The bell jingles as you step into Blue Farm, and Joe groans immediately.

“Great. Just when I thought today couldn’t get any worse.”

You roll your eyes, dropping your bag onto the counter. “Try not to sound too thrilled, Joe.”

“Oh, don’t get me wrong, Miller.” He leans in, gaze dragging over you slowly, shamelessly. “I always enjoy looking at you. It’s the listening part that’s unbearable.”

You scoff. “Just get me a coffee before I take my business elsewhere.”

Joe smirks but moves behind the counter, sleeves rolled up, muscles flexing as he works. He slides the cup toward you, fingers brushing yours—and he doesn’t pull away.

“Careful, Miller. Wouldn’t want you getting too hot and bothered.”

You tighten your grip on the cup. “You wish.”

Joe’s smirk deepens. “Oh, sweetheart. You have no idea what I wish for.”

Against your better judgment, you arch a brow. “And what exactly do you wish for?”

He leans in, voice dropping low, thick with something dangerous. “I wish for that sharp little mouth of yours to be too busy* to argue with me.” He lets the words sink in before tilting his head. “Busy wrapped around my fingers while I fuck that attitude right out of you. Busy marking up my neck when I pin you against the door. Busy on my cock, making those pretty little noises I know you’d make if you’d just stop fighting it.”

Your breath catches. Heat floods your face, and Joe notices. Of course, he does. His smirk turns downright wicked.

“I wish,” he continues, “for you to be right here, right now, bent over this counter, moaning my name like it’s the only thing keeping you sane.” He reaches out, barely brushing his fingertips over your wrist, teasing. “I wish to have you so wrecked, so thoroughly ruined, that every time you sit in one of these chairs, you remember exactly what I did to you.”

The air between you is thick, charged, your pulse hammering so hard you swear he can hear it.

You force yourself to scoff, though your voice isn’t nearly as steady as you’d like. “That’s… quite the wish list, Joe.”