that you would be begging him to lay his hands on you. Joel was unable to prevent himself from saying, “What in the hell is wrong with you?”

As a response, you dropped down to your knees, your eyes still locked on his, the only noise in the dark kitchen being your heavy breathing and the sound of the analog clock ticking on the wall. Your palms reached forward, running up his thighs slowly, deliciously.

“You want me to beg?” you asked, those pitiful puppy dog eyes making Joel question every choice he had ever made. How did those choices lead him here, in his own kitchen, where a young woman was on her knees and pleading for him to slap her in the face?

Joel’s eyes glanced over to the entrance of the kitchen, praying that Sarah was still soundly asleep upstairs. The warm feeling of your palms pressing into the cotton pajamas covering his thighs made him look back down at you. He was able to see just what you were now - a pathetic little thing. You needed to be disciplined.

Against his better judgment, and knowing that he would regret it later on, he yanked your hair back, laying another slap to the side of your face. If Sarah was asleep, she wouldn’t be for long, not with the way the crack of his palm echoed through the house.

Your hair covered the side of your face where he had slapped you, your face entirely turned away from the strength of his palm. If Joel really wanted to, he could hurt you, easily. He wondered if you wanted that too.

Whatever sickness that you had coursing through your blood was infectious; Joel could feel it himself. The second that he saw the tears filling your devious eyes, he understood that it was over for him. It was too late for him to walk out, to go back upstairs and imagine that he had dreamt up the whole thing. He had to know what those pitiful tears tasted like.

“You like that?” Joel asked, his voice gruff from gratification. He had finally rendered you speechless, your head bobbing up and down in satisfaction. If Joel had known that a thing as simple as a slap would shut you up, he would have done it days ago.

“I think you need to teach me a lesson, Joel… You gonna let me boss you around? Pretty pathetic for-” Another slap echoed through the kitchen, your surprised yelp making his heart pound in his chest. Strands of hair covered your face as you looked up at him, your chest heaving from either excitement or fear. Maybe both.

Your hands slid up to his belt, the buckle jingling from your quick movements. Finally, he won, he had broken you, and you were the one who couldn’t hold back.

You worked his belt, switching to the buttons and zipper of his jeans. A small smirk spreads across Joel’s lips at your eagerness. He knew that he could pull it out of you, make you prove that you were nothing but a desperate, pathetic little girl who had daddy issues. You held no power over him, he was the one who held all of the cards.

“Always running that mouth. Guess I should give you something to shut you up,” Joel said, reaching down and sliding his thumb into your mouth. You entertain him, sucking on the calloused pad of his finger and nodding your head.

“What do you need? Huh?” he asks, your palm wrapping around him. It was pitiful how little your hand could hold, his cock large in your grip. “Need me to fill up that pretty mouth?”

God, he hadn’t seen you look so shameful, whimpering and rubbing your lips along the outline of his tip. You were begging him with those puppy dog eyes - who was he not to let you receive your punishment?

He watched you slide his cock out of the front slit of his boxers, your eyes widening as you took him in. It almost looked painful, how his dick was red all over, throbbing in your palm. Being stuck in a house with the actual devil walking around and tempting him, being teased for days on end - of course he was going to be shaking in anticipation.

Your eyes never left his, not when you licked your first stripe from the top of his balls to the tip of his dick. He shuddered, the fist that was still in your hair tightening.

You were true to your word, teasing Joel the way that you said you would that night on the couch. You alternated from sucking little hickeys on the base of his cock, taking your time when you felt the way he trembled as you sucked his tip.

His favorite was when you pressed kisses along his shaft, a look in your eye that made Joel’s knees weak.

“Oh fuck,” Joel gasped, his hand buried in your hair as you took him into your throat effortlessly. You were fucking good at it, and though Joel knew that it had been years since his last blow job, that you knew exactly how to make him tick. The thought of some boy having you suck his cock made Joel grimace, motivating him to give you a little assistance.

Joel placed both of his hands on your head, pulling back your hair so he could get a good grip. His palms rocked you up and down, the wet mass of your tongue sliding every time he moved you. He wanted you ruined, selfishly. He didn’t deserve someone so full of life, but now that he was able to have a taste, he didn’t want to let you go.

“That’s a sweet girl, finally puttin’ that mouth to good use,” Joel praised you, your lips catching on his tip when he pulled you back. Drool was connected to your mouth from his cock, a web of salvia breaking apart. Joel’s eyes were basically glued to you, a sick thought crossing his mind.

Taking a moment, he let his drool build in his mouth before kneeling down and spitting it into yours. You were so goddamn filthy, moaning in excitement as you swallowed it down. Joel had to close his eyes just to stop himself from coming over your face.

You must had noticed his expression, slipping right back onto his cock. Shudders were racking through his body, and he knew that if he kept letting you run rampant on him, he would be a goner. “Wait, wait, slow down sweetheart. I’m not going nowhere.”

You granted him a moment to catch his breath, your mouth still wrapped around him, but unmoving. It didn’t do much to alleviate his desire, the sight of your mouth stretched around his cock making his veins pulse in excitement.

“Good girl,” he praised, rocking his hips again once he was sure he wouldn’t bust from just the sight of you. You listened, for once, letting Joel control your head with his palms. You were so obedient, so happy to let him do as he pleased.

It was an odd sight, seeing you so happy to shut up.

Every now and then you would whimper. It felt like a bucket of ice was being poured over Joel every time you moaned, bringing him closer and closer to a climax that he had only dreamed of. What a situation he was in, getting head by a girl whom Joel would’ve only fantasized about.

There was simply no way he could last, not while living a real-life reverie.

You pouted when he pushed you away from him, his cock slipping out of your mouth. It was cute, you were cute. So excited to please him. But it was his turn.

“Up on the counter,” Joel said gruffly, attempting to tuck his rock-hard cock into his pants, preparing himself for what he truly wanted to take from you. He stood back and watched you like a wolf watching its meal. He was going to devour you whole.

You do just as he asks, an eager little thing. He helped you up onto the countertop, hooking his fingers around the waistband of your shorts and pulling them down your thighs. He can feel the tremble in your fingertips as you take hold of his belt and pull him close.

Joel understands your desperation because he feels it, too. “I know, sweetheart,” he says. “I know. Don’t worry, m’gonna take care of you.”

He drops to his knees and pushes your legs apart, delighting in the way your breath catches in your throat. Slowly, he presses his mouth to the inside of your thigh. One touch and your body comes to life; back arching beautifully, hands coming to tangle in his hair.

But he wants to savor it, wants to remember it. And so, Joel moves slow, takes his time with you. His mouth travels unhurriedly upward, from one thigh to the next and back again. Once he even used his teeth, leaving indentations on your skin.

A reminder that he was here, that even if for a single moment only you were his. The sharp pain pulls a gasp from your mouth, and your grip in his hair tightens almost painfully. But then your gasp is quickly buried under a moan, and Joel decides to do it again.

By the time he reaches your center, his cock throbs in his jeans. He wants you so bad, wants to taste you, wants to take you. He waits, though. Warm breath fanning over your slick skin. Because he wants you to know what it’s been like for him since the moment you stepped foot into his home.

He wants to hear you beg.

“Joel,” you whimper, head falling back against the cupboard.

“Tell me,” he murmurs against your skin. “Say it, baby. Tell me how bad you need me.”

Your hands leave his hair and curl around the edge of the counter, legs falling even further open. “I need you,” you admit, and it’s the prettiest-sounding confession he’s ever heard. “I need you to touch me.”

He sports a wolfish grin and feels his heart hammering behind his ribcage. But Joel is selfish, and he wants more. More of your moans, more of your pretty words, more of your attitude, more of you. “Say please.”

“What?”

He presses a chaste kiss just below your navel, pushing your t-shirt up and allowing his hands to feel your soft skin. “It’s polite.”

You shake your head. “I’m not going to say that. You can’t be serious.”

“Oh, but I am.” Joel takes one hand and slides it between your legs, his touch featherlight and yet still it makes you shudder. “Gonna teach you a lesson in common courtesy, little girl.”

It’s another challenge, another battle. But Joel knows finally, finally he has the upper hand. And he refuses to give it up, even though the way you look above him is the closest to heaven he’s ever been. “You’re an asshole,” you say.

He laughs quietly and presses his stubbled cheek into the softness of your inner thigh. “And you’re a brat.”

Unstoppable force, meet immovable object.

Gently, he uses both thumbs to spread you open. “So pretty,” he whispers, breath warm against your wet skin.

“Joel,” it’s a whine now, his name in your mouth. Bordering upon a cry. He never imagined his name could sound so sublime.

“Yes?” He collects the spit in his mouth at the tip of his tongue and lets it drip just over your clit. When it falls right on target, you let out a moan and your knuckles blanch around the countertop. “Say it,” he urges. “C’mon now. Ain’t no need for all this attitude.”

“Please.”

It’s a whisper. Barely audible. He heard you well enough, and yet he asks, “What was that, baby?”

Louder and angrier this time. “Please, Joel. Pl—oh, god.”

You taste far better than he ever could have anticipated. A little bit honeyed and a little bit sinful, and Joel lets himself savor it. He traces every dip and curve between your thighs with his tongue, cementing the taste of you into his psyche.

He sucks your clit into his mouth and is rewarded with a moan that echoes in the dark of the kitchen. Joel laughs and pulls away, laying wet, open-mouthed kisses against your pubic bone. “Shh,” he says. “You’ve gotta be quiet, now.”

But the second he slides the tip of his tongue through your slit, your moans return with a vengeance.

Joel’s too selfish to allow the opportunity to see you come undone from this angle pass him by, but getting caught would ruin the moment and so he does what he’s wanted to all along.

He reaches up and slides both his middle and ring finger into your mouth. “I know you’re no good at shuttin’ up. S’okay, baby. I’ll help you,” Joel says.

And then his mouth is on you again, licking and sucking and torturing. He worships you with his tongue, flat and wide one second and sharp and pointed the next. He treats this like a religious experience, maybe because Joel feels like it is.

When he uses his free hand to press two fingers inside of you, your legs close around his head and it makes Joel let out a moan of his own. The smallest shift of his hips has the cotton fabric of his boxers brushing against his cock and a familiar jolt of euphoria runs down his spine.

Is this what he’s become? Is this what you’ve turned him into? A man so desperate, so needy for you and you only that he’s close to finishing just from going down on you?

But it doesn’t matter because your legs begin to shake and he can feel the vibrations of your moans through his knuckles in your mouth. You’re nearly there. He can tell, feels your walls pulse around his thick fingers, feels your clit throb between his lips.

“You taste so fuckin’ sweet,” he mutters against you. “Such a good girl when you behave.”

His hips have a mind of their own, seeking out the tiniest bit of friction. It’s all he needs. Release builds in his spine, and Joel’s relentless with his tongue, his hand, and then you’re there.

There, flooding his mouth, soaking his facial hair. A ragged moan slips through his fingers in your mouth, and Joel knows he’ll never forget the sound for as long as he lives. You moan so beautifully, so sinfully.

“That’s it,” he encourages, fingers stroking deep inside you. “That’s it, sweetheart. Good fuckin’ girl. My good little girl. Come for me, baby.”

You do just as he instructs, but you don’t do it alone. Joel feels himself reach the precipice as he sucks your clit back into his mouth, his release darkening the denim of his jeans for the second time since you’ve stepped foot in his home.

He wonders how it is that the best orgasm he’s ever had is completely hands-free but knows that it’s likely because he shares it with you, and that makes all the difference.

It frightens him a little, in truth. It’s like witchcraft, this hold you have over him.

The muscles in your thighs relax as you come down, and Joel stands to his feet, trailing kisses along your abdomen, your sternum, and your neck. By the time he presses his mouth to your forehead, there’s a sated, sleepy look in your eyes. He takes his fingers slowly out of your mouth, a string of saliva connecting him to you, and the sight of it makes him hard all over again. But not nearly as much as when you tell him, “I want you inside me so badly.”

At this moment Joel is ready and willing to give you whatever you want. He wants it, too. Has dreamt of it, fantasized about how you’d feel on his cock. He squeezes the supple flesh of your thighs in his hands, a groan rumbling from somewhere deep in his chest.

But then you say dismally, “But we can’t. Not here, not like this.”

It breaks his heart to hear the sadness in your voice, to know you likely feel the same guilt he’s been feeling this whole time. He nods in agreement, despite the fact that it’s the very last thing he wants to do. “S’okay. I know,” he says.

Joel helps you pull your shorts back up and helps you off the counter and back onto wobbly legs. He wonders silently if you’ll forget him. Wonders if there are boys at school who feel just as good, wonders if you’ll use them to try and wash yourself clean of what’s transpired here in Joel’s kitchen. You turn to leave, but double back.

It’s the sweetest thing he’s ever experienced when you stand on your tiptoes to press your lips to his cheek and say, “Goodnight, Joel.”

His cock still aches with the memory of your mouth, of the feel of your skin, of the way you taste, as he crawls into bed that night. Twice he has to take it in his fist before he finds enough relief to relax and close his eyes.

Yet, even in his dreams, you haunt him. Because Joel knows it’s wrong. Knows the last person on earth he should be coveting is his daughter’s best friend.

But you’d pushed him so far past his limits that he’d done the worst thing. He’d hurt you, slapped you, taken all of his frustrations out on you and what’s worse is that you liked it.

Joel will admit he’s a selfish man, but he’s never been this selfish with anyone or anything in all his life. He knows it’s wrong. He knows.

But now that he’s tasted you, kissed you, touched you…one thought plagues him more than his selfish decisions, more than his inevitable damnation.

How is he ever going to stop?

When he wakes up the next morning, there’s something akin to pride swimming beneath his skin. He likes that you share this secret together, likes that there’s something you share with him only. Unfortunately, he also knows that the elation of sharing a secret with you won’t last very long because you’re leaving for school soon.

It was your last day at Joel’s house, and he hated how much the thought of it made his chest clench. Of course, he found you ridiculously attractive, but you had done so much to change Joel’s life. You made him feel confident, wanted. It had been years since he felt that way.

It was no surprise that things wouldn’t work out between the two of you, and Joel felt ashamed of how bad he wished that it could. You were a young woman, with hopes, dreams, and ambitions. Joel couldn’t live up to all of your aspirations.

But deep down, Joel knew that he could take care of you the way you needed. He was well off after years of hard work and was used to being a provider. He could show you things that you had never experienced.

But it wouldn’t be fair. Not to you, and not to Sarah. His deepest priorities lay with his daughter. Joel could never allow himself to hurt her, no matter how young you made him feel. No matter how much his heart raced when you flashed him a pretty little smile.

Sarah had asked Tommy to come over for lunch before the two of you drove back to school. One last meal before Joel had to say farewell to his little girl, and her best friend.

Joel was coming home from his lunch break at work so he could bid farewell. He constantly told Sarah that he could request the day off but she refused adamantly. Said that it was good for him to have something to do rather than sit around.

He saw Tommy’s truck when he pulled into the driveway, indicating that he was already in the house. Joel felt the same way he did the first night you had met Tommy; jealous. Jealous that Tommy was much closer in age to you, not as developed in his life. No kid, no divorce, no responsibilities.

Joel wondered if you flashed Tommy that pretty grin of yours. Just the thought made him sick.

When he made it inside, he found all three of you laughing and chit-chatting at the dining room table. Watching all of you talk scratched a spot in his brain, one that he hadn’t scratched in a long time. The feeling of comfort, and stability. The feeling of being wanted.

“What did I miss?” Joel asked, joining in on the conversation while simultaneously stealing a chip off of Sarah’s plate. She shot him a fake pout, swatting at his hand.

Joel finally met your eyes, his mouth getting dry when he looked at you. So pretty, sitting in his kitchen in his house, eating his food. It was a sight he couldn’t grow tired of.

“Miss Scholarships was just telling us all about her full ride,” Tommy snorted, his praising words making you shake your head with a bashful smile. Scholarships?

“I’m telling you, she helped me get, like, three of my D’s to an A. I owe her my entire Sophomore year.”

Joel was speechless, still standing behind Sarah with a chip in his hand. He glanced back down at you, a quizzical expression on his face. “So how did y’all two meet?”

Sarah looked surprised, throwing a look of confusion at him. “I didn’t tell you? The college assigned me a tutor, and it was her. She’s the best of the best.”

“You guys are too sweet. It was nothing, really,” you said, waving your hand in the air, dismissing their praise. Holy shit. You had played him. Effortlessly.

Joel felt your eyes watching him, and when you finally met your heavy gaze, you fucking winked. He felt frozen, in complete disbelief. Not only was he wrong the entire time, but he had allowed himself to get so caught up in everything. And you let him.

He swallowed, trying to take in this new information and what it meant to him. Truthfully, it made his chest tighten. You had played him, and even though you weren’t the bad girl that you portrayed yourself to be, you were bad after all.

You had tricked your best friend's dad, seduced him, toyed with him. Part of him was offended, but the other part found some sort of weird gratification with it all. It proved to him that whatever happened between the two of you wasn’t something that you would typically partake in. It meant that maybe, you found Joel just as enticing as he found you.

“Oh,” was all Joel could say, his mind running haywire. Sarah and Tommy didn’t really pick up on his newfound realization of who you actually were, but you sure did. Whenever Joel sat down and joined everyone for lunch, he kept meeting your eyes, a playful energy swirling behind them. It made his heart race.

Later on, after you and Sarah were packing and Joel was cleaning up the dishes before he had to get back to work, Tommy approached him in the kitchen.

“It seems like the two of you are gettin’ along much better. Got somethin’ you wanna share?”

Joel grunted, not planning on entertaining his brother. “Not really.”

“Aw, come on Joel,” Tommy begged, leaning against the counter, “I’m sure a girl with that big of a mouth would be happy to let me in on y’all’s little secret.”

“Don’t,” Joel barked, tossing a clean plate into the empty sink with a clatter. There was a harsh edge to his voice that he could tell Tommy wasn’t expecting. Tommy’s eyes widened at the aggressive nature of Joel’s tone, putting two and two together. Joel rarely got visibly furious, not since after his divorce. The only time that Joel let out his anger was when he was being quite clearly provoked, and pushed.

Tommy let out a low whistle. “Jesus Christ, Joel. Don’t tell me you slept with the girl.”

Joel’s focus turned back to the dishes, hoping that if he ignored Tommy, he would just go away. “Of course not.”

“Okay, forget sleepin’ then. What else, kissin’, touchin’?”

Joel continued to play dumb, not replying to Tommy’s accusations. Well, Joel supposed that they weren’t really accusations since they were true.

He could feel Tommy’s eyes still on him, the kitchen silent except for the sounds of Joel washing the remaining plates in the sink. Joel knew that his little brother wasn’t one to let things lie, but he hoped that for just this once, he would.

Of course, Tommy wouldn’t.

“Fine then, I’ll go ask her.”

Joel turned around quickly, his wet palm finding Tommy’s wrist. He held him slightly, trying to stop Tommy from going up and asking all sorts of questions. Even though Joel didn’t really believe that Tommy would go and bother you, he couldn’t risk it, not with Sarah in the house.

“Fuck, okay Tommy. We fooled around, but that’s all. It didn’t mean nothin’.”

Joel suddenly heard a creak from outside of the kitchen. He quickly went to survey the area to make sure Sarah and you weren’t around. He didn’t see anything, thankfully, because Tommy just kept on talking.

“After all of those years of settin’ up dates for you, you follow the cliché route of messin’ around with your daughters’ best friend? I got to give it to you Joel, I didn’t think you had it in you but you certainly proved my ass wron-“

“Drop it. Sarah can’t know about any of it. It shouldn’t have happened, and it won’t happen again. Let it go,” Joel commanded Tommy, his dark eyes locking onto his Tommy’s. Something about his little brother is that Joel knew he could trust him. Yeah, he might not hear the end of his teasing, but Tommy knew how to keep a secret.

Tommy pursued his lips, his back still pressed against the kitchen counter. All it took was a slight nod from Tommy for Joel to breathe again. The secret was safe.

“But when we’re at work, you’re giving me the details. Gotta see how my big brother got swindled,” Tommy snickered, making Joel roll his eyes. He moved back to the sink, finishing up the dishes and drying his hands when he heard both you and Sarah coming down the stairs.

Joel hoped that Tommy could behave himself with you around.

“Alright boys, we’re about to head out,” Sarah spoke as she stepped into the kitchen, her suitcase in her hands. You stood silently behind her, a small smile on your face. Joel wondered if you were sad to be leaving, or if you had pretty much gotten what you came for.

“Let me help you load up some of that,” Tommy said, walking across the kitchen to take the luggage from Sarah’s hands.

“I still have my suitcase upstairs, let me run and get it,” you said, Joel quickly jumping on the opportunity to get a moment alone with you.

“I can get it for you, take it out to the car.”

Joel noted how it seemed like your face fell at his offer, but you quickly sobered up, giving him a small smile and a nod. “Okay.”

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Sarah look at Tommy with a dumbfounded expression, probably wondering when you and Joel got buddy-buddy. Tommy replied with a Cheshire grin and a shrug, hardly containing his excitement over the situation. What a moron.

Joel followed you upstairs as Tommy and Sarah went out to the car. Joel knew he had to make it quick, so as soon as he heard the front door close, he started to speak.

“Why didn’t you tell me that you were Sarah’s tutor?” he asked, following you through the upstairs hallway to Sarah’s room. He watched you shrug, throwing a glance back at him.

“You never asked.”

That wasn’t much of an excuse and truthfully didn’t clear up anything for him. Joel sighed when he finally made it to Sarah’s room, cracking it behind him. He watched you make your way across the space, grabbing your suitcase and turning to him. You looked lovely, standing there in his daughter’s bedroom. The situation was so incredibly wrong, but it felt impossible to look at the bad when you looked so damn pretty.

“I didn’t think that I should’ve had to.”

Joel was finally sensing the energy. Something was off. That devious glint was no longer behind your eyes; now it was replaced with something that just felt like annoyance. Anger.

“Guess it didn’t matter. Since it didn’t mean anything.”

Fuck, you had heard him downstairs when he was talking to Tommy. He knew that he heard somebody there. Joel quickly tried to explain, tried to tell you that he was just trying to calm Tommy down, but you didn’t give him the chance.

“It’s fine Joel,” you said, and for the first time, his name sounded like a curse on your lips. It sounded bitter, so full of anguish that he wanted to scream. “We knew it wouldn’t work out anyway. It’s probably for the best.”

“That’s not true,” he said, a determination behind his tone. You smiled, and for a second, he thought that maybe he had a chance at winning you over. You closed the space between you and Joel, the old wood floor creaking as you stood before him.

He looked down at you, looking at your beautiful eyes, lips, and the way your eyelashes fluttered in anticipation. You were an ethereal thing, one that he used to consider demonic, but now he simply believes could be an angel after all.

You leaned up and kissed him, actually kissed him. You tasted sweet on his lips, like honey and poison and everything else that he probably shouldn’t taste but wanted to anyway. His body felt limp in your touch, your soft hands pressing into the sides of his face, grounding him.

When you pulled away, it took every atom in him not to kiss you again, but it was then that he saw the look in your eyes and knew it was over. He had fucked up, accidentally, like he always did.

“Bye, Joel,” you said, running your hand down his face, palm brushing against his beard. Your hands continued to run down his body until you reached your suitcase that was sitting on the floor next to Joel.

You said nothing else and gave him no indication that he could fix what he had ruined.

He didn’t stop you from leaving the room, but he took a second to compose himself before he went downstairs to say his farewells. Once Joel finally did make it outside, you were already in the car.

“Come say goodbye to me, Daddy,” Sarah said, running up to hug Joel. He held her tight, whispering in her ear, making sure that she promised to stay safe and keep him in the loop.

“You know I will. We gotta go now if we want to make it back before dark. I’ll call you when I get there, okay?” Sarah said, running over to hug Tommy. “Bye!”

Joel watched Sarah pull out of the driveway, giving her a wave goodbye, which she returned. He felt so selfish because he was secretly waiting for you to turn around in the passenger seat, and flash him those eyes he was all too familiar with. With every passing second, he waited, waited, waited.

It never came. He watched the side of your face until he couldn’t make out the shape of the car anymore.