Work Text:
You wore that dress on purpose.
You hadn’t worn it in months, not since the weather turned. But tonight? You were itching for attention. His attention.
Joel fucking Miller, with his quiet brooding looks and hands that could break a man’s neck or knead bread dough—depending on his mood. You’d caught him staring halfway through the gathering, a beer in his hand, that sharp jaw clenched tight.
Joel had been staring at you all night like he wanted to tear you apart, and the worst part? You wanted him to. You wanted to see just how far that scowl of his could go, wanted to know how hard those calloused hands could grip. How soft his drawl could sound when you had your thighs around his ears.
You flirted with someone else just to push it. Laughed a little louder, bent a little further. Just enough to test him.
And you passed the test.
Because now you’re stumbling into the stables, your back hitting the wall hard enough to knock the air from your lungs, and Joel slams the door shut behind him.
“What the fuck do you think you’re doin’,” he snarls, voice low and lethal.
Your heart pounds.
He crowds you, chest heaving. “You think I didn’t see you? Smilin’ at that little shit. Laughin’ like you didn’t know I was watchin’. You wanted me pissed.”
You swallow. “Maybe.”
That’s all it takes.
“You like teasin’ me, huh?” he growls.
The smell of horses and sweat is thick in the air—but all you can breathe is him.
“I saw you,” he says low, voice dripping with venom and lust. “Flirtin’ with that idiot by the food table. Laughin’ like you ain’t already mine.”
“I’m not yours,” you gasp, though your thighs clench when he pushes a thigh between them.
His hand grabs your jaw, forcing your gaze up to his. “The fuck you ain’t.”
Joel’s mouth crashes into yours. It’s not a kiss—it’s a punishment. Teeth, tongue, a low groan rumbling from his chest when you whimper against him. His hands are everywhere—tugging your dress up, finding bare skin.
“You came out here wantin’ this,” he mutters, lips dragging over your throat. “That little fuckin’ dress—knew it’d get my attention.”
“I wore it for me,” you breathe, but it’s weak, shaky, and he knows it.
“Bullshit.”
His fingers find your panties—already soaked—and he chuckles darkly. “You’re drippin’. Goddamn. All that attitude, and you’re fuckin’ soaked just from me lookin’ at you.”
You whimper when he shoves your panties aside and drags a rough finger through your folds.
“So fuckin’ wet,” he mutters like he hates you for it—but he’s obsessed.
His lips find your neck again, biting hard enough to leave a mark while his fingers press inside you—one, then two—curling deep, slow, until you’re gasping.
“Bet he wouldn’t know what to do with this pussy,” he growls. “Not like I do.”
“Joel,” you pant, hips rocking against his hand.
“Say it again.”
“Joel—fuck.”
He pumps harder, rougher, until your legs shake. You’re clinging to him now, nails digging into his shoulders, dress hiked up around your waist while he ruins you with his fingers alone.
“That’s it, darlin’. Gonna come just like this?” He kisses the corner of your mouth. “On my fingers? In the fuckin’ stable like a dirty little slut?”
Your walls flutter around him—so close it hurts.
He grins against your jaw. “That’s right. Come for me. Let me feel how much you fuckin’ need it.”
Your body arches, spasms, a cry ripping from your throat as you come hard—legs trembling, mouth slack, stars bursting behind your eyelids.
But Joel isn’t done.
Joel growls, grabs you, spins you around and slams your front against the wall. His hand snakes around to yank the front of your dress down, exposing your tits to the cold air.
And then he’s pulling you back, dragging you down to the floor. You stumble, and before you know it, you’re on your knees in the dirt and hay, the rough ground biting into your skin.
Joel stands above you, already undoing his belt, voice gravel-rough. “You want attention? You got it, sweetheart.”
You glance up at him through your lashes, panting. He’s got that look in his eye—hungry, dangerous. His cock’s already hard when he pulls it free, thick and flushed.
“Open your mouth,” he growls.
You obey without question, and he groans as he strokes himself once, twice, then slaps the head against your tongue.
“Look at you,” he mutters, staring down at you like you’re a meal. “Prettiest little slut in Jackson. On her knees in the dirt with drool already on her chin.”
He thrusts into your mouth without warning, hitting the back of your throat with a grunt. You choke, but he doesn’t care. His hand grabs the back of your head, holding you there while he fucks your mouth.
“Take it,” he hisses. “That’s right. Take it all. Fuckin’ knew you’d be good at this.”
Your eyes water. Spit runs down your chin, and he groans again when you gag around him. You grip his thighs for balance, letting him use you.
“Messy girl,” he mutters. “Gettin’ off on this, huh? Bet your pussy’s drippin’ just from havin’ my cock in your mouth.”
You whimper around him. He pulls out suddenly, breathing hard, cock slick with spit.
“Turn around,” he says. “Bend over. Hands on the wall.”
You scramble to obey, legs trembling. He steps behind you, and you gasp when his hands push your dress up—just high enough to expose your soaked panties.
“Well I’ll be damned,” he mutters. “You’re fuckin’ soaked.”
“Y’know what I figured out?” he rasps, lining himself up. “You like it rough. Like when I use you. You want me mean.”
You moan helplessly, heart pounding.
He slides two fingers inside you—rough and deep. You moan, forehead pressed to the wall.
“Joel—please—”
“Please what?” he says, curling his fingers cruelly. “You wanna come again already?”
You nod frantically.
He pulls his hand away.
“Too bad.”
You sob out a frustrated noise, hips twitching.
Then he’s there—lining himself up behind you, dragging the head of his cock through your slick.
“You ain’t gettin’ it gentle,” he warns. “Not after that little stunt tonight.”
And then he slams into you.
You cry out, body jolting against the wall. He grabs your hips, bruising grip as he pounds into you.
“Fuckin’ tight,” he groans. “This pussy’s mine. You hear me?”
“Yes—Joel—yes—”
“You don’t flirt with anyone else,” he snarls. “Not when this sweet little cunt belongs to me.”
You’re moaning uncontrollably now, each thrust shoving you up against the wall. His hand snakes around your throat, squeezing just enough to make your head spin.
“Dirty fuckin’ girl,” he breathes into your ear. “Gettin’ choked and fucked like a whore in a stable. You like this?”
You can barely speak. “Yes—fuck—yes—”
“Say it.”
“I’m your dirty girl—yours—only yours—”
Joel groans loud, hips slamming harder.
“Bet no one’s ever fucked you like this,” he mutters. “Bent you over in public. Made you drool all over yourself.”
Your legs tremble. You’re so close, can’t take much more.
“I shoulda done this a long time ago,” he snarls. “Shoulda bent you over and filled you up the second you walked into Jackson.”
His fingers find your clit, rubbing rough and fast.
“You’re gonna come again,” he commands. “Don’t give a fuck how sensitive you are. You’re takin’ it.”
He growls. “Come on my cock like the needy little slut you are.”
You cry out as it hits—hard—your whole body tensing as your orgasm rips through you. Your walls spasm around him, and Joel curses behind you, panting.
He pulls out suddenly.
“Get back on your knees.”
You’re barely coherent, but you do it—collapsing to your knees in the dirt again, still shaking.
Joel fists his cock in front of your face, eyes locked on the wrecked state of you—flushed, lips parted, dress bunched up around your hips.
He strokes himself fast, groaning.
“Gonna ruin that fuckin’ dress,” he grits out. “Mark you so everyone knows who you belong to.”
You whimper, mouth open, desperate to taste him.
But instead—he groans loud, cock jerking, and hot ropes of cum spill all over your dress, streaking the front of it, dripping down the fabric and soaking into the neckline.
“Fuck,” he pants, hand squeezing the base of his cock, a few final drops falling onto your chest.
The smell of sweat and sex fills the air.
You stay still—frozen, panting, come dripping down your dress—as Joel steps back and zips up his jeans.
For a moment, all you hear is the heavy rise and fall of your breath. The stable’s gone still again. Quiet. But your heart is still racing.
Then Joel crouches in front of you, calloused fingers gently tilting your chin up.
His voice is soft now—low and dangerous in a different way.
“You wear that dress again,” he murmurs, thumb brushing across your spit-slick lips, “I ain’t stoppin’ at this.”
You blink at him.
He smirks, brushes a kiss to your jaw.
“Next time, I’m fillin’ you up.”