“What’s your type?” I ask, indulging him further, curious to see how much he’ll divulge.
“Short. Snappy. With a screw loose.”
“I think I know—” He cuts me off with a swift, open-mouthed kiss, pulling me to the edge of my barstool, right hand in the space behind my ear. “Hey, what was that for?” Dean quiets me with a second kiss.
Then a third.
I’m going in for a fourth when the bartenderahemsin front of us.
Dean pulls away from me and puts out a twenty dollar bill, leaving it as a tip. He takes my hand, pulling me off the bar stool completely. I match his pace as we walk quickly to exit the pub, through hoards of bar hoppers and late night drinkers, and the 5-minute walk back to Ralph’s Motel is the most brisk walk I’ve ever had by far—Dean never let go of my hand so I could zip my coat. Despite that, by the time we reach Room 106, we’re both panting, out of breath from speed walking the whole way here.
I’m fumbling for the key, my back to the door, when Dean grabs me by the waist, scooping me in towards him, placing a rather uncivilized kiss on my lips. He leans on the door, his arm above my head, eyes locked on mine.
“I must be your type or something,” I say.
“You have no fucking idea how much my type you are.” Dean agrees, his hair flopping onto his forehead, getting caught in his glasses. He pushes my coat down and off my shoulder to suck on a small patch of my exposed neck, holding my hair off to the side.
Our subsequent kisses are primitive and primal. I groan and reach around his waist, tucking a finger through an empty belt loop to bring his hips closer to mine. His left hand disappears into my hair, caressing the side of my head. The other hand guides the small of my back closer and closer until we’re practically smashing up against one another.
It isn’t until I bonk my head on the front of the door with a disruptiveOWthat Dean produces his own room key, and swiftly unlocks the door. I turn around and push on the door handle and jiggle the lock open. The room, a tad cold and a little damp, is still illuminated by a small table lamp in the corner by the armchair. My pills aligned on the dresser just where I left them. I’m inspecting the room while Dean removes his shoes and jacket.
“Oh!” I’m startled as I’m being lifted into the air, coat still on, carried bridal-style. I place my arms around his neck, cocooned by his warmth. I turn my head to get a better look at him as he carries me over to the double-sized mattress in the center of the room.
Dean places me tenderly in the center of the foot of the bed. He kneels. My heart flutters a thousand times faster than it ever has previously, twisting and bending at the anticipation of his next move and where his physical touch might land next.
He looks down and undoes my sneaker shoelaces, carefully removing them and aligning them by the base of the dresser next to his. After taking my socks off, he rubs each of my feet, gently massaging my skin. I watch his fingers work their way up to my shoulders to peel off my coat. Once my coat is hanging on the rack next to his, he stands before me, red checkered flannel with the sleeves still rolled up.
“Kiss me,” I demand, and he leans down to do so. We kiss in tandem, our mouths finding their way in and out of each other. I lean back, and he hovers over me, teasing me with the rest of his body, lowering himself onto his elbows and knees, his hands reaching up to cradle my face. Dean’s hands prowl through my hair, his thumbs brushing hair from the side of my head.
“You are so unbelievably gorgeous,” He murmurs into my ear, pressing a kiss to the side of my face. “I just want to—” He presses a kiss to my other cheek. “—kiss you everywhere.” He kisses a place just underneath my earlobe.
I reach up to grab his face to control our kiss. For a moment, I catch his brown-eyed gaze and I can’t help but physically feel the warmth in his eyes. He knows me. Dean knows me and he’s not afraid to admit it. He doesn’t lock me away in a Rubbermaid container in a flooding basement, never to be shown the light of day again. He parades me around to his hometown diner like a model trophy wife. He never mentioned my illness anxiety once when he was listing things he knew about me.
I feel like I’m that girl I used to be. The girl I always was. The girl I still am.
“What are you thinking?” He asks me, our eyes still locked on one another.
“That I have to have you. All of you,” I answer. This is about him now. I need him.
“You’ve got all of me,” Dean confesses.
“Show me,” I grin with delight when he kisses me again. This time, it’s fire engines roaring, buildings blazing. His tongue fondles mine, and we chase kisses from each other like we’re in a never-ending race for affection. Each landed kiss is a wild victory call. Dean sits back up on his haunches. Eagerly, but carefully, I undo his shirt buttons, exposing his skin inch by inch. Goosebumps follow where I skim his body with my fingertips.
His flannel shirt flutters to the floor, and my sweater soon follows suit. My skin is flaming hot as he leans back down to kiss my collarbones, up my neck and to my ear, leaving heart-shaped bruises. I feel like I’m at the edge of the universe with kisses like this, teetering on the precipice of something totally extraterrestrial. Dean pauses at my ear, his lips just brushing my outer lobe.
“I’ll take care of you,” He says, not an ounce of hesitation in his thick, gravelly voice. “Care for you like you’re mine.”
“You promise?”
“I lied earlier. I’d jump into the water. I promise.” He kisses the space above my ear.
“I wouldn’t jump in if you’re taking care of me,” I tremble, my heart fluttering over and over in the space inside my chest. Dean slides his hands over my body the way butter slides around in a hot pan, caressing every curve and fold of my skin. His fingers flit with the waistband of my corduroy pants, and then dip just below the button.
I’m panting already, desperately out of shape, but I can’t help but need more. He sets something ablaze in me. I wrap my arms around his back as he kisses my shoulder, digging and dragging my fingernails into his soft, freckled skin. He grinds against my center, and I feel the pulse of him through to my core.
Finally, he makes the first move, slipping off my bra strap from my shoulder. The swift lift of my back to undo the clasp sends me spinning. I love when this man touches me—each tinyconnection of our skin shocks me, jolts me back to life, bringing me to the surface world. My bra lands in the heap of clothes on the floor, and when he takes my breasts into his hands I let out a mindless gasp. The flick of his tongue across my chest makes me feel untamed.
Standing quietly, Dean removes his own pants first. I’m hungry to do it for him, and I’m practically drooling as his thighs are exposed. I cannot explain what’s about to go down, but it feels like I’m going to devour him whole. Dean kisses down and across my chest, until he reaches my navel. “Can I take these off?” He asks me gently.
