Joel Miller

It was a quiet morning in Jackson—cool air, soft sunlight breaking through the trees. Joel stepped out of Tommy’s house like he always did: worn shirt, serious face, steady gait like he had everything under control.

What he didn’t realize was how obvious the deep purple hickeys were, scattered along his neck from last night.

Tommy passed him on the path, gave a quick once-over... and smirked.

— “Mornin’, brother,” he said, biting back a grin. “Looks like somebody had a real fun night.”

Joel blinked. “What?”

Tommy chuckled. “Just sayin’. You might wanna check a mirror next time before struttin’ around town like that.”

He slapped Joel on the back and kept walking, whistling low.

Joel frowned, scratching at his neck absentmindedly. It was a little sore. But before he could think too hard about it, he ran into Ellie near the mess hall. She stopped mid-step.

— “Uhhh... what happened to your neck?” she asked, wide-eyed. “Did someone bite you?”

— “Ain’t your business,” Joel muttered, though his ears were definitely turning red.

— “Damn. Someone did bite you. That’s, like... two marks. You in a fight or in bed?”

— “Eat your breakfast, Ellie,” he grumbled, walking away with a crooked smile on his lips.

He sat down at the mess hall table, sipped his coffee, and tried to act normal. Until you walked in.

Confident, glowing, in that oversized T-shirt you always wore just to get under his skin. You strolled over, ran your hand down his shoulder, and leaned in close to his ear:

— “You look good this morning, cowboy. Hickeys suit you.”

Joel smirked but didn’t turn his head. — “That so? Guess that explains Tommy starin’ at me like I walked in naked.”

You sat down next to him, stole his coffee without asking. — “I didn’t think you’d go outside lookin’ like that. I should’ve left one on your chest too—just to make it even.”

Now he turned to face you, leaning back slightly in his chair, one brow raised.

— “You always this possessive?”

— “Only with what’s mine.”

He gave a low chuckle, that gravelly, half-growl voice that sent chills down your spine.

— “Then maybe next time... leave your name somewhere lower. Somewhere only I can see.”

You leaned in, matching his tone:

— “Or maybe you just want me to touch you again.”

He stared you down, smiling lazily.

— “Maybe I want you to not stop.”

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