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“Joel,” you say, your voice firm as you watch him set the gift back on the diner table. The two of you are tucked into a corner booth, savoring coffee that someone else had to pour for a change and a stack of pancakes that could easily double as a pillow.
After weeks on the road, you've finally made it to Texas—his hometown. Just outside of Austin, you’re both eager for a bed that hasn’t been broken in by a thousand strangers. Joel’s just as excited about having you to himself, in the comfort of his own home; to be able to bend you over whenever and wherever he wants. But tonight, it’s still the Western Motel, a place straight out of a movie set, with a restaurant that’s got the same old-school charm. You like it—it feels like home.
“Darlin’,” he says, his voice warm, eyes locking onto yours with that look that still makes your insides melt.
“What is this?” you ask, eyeing the bag suspiciously.
“It’s a bag,” he replies, deadpan, but the twinkle in his eye gives him away.
“No kidding, Miller. Where did it come from?” you press, slicing into the pancakes.
He just smirks, enjoying himself a little too much. “Me.”
You roll your eyes, and he grins. Just as you’re about to demand more details, he cuts you off.
“You know, Darlin’, usually to find out what a gift is, you gotta open it.”
You do know that, but what you also know is that you don’t have anything to give him in return. And it’s almost his birthday. Shouldn’t you be the one handing out gifts?
Your lips twist into a frown. “Joel, I don’t have anything for you,” you admit, voice trailing off, but he just chuckles softly.
“I don’t want anything, sweetheart.”
“Yeah, but... it’s almost your birthday. I should be the one giving you something.”
He shrugs. “Alright, well, let’s just call this a ‘just because’ gift. Besides, I think we can work something out for my birthday once you see what’s inside.”
You grab the bag, fingers fiddling with the ribbon, eyes sparkling with anticipation. “Okay, only because I do love a good present.” He watches you with a tenderness that makes your heart squeeze, those fine lines around his eyes crinkling as he takes in your struggle with the stubborn ribbon.
“Did you superglue this thing? I can’t get it open,” you huff, frustration creeping in, and he laughs, reaching into his pocket.
“C’mere,” he says, holding out a hand, the other one pulling out a pocket knife—ivory, engraved with horses. With a swift slice, the ribbon falls away, and you shoot him a look that says it all. My hero. My hero.
When you reach into the bag, you still, eyes darting over to Joel. Quickly you’re removing the You reach into the bag, your hand pausing as you glance over at Joel. Quickly, you dig past the ruffled newspaper—a typical Joel move, substituting tissue paper with something more practical—and pull out a pair of leather chaps. They’re beautiful—all black, with fringes along the sides, the stitching perfect, the leather soft and rich under your fingers. A satisfied little sigh escapes your lips, and you say his name, softer this time.
“Joel.”
He sips his coffee, watching every flicker of excitement cross your face. He remembers that conversation on the road, about love languages, your legs draped over his as you talked about how much you appreciated thoughtful gestures. He might not remember all the love languages—mostly because your skin on his had him a bit distracted—but he knew this would make you happy.
That’s why when you’d admired those chaps at the rodeo, then walked away after seeing the price tag, he knew what he had to do.
So he bought them.
And saved them for this moment.
“Do you like them?” he asks, hoping for an enthusiastic yes.
“Do I like them? Are you kidding? I love them, Joel… this is too much. These cost a fortune—”
He cuts you off, shrugging it off like it’s nothing. “You’re worth it, sweetheart.”
Your mouth opens and closes as you hold them up, admiring the craftsmanship. “I can’t believe you did this for me,” you say, letting the leather settle in your lap, careful not to let it touch the syrupy plate in front of you.
“I’d do anything for you,” he says, and it’s true. He says it often, and though it’s taken time, you’re starting to believe he means it. Your eyes glisten as you look at him, your smile turning a little watery as you run your fingers over the polished studs.
“Thank you,” you say, meaning every word. You’re not used to people doing things like this for you. That’s when it hits you—how far from lonely you’ve come, how grateful you are that he walked into that diner that day, how much you love him with every mile you’ve put between you and that small town.
“You’re more than welcome. Besides, I can’t say it’s an entirely selfless gift... I’m pretty much dying to see you in them.”
He looks at you with those deep, soulful eyes, and you realize you’d do anything for him too.
And it seems like he’s got the same thought.
He pulls a twenty from his wallet, sets it on the table, and takes a final sip of his coffee, holding your gaze as he does. When he sets the cup down, there’s a look in his eyes that tells you exactly what he has in mind.
“Come on, sweetheart. Let’s go put them on, and you can thank me on your knees.”
Fuck.
++++
He grumbles as he leads you from the restaurant, his grip firm on your hand, the other clutching your gift. In the hotel parking lot, his fingers search his pocket for the keycard. Reaching the door, he swings it open with a flourish, gesturing for you to enter first.
The hotel room is a familiar scene, mirroring countless others with its paisley bedspread, dated art, and garish wallpaper underfoot by a dark green carpet. The room, musty and dated.
With the door shut, Joel admires you as you take in the surroundings of the room. Your beauty is a stark contrast to the decor – the slender column of your neck, the sharp angle of your jaw, the silver chain with the turquoise charm that sits perfectly in the little divet of your throat.
You’re perfect.
Almost too perfect.
It makes him want to dirty you up a bit, make you do filthy things just for him.
He steps closer, his eyes darkening with intent. "Show me the chaps," he commands, nodding toward the bag in your grip.
You hesitate, noting your leggings. "I should change, they need to be worn with jeans."
He shakes his head, his voice firm. “Nu-uh, baby. They need nothing. Lose the clothes, I wanna see,” he juts his chin in your direction, his dark eyes flaring in your direction.
Suddenly shy, a habit that’s hard for you to break, you quietly ask him “You..you want me to put them on naked?”
God, he love seeing you like this. All soft, shy, innocent. Mostly just because it’s all the more satisfying when he fucks it out of you.
“That’s right, sweetheart. You heard me – strip,” he commands, his heavy gaze surrounding your entire being, getting you wet from the pools that have become his pupils.
Your cheeks twitch a bit as you glance away momentarily, shy, but eager. He’s never given you a reason to feel embarrassed with him.
You take the chaps from the bag, and drop them onto the carpeted floor, rolling your lips together as you position them to step into.
You begin to undress, and Joel watches you like a total voueyer. You’re just undressing, but he looks at you like you’re a snack, something sweet he can’t wait to devour.
With your shirt and bra now gone, your perky tits pop out with a playful bounce. You don’t even need to see his cock to know it’s straining in his jeans at the sight. You peel off your leggings, bending over to clear them from your ankles and toes, before tossing them toward your open suitcase on the floor near the bed.
You stand there in front of him, fully nude, giving him a moment to admire.
“Good grief, baby” Joel says, taking a small step back and admiring the view, “You’re the picture of perfection.”
Even after all of the times he’s seen you naked, he still looks at you like you’re a masterpiece, a piece of art holding court just for him to gaze at. It’s a look you hope you’re always met with.
You give him shy smile, and take a step into the chaps that are on the floor in front of you. Joel does the same – taking steps to be closer to you, craving your touch, your closeness. He slides his hands over your hips, and the globes of your round ass as he drops to his knees in front of you.
“You’re too fucking much, baby. Always have been. Too good, too pretty, too perfect for a man like me,” he growls, his lips pressed into the soft mound of your bare stomach.
“No, Joel, you are,” you reassure him, your hand cupping his cheek, fingernails rasping over the softness of his facial hair. You look down at him, and gently encourage him to tilt his head up to look at you. With a softness you didn’t realize you had inside of you until you met him, you let the truth spill from your lips. “I think I’ve wasted enough time with men who aren’t good enough to know that you are better than good, more than enough.”
He closes his eyes, as if to soak up your words. You’ve come to realize for as bold and brave as Joel is, sometimes he needs words of encouragement just as much as you do.
He presses a kiss to your stomach and lets out a soft groan, before letting his callused hands trail down from your hips, down the sides of your bare legs, to reach for the chaps around your ankles. He pulls them up, and hitches them around your waist, feeding the soft leather strap through the buckle, watching the silver detailing glint beneath your hip bones.
Wrapping one piece of leather around your leg, he starts the zipper at the top and pulls it down, careful not to catch any of your bare, perfect skin as he does. When he moves to the opposite side, you notice a slight tremor in his hand – an ache to touch, to consume, to claim.
You thread your fingers through the dark and silver curls on his head, and he pulls the zipper on the opposite leg all the way down. He leans forward and gives the slit of your pussy one long, firm lick. He can’t be those close and not pay her some attention .
Your fingers tighten in his hair, and you pull him closer. You hear a rumble in his chest, and can’t help the slight moan that naturally escapes from the crease of your lips as he gives your clit a good hard pull with his mouth.
Your voice breaks the silence with a moan, his name escaping your lips for the third time today—this one raw and primal.
“You know, sweetheart, for a girl who’s never had her pussy eaten before me, you’ve sure developed a taste.”
You tense, pushing his head back. “Is it too much?” you ask, wide eyed, feeling the fever of embarrassment creeping up to your face, “Shit, I’m sorry…” Grabbing at his shoulders, you try to pull him up, but he stops you by shoving two fingers into your already slick, warm hole. Your body betrays your mind.
“Sweetheart, stop. It’s never too much, I’m the one who’s developed a taste. Can’t get enough of ya,” he says, leaning forward again, on his knees for you, and gives you another long, firm lick.
“There could never be too much of this. I’ll eat this pretty pussy all day, every day, if it means I get to watch you squirm around and beg for my cock. I love doing this for you.”
His fingers pump into you languidly as he sucks at your clit, the way that only he knows how to, the way that always has you so close, so fast. When he pulls away, you squirm for him, all frustrated and huffy. It’s a look that he hopes he’s always met with – you desperate for him, a mess for him and only him.
You lean on him, and he pulls away to stand, gripping the bowl of your skull to plant a firm kiss on your mouth. “You see how fucking good you taste?” he slides his tongue into your mouth, and you swallow the dirty moan he makes at the back of his throat.
Which is precisely where he plans to go next.
He steps away to get a better view of you, his slutty little cowgirl. Sexy, fancy leather chaps, tits heaving, eyes a little glassy.
And he fucking loves it.
“Spin,” he says, twirling his finger, watching you swallow hard. “Let me see you.”
Your lips roll together, and your nipples pucker even tighter at his command. He admires the wetness glistening on your bare cunt. Part of you wishes he’d stare just long enough to let his mind take over, tell him to throw you down and just go to town, but he just stares, the painful stiffness in his jeans all too apparent.
“Well, how do I look?” you ask, facing him now.
“Perfect,” his voice is gravel.
“That so?” you ask, your head tilting to the side.
He curls a thick finger, urging you to come closer. Your bare feet pad toward him, and he reaches out for you chin, tipping your fresh face up to his, your heart stuttering in his chest.
“You’re just about the prettiest thing I’ve ever seen, if I do say so myself, pretty as a princess,” he muses, letting a grin touch his lips. “And do you know where pretty princesses belong, darlin?”
“Where?” you ask, your voice soft but thick.
He points to the floor below you.
“On their knees.”
Your eyes widen, but your lips roll together to hide a hungry smile. Fuck . You love it when he talks to you like this.
“Lose you shirt,” is your only response.
You watch as he shrugs off his leather jacket, grips the back of his neckline with one hand and tugs hard, ripping it off and tossing it away. Your palms trace over his chest, over the broadness of his shoulders, pausing a moment to tighten your fingers over the bulge of his bicep.
He might consider you the epitome of perfection, but the way he looks at you right now, you can't help but think he surpasses you in that regard.
His cock twitches as your hands slide down his torso, lowering yourself to the ground at his feet. And suddenly you feel it – the need to rush, to have him now . Your hands fumble with his fly like you can’t get to his cock fast enough. Like you’re starving.
His cock springs up between you both when you tug his boxers down, and you waste no time wrapping your hand around his thick girth, licking with a flat tongue over the head, pausing to lap at the bead of pre-cum that’s gathered at his slit, all the while tipping your eyes up to look at him.
“Keep looking at me like that and I might just blow my load on your face, sweetheart.”
You giggle and do it again.
“Good. Do it.”
He growls, making a deep, feral sound.
But you don’t give him the chance. You open wide and take him to the back of your throat as you go.
His head falls back and his eyes close. “Fuck, baby.”
You suck him slow, but firm, hands working the base, head bobbing eagerly. When he finally risks a look down at you, he’s met with your near-worshipful expression on your face.
He slides his rough hand over the line of your jaw, “you love this, don’t you?”
And you do. You really fucking do.
You hum and nod, head tilting into his hand a little.
His opposite hand wraps around the column of your thoat, helping guide your movements on his cock.
“Touch yourself.”
You blink, but remove one hand, sliding it down between your legs, eyes hooding when you get where you need to be.
“That’s it,” he says, thrusting into your mouth slowly, letting you focus on yourself, watching intently as you slide one finger in and pull it back out to swirl at your clit, lids fluttering as you do.
When your eyes close and you moan, he almost explodes on the spot. He squeezes the back of your neck tighter, holding your head still and then increases the speed of his thrusts into your mouth.
“What a good fucking girl you are, fucking your fingers while I fuck your throat.”
Your eyes flip up to his instantly, going wide right as your chest and neck warm with a flush. You cry around his cock, body shaking, as you come apart, leaving the gift of your orgasm at the alter of the gorgeous man above you.
He can’t wait any longer.
He pulls himself from between your lops, the comfort of your mouth, and slides his hands under your arms, picking you up while kicking off his pants, bending you over and pushing you face first onto the bed.
You crawl up onto all fours, baring yourself to him, whimpering desperately.
“Joel, please.”
He squeezes his hard cock in his fist, eyes glued to your glistening pussy, clenching and releasing with the aftershocks of your orgasm.
“Please what, baby?” he torments, only edging himself more, wanting to hear you beg for it, beg for him.
“I want it. I want you, all of you…need it Joel, please,” you say, glancing over your shoulder, eyes wild and sparkly, naturally arching your back a tad more and pushing your ass out to him.
He steps forward and places his bare hands on your ass, rubbing, spreading. His cock throbs like it never has before, and he’s grateful that for as shit as this hotel is, at least the bed is the perfect height for him to slide right into you.
He slips two fingers back into your pussy, asking a question he already knows the answer to, “You want me?”
“Yes. Yes, Joel. Fuck yes, yes ,” you chant, rocking your hips back and forth toward him.
He groans and moves to notch the thick head of his cock against you.
“More,” you beg, your fingers gripping the fabric beneath you. You don’t move, but you’re begging for him to.
He wraps his hands around your hips, and pushes into you, slowly, carefully. Fully aware that you can take his cock like no one ever has before, but it can still be a bit much in the beginning, and he doesn’t want to hurt you.
“Fuck,” you breathe out, “That feels…”
“Amazing,” he finishes, savoring the feel of being inside of you, seating himself to the hilt inside of you, growling as he feels you twitch and flutter around him.
“Again,” you beg, and he knows what you’re asking for, but it’s something he can’t quite give you at the moment.
“Hang on, sweetheart. I need a minute. You should see yourself from my point of view right now.”
“Tell me,” you say, wiggling against him, peeking over your shoulder again. Shiny skin, damp from the sweat that’s gathered at your hairline, your hair tamped down to your temples. A hungry gleam in your eye. You intentionally clamp a little harder down on his cock, and make a demand of your own. “Tell me how I look.”
He growls, sliding one hand up your back, pressing you down onto the bed while the other hand grabs the back of your chaps, and hikes your ass up, positioning you just how he wants you.
He pulls out and thrusts back in, a little harder than the first time. “You look perfect, baby.”
“More.”
He retreats one more time, and thrusts back into you with a vigor, a hardness that makes you see stars. He pumps in and out of you, letting one hand trail down your spine. “God, I love this indent down your back, and this ass,” he says, squeezing hard, gripping it and letting it go, watching your flesh give way to the strength of his fingertips, You smile and wiggle your ass for him again, earning one firm slap on your ass, not even registering the air that wooshes out of your lungs from the contact.
He reaches between your bodies, and rubs a finger against your pussy where it hugs his cock. A shiver races down your spin as he does. “You look like you were born to take my cock.”
You moan, telling him that you love when he says shit like that.
He smiles victoriously, slamming into you again, watching your body shake with the force of his thrusts. “You look like you were made for me.”
Your voice is hush when you respond, but he catches it all the same.
“I feel like I was made for you.”
That’s all it takes for him to unleash. He grips the leather strap around your waist with one hand, your ass with the other, and fucks you like you were made for him.
Because you were.
But you don’t crumble, you meet every stroke, arching your back and pushing in for more. Leeting him take you farther and deeper than he ever has before.
Perspiration trickles down your temple, and your moans turn into screams.
“You’re going to take it, sweetheart. Every fucking inch, every fucking drop. And you’re going to scream my name when you come.”
You take his words like a command, and can’t help what comes next. Your body shakes, and your vision goes white. An electric current courses through your body, starting at your core and emanating through all of your limbs as you lose yourself under him, for him.
You scream his name as he spills into you, thick ropes of white cum spilling deep inside of you.
Together your ride out surge after surge of pleasure, until you both can’t help but collapse on the bed beside you.
Your breaths come ragged, and your chests heave. You’re completely satisfied. He turns to you, his hand—strong yet gentle—cradling your cheek, coaxing you to meet his gaze.
"Welcome to Texas, darlin'," he murmurs, his voice a warm drawl. "You make one hell of a cowgirl," he adds, sealing his praise with a tender kiss on your lips.
You knew the moment you agreed to go on the road with him that he would give you more .
You just didn’t realize how perfect that more would be.
END