“God, yes. Please, Dean. Don’t stop,” I pant, rocking against him.
He slides two fingers inside, curling them just right, and I cry out, hips jerking. His thumb circles my clit, knowing exactly how to push me to the edge and keep me there. He watches my face, like he wants to memorize the way I fall apart for him.
He’s got me begging, and I know it sounds shameless and desperate. But I don’t give a fuck. “Dean, please, I need…”
“Say it,” he demands, his voice dirty and dark.
“I need you. Inside me. Now…please…” His laugh is rough and breathless, like he’s losing his mind.
He lines his cock up at my entrance and pushes in hard. I shatter, nails raking down his back as he fills me, thick and perfect. And oh, fuck, so deep.
He moves slow at first, savoring every gasp, every curse. “You’re so tight, baby. So fucking wet for me. Do you know what you do to me?”
The sensation is so intense I can’t find my words. All I can do is hold on, feel the way he takes me apart and puts me back together with his hands, his cock, his filthy words. When he lets himself go, and his thrusts become rougher…harder. I come apart, tightening around him as he chases his own release.
Dean buries his face in my neck, shuddering as he empties inside me. He’s holding on to me so tight it almost hurts.
“Shit, Aubrey… fuck. You’re going to ruin me.”
We stay like that for I don’t know how long, hot and sticky, letting the sweat cool on our skin. He kisses my forehead, softer now, thumb stroking my cheek, as he just looks at me. In a way that feels so intimate, like he’s trying to tell me something without having to use words.
“Stay,” I whisper, afraid to ask but needing it.
He still doesn’t say anything, just kisses me again, rough and sweet, and for a little while, I let myself believe he will.
Waking up after a night with Dean is like waking up with a hangover…every part of me aches, every thought is disordered, and I can still feel him everywhere. His hands, his mouth, the way he said my name like it’s the best thing he’s ever tasted. My sheets smell like him, like whiskey and sex. I just lie there for a second, eyes focusing on the cracked ceiling, my body deliciously sore, and my heart racing.
He’s already gone. But this time there’s a mug of coffee on my nightstand, still warm, and that’s something…right?
I close my eyes, breathing him in. I should be pissed, but I’m not. I’m hooked. Hopelessly, dangerously hooked on this man.
But as the morning wears on, that high starts to fade. I replay the night in my head. How he looked at me at Maggie’s, the way his hands were unsteady when he touched my face, how intense he got when we finally made it back to my place, unable to keep our hands off each other. Underneath all the heat and want, there was something else. A tension…some type of distance, like he was bracing for disaster even as he kissed me like I was everything. It was weird.
I head to the diner, nerves all twisted, my mind spinning. I can’t stop myself from analyzing every little thing Dean does. He always sits in the back of the diner, never letting anyone get behind him. The way he checks the door every five minutes, like someone’s coming for him. All the times he zones out, and I catch his jaw clenched like he’s ready for a fight.
Regular guys don’t do that. Not here. Not in sleepy, boring Crystal Falls.
I keep telling myself it’s none of my business. I’m not his girlfriend. Hell, I’m not even sure what we are. A one-night stand that lasted more than one night? Friends who can’t keep their hands off each other? A walking disaster waiting to happen?
Gina sees me staring at the door after we open. “He’ll show,” she teases, tossing a rag at me. “You look like you’re about to throw up.”
“Shut up,” I mutter, but I’m smiling. I hate that she’s right.
When Dean finally walks in, it’s like the whole room shifts around him. He’s got that dark energy, eyes shadowed, shoulders tense. He scans the place, then relaxes a bit when he sees me behind the counter. I feel it everywhere, like electricity.
He takes his usual booth. I bring him coffee. “Morning, tough guy.”
His lips twitch. “Morning, trouble.”
God, I love that.
It’s like we have our own language, just for us.
I try to play it cool, but I can’t help watching him more than usual today. There’s a bruise on his jaw, a fresh one. Movement across the diner makes him tense; it’s so subtle nobody else would catch it.
But I do.
The fresh bruise on Dean’s jaw is ugly and dark. Not realizing how bad it really was until being this close. It twists something inside me. I want to reach out, trace it with my fingers, and ask him what happened. I know he’ll just dodge the question, so instead, I nod, going for casual, even though I’m anything but.
