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“You sure about that?” At first, the way he says it sounds like sarcasm. His expression screams naked vulnerability. He wants to know it’s true.

“Damn right it does. This dick.” I give it a stroke. “These hip bones.” My fingers trail over the sharp lines of him. Then I climb over him, pressing my lips to his. “These disgustingly perfect fucking lips.”

“Language, Mike.” But he’s smiling against me when he says it.

Brushing away his automatic protest, I say, “And everything in between. All of this.” I gesture along the length of his body. “You’ve been mine since day one, Dean.”

“Oh God.” Not sure he really got that, the way he’s thrusting harder and faster into the tunnel of my fingers. It’s fine. We’ll be having this conversation again. Later.

For one moment that seems to cause him agony, I pull my hand away. I take the moment to focus on the rest of him, dropping kisses on his chin and his throat, his collarbones, his chest, and his belly. Mapping each muscle as I go, every twitch and contraction as I move to take him into my mouth.

“Oh God, Mike. Mike… Fuck.”

Now I know I’ve got him.

Using one hand to hold him while I lavish attention with my lips and tongue, I let the other hand wander. Stroking from knee to groin, then creeping up to tease his nipples. Back down to brush that sensitive skin on his lower abdomen that I know damn well is ticklish.

“Fuck.” He giggles. “Mike, come on. I’m so close.”

“Are you sure?”

“Well, if you’d put your damn mouth on me again.” He’s thrusting into the air, frustrated and impatient.

I put him out of his misery, sucking him long and hard, teasing one finger around the outside of his hole until he’s forced to cover his own face to hold in the noises coming out of him.

Until he floods my mouth with the taste of him.

“Jeez, that was…” He blinks. “Wow.”

Exactly wow. “It was.” I stretch out alongside him on the narrow bed. “You feel better?”

“I feel like maybe I shouldn’t, but yeah. How did you know I needed that?”

“I always know. And you’re allowed to want whatever makes you feel good, Dean. Long as it’s not hurting anyone else.”

His gaze finds mine. He does something he’s never done and reaches over to press his hand over my heart. “Thank you, Mike. Really.”

You don’t need to thank me. It’s what you do when you love someone.

Before I get the chance to even consider saying the words aloud, there’s a crash out in the kitchen. Followed by Ella’s high-pitched shriek.

“Shit.” Dean’s stumbling into his shorts as I run out the door.

When I get there, Ella’s on the floor next to a step stool, a fallen roll of paper towels, and a broken coffee mug.

“Princess, don’t move. That broken stuff is sharp.” Dean, who’s either oblivious to his own bare feet or doesn’t care, swoops in to scoop her up. He sets her on the counter, examining her forehead, which is pouring blood.

All I can do is hold my breath in horror. The awful red fluid drips down the side of her face, onto her penguin T-shirt, even the counter.

In rapid succession, Dean grips her shoulder with a shaking hand and schools his features. He’s terrified right now, but he’d die before letting her know. Especially now that she’s got fat tears rolling down her cheeks.

“I’m sorry, Daddy. I wanted to help. Uncle Mike said you were sleepy, so I wanted to make you coffee.”

Uncle Mike said. Nothing in the world can wipe away the heavy dread, the awful chasm opening up inside me. He’ll either blame himself for this, or he’ll blame me. I’m not sure which is worse.

Should have taken that step stool out of here when I first noticed it was broken.

Dean says nothing, doesn’t look at me beyond the barest flick of side-eye, but I see the way he bites down on something he doesn’t want to say.