Chapter 25
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
JULIETTE
A molten wave of lust floods my senses, extinguishing every other feeling in its wake. Wasn’t I just on the verge of tears? Now, there’s a very different part of me weeping—desperately.
I won’t lie. What he’s offering is… enticing. I’m more than tempted to let Dean do whatever he wants as long as it ends with a release. Let’s blame it on the fact that I haven’t had anything but a self-induced orgasm in years. Haven’t I earned this? I’d like to think so.
Before I can think better of it, I nod. Dean gives me a panty-melting smile. The slicker I get, the more a lump in my throat grows. He’s always had this effect on me—turned me on so much I’m rendered speechless. I hate it as much now as I did back then. You’d think with time and maturity, I’d learned how to stay away from guys like Dean, the forever bachelor type, but I haven’t. Clearly.
Dean steps back, separating our bodies. I don’t like losing his touch; it feels like being left out in a chilly rain with no clear way home. But I don’t have time to react before he’s lacing our fingers together. Sparks erupt beneath the space where my soft hand meets his calloused one. They spread like little firecrackers shooting up my arm and through the rest of me, chasing the chill away.
He pulls me into a hallway. Everything looks like it’s moving in slow motion and a blur. I don’t understand it. Dean squeezes my hand and gives me a more genuine smile—a sweet one I haven’t seen before. But I’m not sure if I’m even seeing it correctly.
Suddenly, we’re standing in the doorway of the bedroom. My bedroom. I haven’t let Dean sleep here since that first night. Despite my mother’s claims there are like eight bedrooms in the suite, we never had to share in the first place. Dean pulls me inside and kicks the door shut behind him.
He grabs my arm and spins me to face him, kissing me before I can even take a breath. His kiss is rough, punishing even. If I thought I was wet before, it’s worse now. His hands snake down my body, finding home on my leggings-clad ass cheeks. He hoists me up without breaking our kiss, forcing my legs to wrap around him.
There’s no way he doesn’t feel how turned on I am. No way it’s not leaving a wet spot on his jeans. I’d be embarrassed, but I can’t feel anything other than Dean’s tongue dancing with mine. His hand flexes on my ass, pinching my skin while he grinds me against the hard ridge in his pants. I moan into his mouth, louder than I mean to.
But fuck, it feels good. I gasp and rip my mouth away when he starts to move.
“You could’ve warned me.”
He doesn’t say anything, just leans forward, kissing me again. It’s bruising. I can feel it sinking deeper and deeper into me, almost like it’s staining my soul. He never stops moving or squeezing my ass with each step, not until he reaches the edge of the bed.
My tummy tingles as I start sailing through the air when Dean tosses me onto the bed. He lets me land first before climbing on, settling on his knees near the edge. The tingle moves lower and lower as he pulls up his shirt from the back, flinging it away—too far gone to care where it lands.
I take him in. He’s changed slightly. There are more scars on his body, like he’s been collecting them or something. His abs are less defined than they were back then. But Dean is still hot as fuck.
“Get undressed,” he says, his voice a gravelly mix of urgency and desire.
The sound of his belt buckle coming undone is loud in the space between us. I scramble to sit up in the middle of the bed, tossing my thick cardigan down without worry. Even my white crop top comes off easily. But when I reach back to unclip my bra, something occurs to me. Dean’s body isn’t the only one that’s changed, and mine wasn’t necessarily for the better. I have a pooch of extra skin hanging from the bottom of my stomach and stretch marks all over, ending right below my belly button. The trail picks back up on my tits, though.
What if Dean finds me gross? I drop my hands to my sides. He’s expecting my eighteen-year-old body. That body is long gone—never coming back. Trust me, I’ve tried. Sometimes I wish I could get scissors and chop off the slab of skin.
Dean tilts his head. “Juliette.”
“W-what?”
“Where did you go just now?”
“What are you talking about?”
“Okay,” Dean says, closing the distance between us in record time. He takes hold of my face, cupping both hands around my heated cheeks. “We’re not doing that anymore.”
“Doing what?” I ask.
“Refusing to speak to each other. We can’t succeed as a couple if we don’t talk to each other. If we don’t share our thoughts and feelings when we’re feeling them.”
I blink. Did I just hear him spout relationship advice? Not just that, but logical, wise relationship advice. I’ve noticed people online talking about how we must be in a new reality because the sunflowers no longer face the sun, maybe that shit is true. Because this would never happen in my reality.
“Where did you learn that?”
“Seriously? Don’t change the subject, Juliette. Answer the question.”
His voice is firm, and I know there’s no arguing with him.
“I’m worried you may not like my body.”
Dean barks out a laugh.
“What the hell are you laughing at?”
“Baby, do you not realize that I will love you no matter what you look like?”
I ignore the fact that he used that word—the L word. The word he was always so damn afraid of. He doesn’t mean it. I’ve got to remember that.
“I’ve got stretch marks and my stomach isn’t as flat anymore,” I warn. “Maybe it’s best to turn the lights off.”
“Take your clothes off,” Dean commands.
Every word is dipped in that damn alpha tone again, the one I can’t help but listen to—and I think Dean knows that.
Reaching back, I unhook my bra, letting it fall down my shoulders and off my body. My eyes are glued to Dean’s face for any type of reaction. I remember how Arnie winced when he saw them. Probably why he was cool with not having much of a sexual relationship.
My nipples harden as they breathe in the cool, fresh air. It’s good some part of me can breathe—right because it’s damn sure not my lungs. Dean’s face changes, but not in the way I expect.
His eyes fill with a fierce shot of lust. I know exactly how he feels. Trailing my eyes down his body, I notice the thick bulge in his jeans. I lick my lips like I’m some desperate girl who will do anything for attention.
That’s exactly what you are, a little voice murmurs . Fuck you, little voice. Fuck you.
“Keep going,” he clips out.
Guess I’m not the only one who gets rendered speechless.
I slide my hands down my sides and push the waistband of my leggings down. Dean may be able to get over tits, but he’ll be disgusted by my stomach. I can’t bear to look as I pull my leggings all the way off, leaving me only in my panties. Funny. I should’ve taken them off too. It might’ve distracted Dean.
Dean sucks in a breath. I can’t tell if it’s good or bad. He pulls my face up to his by my hair, the force sending a renewed wave of need through me. His hazel eyes bore into mine as his hands slide down the front of my body slowly. I want more—more than the barely-there ghost of his touch. When he gets to my stomach, he stops, and once again, my breath is missing. He squeezes me there, not hard but lovingly—at least that’s how it feels.
“This is my greatest masterpiece,” he whispers.
His eyes show me so much, and I’m starting to think I may be wrong about Dean. Maybe he has changed. If that’s true, what reason do I have for keeping our family apart?
That’s really not a subject I want to think about right now. I lean up and fuse my lips to his. It takes Dean all of three seconds before he’s got me flat on my back and his tongue down my throat. He always liked to be in control, and I always liked to give it up. It feels good to fall back into that role.
I let my body relax into the mattress. With his weight on me, his scent envelops me in a cloud of rainy woods and spice. God, the way I’ve missed his smell without knowing I was missing it. I didn’t realize how much I missed his warmth either.
Dean braces himself on his elbows and stares down at me, blocking most of the light.
“I missed you,” he rasps.
The confession rumbles through his chest, shaking mine with it.
“I missed you too,” I admit.
As much as I didn’t want to, I missed him. It feels better than I thought it would. But the fear is still there. Maybe it always will be. Does that mean this is doomed from the start?
“Where is your head?” Dean asks.
“I was just thinking that I still want to strangle you for that night in Vegas.”
A total lie, but at least it makes him laugh. His deep chuckle purrs through the both of us.
“Liar.”
His hot breath on the shell of my ear gives me goosebumps, spreading all over my body from head to toe. I have to fight the urge to shiver in the aftermath.
“Don’t you have a job to do?” I sass.
He lifts his head from my chest, locking our fingers together and pulling my arms above my head.
“Hold onto the headboard,” he commands. “Don’t let go, Juliette. Understand?”
Wrapping my hands around the iron bars, I nod. Dean kisses the side of my neck, dipping lower and lower. My throat is so dry, but my panties are so wet. Dean sucks one of my nipples into his mouth, his hands now closer to my shoulders than my palms.
I gasp as he bites down, the pain sending a streak of pleasure to my clit.
“Missed this,” he says, pulling off that one and switching to the other side. “And this one too.”
He bites down even harder than the first time.
“Fuck,” I hiss. “Be gentle.”
Dean gives me a look, sitting back on his knees. He runs a finger down the front of my drenched underwear.
“You would be so bored with gentle, bluebird.”
He’s not wrong. I just shrug in response, which only seems to spur him on. Dean bunches my silk underwear at the sides and rips them apart like they were thin tissue paper and not fabric.
Cool, fresh air hits my bare skin. The lips of my pussy are drenched, making the air feel colder than it probably is. My eyes go to Dean’s face—steeped in raw craving. The way he’s staring at me makes me feel like I’m something special.
“You’re even prettier than I remember,” he says.
His words, the way his eyes are burning into my skin—all of it makes the ache worse. My brain is fucking mush, but somehow I manage to speak.
“Do your job.”
Dean grabs hold of my inner thighs, spreading my legs wide and revealing every little bit of me.
“Don’t rush me. I’ve waited a long fucking time for this. I’m going to enjoy it.”
Honestly, I want to cry. I need a release so bad. How can I feel so much bliss and so much pain at the same time?
“Can you enjoy it with your mouth instead?” I whine.
He chuckles, his warm breath ghosting over me. My hips buck into his face when his tongue peeks out and flicks my clit. I’m panting after just that one touch. I already know I’m going to come in an embarrassing amount of time.
Dean seals his mouth to my clit and sucks. Who knew pleasure could feel like you’re being hit by lightning? My moan turns into a groan. He’s relentless, swirling his tongue around my clit, nibbling it, sucking on it like it’s his favorite lollipop. My mind is lost in an ocean of bliss. I can’t register anything other than the way his mouth is assaulting me. My orgasm isn’t a slow build; it’s a sudden tornado, ripping through my insides. I must be screaming out because Dean’s hand slaps down over my mouth.
I’m floating back down to myself when I feel Dean push inside me. There’s a wet squelching sound as he slides to the hilt. I open my eyes to see him above me, one hand on my hips, angling me upwards, the other still stamped down on my mouth.
My breath stalls when his thick, solid cock scrapes against my G-spot. “Fuck,” I rasp through his palm.
I’m stretched out so tightly around him that I can feel every ridge and vein mapped over his length. And god, they feel amazing. Euphoric, even.
Dean releases my mouth, bringing his hand down to my hip and then up to match the other.
“God, this fucking cunt, bluebird,” he groans. “It’s magic.”
He pumps in and out of me, hitting some spot inside that makes me want to wail in ecstasy. I can feel Dean’s thighs beginning to quake, his breath growing short. He’s getting close. So am I.
My second orgasm starts in my toes, moving over me, spreading until it’s like a raging wildfire—setting me free and cleansing my soul. My jaw drops open in a silent cry as it rolls through me.
Dean’s dick throbs inside me. His body starts to jerk as his orgasm claims him too. He squeezes my hips. I hope it’s hard enough to leave bruises. I want to know that this was real and not some hallucination or something. He shakes and shakes as he empties himself inside me.
Dropping my hips, he collapses on top of me. I release the headboard and hug his head to my chest, my fingers lost in his hair. Closing my eyes, I feel a tear slide down my cheek. As much as I hoped this was all physical, I know it’s not.
I’ve always believed hope was dangerous for heartbroken people like me. But maybe I’m wrong. Seems I’m wrong a lot these days.