"Dean—I'm?—"
"I know. I've got you." His thumb finds the spot that makes me shatter, and everything goes white-hot and perfect.
"Callie," he breathes against my mouth, and my name has never sounded like that before—like prayer, like promise, like home.
He follows me over a moment later, hands fisting in my hair, my name a broken sound in his throat.
The first time is fast and desperate and leaves us both breathless, laughing at the ceiling while our hearts slow down.
"Well," Dean says.
"Well," I agree.
"That was?—"
"Yeah."
"We should?—"
"Definitely."
The second time is slower.
He starts at my collarbone, kissing his way down with a patience that makes me want to scream. His hands map every curve, every dip, memorizing the shape of me. When he reaches my breast, he takes his time—mouth and tongue and the edge of his teeth until I'm arching into him.
"You have freckles here," he murmurs against my ribs. "Never would have guessed."
"Fascinating discovery."
"I'm thorough." He proves it, kissing each one like it matters.
His mouth moves lower, and I thread my fingers through his hair, feeling the shift in his breathing as he settles between my thighs. When his tongue finds where I'm still sensitive from before, I nearly come off the bed.
"Too much?" he asks, looking up at me with those blue-gray eyes.
"Don't you dare stop."
He doesn't. He takes me apart slowly, methodically, learning exactly what makes me gasp and shake. When I'm close—so close I can barely breathe—he pulls back.
"Dean—"
"Not yet." He kisses the inside of my thigh. "I want to hear you say my name again when you come."
The promise in his voice makes my toes curl.
He builds me back up, slower this time, paying attention to every sound I make. When he adds his fingers, curling them just right while his mouth works, I shatter with his name on my lips.
I'm still catching my breath when I push him onto his back.
"My turn."
His eyes go dark. "You don't have to?—"
"I want to." I straddle his thighs, running my hands over his chest, his abs, following the trail of muscle down. "Tell me what you like."
"Callie—" Whatever he was going to say dies when I wrap my hand around him.
I learn him the way he learned me—what makes his breath catch, what makes his hips lift, what makes him grip the sheets. When I take him in my mouth, he groans like I'm killing him.
