10. Annie
Ten
Annie
T he second Dean seals his mouth to mine, heat sweeps through my body like a blazing wildfire. Raising up onto my toes, I pant against his lips between kisses, clinging to his shoulders for dear life.
Hell. Yeah.
I’m burning up.
I’m scorched.
And every touch, every kiss, cranks my fever higher. Can’t get enough of this man. Need more.
Because even though everything went wrong back on that dance floor, even though I fled, all the arousal that Dean stoked in me earlier never really went away. It’s been dormant, banked but still simmering, and now all it takes is a single kiss to fan the flames back to life.
“Annie,” Dean mutters, tilting his head to kiss me deeper. His hands are in my hair, my bun undone. His body is rain-damp where it presses against mine. “ Annie . Ah, you’re so fucking sweet. I could do this forever.”
“Bed,” I grit out, shoving at his shoulder. “Let’s go to bed.”
Dean’s laugh is smoky. “Yes, ma’am.”
The bathroom door creaks open, then I’m swept into Dean’s arms. My breathless shriek bounces off the tiles, and I wrap my arms around his neck as Dean carries me out into the narrow hallway. He’s so freaking strong, carrying me like I weigh less than that feather boa.
A girl could get used to this.
“S-second door on the left.”
Dean nuzzles my jaw as he walks. “Your place is cute as hell, Annie. Just like you.”
My blush burns all the way to my hairline. I shift in his arms, already slick and aching between my thighs.
My bedroom is small, with barely enough room for a double bed and two nightstands. When Dean places me reverently on the covers and flicks the bedside lamp on, I feel a pinch of self consciousness at how outsized he must feel right now—with the top of his head nearly dusting the ceiling, and his shoulders so broad that it was a squeeze through the doorway. If he takes a single step, he’ll bump his leg.
Seeing the fully grown Dean Kinnear in my bedroom is like seeing a panther in a kitty cage, but all my unease drains away when he peels off his wet t-shirt and tosses it to the rug. He grins at me, both hands slicking back his hair, then places one knee on the bed, the mattress dipping beneath his weight.
Oh.
My.
God.
“You’re bright red, sweetheart.” My hit man is darkly delighted, leaning forward to trace one fingertip over my knee. It tickles through the thin fabric of my pants, and I gasp and shift, pressing my thighs together, desperate for more of his touch but trying not to beg. “Is that blush all for me?”
I nod, dazed.
Dean’s eyes glitter.
Then he crawls fully onto the mattress, backing me down to the bed. Dean covers the full length of my body with his—but still holds his weight up, keeping a few torturous inches of distance between us, even as he blocks out the rest of the world.
I whimper, arching up, but he’s too far away. Can’t reach those sculpted muscles, the heat of his skin, the silky dusting of dark chest hair—none of it. He’s holding back. Teasing me, his mouth twitching with humor.
Well, my hands are still free, so the joke’s on him. Lunging up, I flatten both palms to his hot, sturdy stomach and start roaming greedily.
Dean groans, letting his head hang like my touch is overwhelming. Hell, maybe it is.
We’ve both waited a long time for this. Too long.
“I used to watch your bedroom window at night.” My confession is hushed between us, spilling out as I stroke his abs, his chest, his arms. Dean is rigid beneath my touch, trembling with the effort of holding still. “Not that—I couldn’t see inside or anything. But I liked knowing that we were both awake late at night. I used to pretend you were thinking of me too.”
Dean shakes his head. “You weren’t pretending. You were right. I was always thinking of you, Annie, every minute of every fucking day.”
I suck in a breath. My lower belly pulses and twists into a needy knot.
“Then why didn’t you come knock on my door?”
Dean blows out a sigh—then at last, at long last, lowers down to his elbows and lets our bodies touch.
Heat .
Strength.
The safe cage of his arms.
Yes, please.
“I thought you and Wyatt had a thing.” Dean trails kisses up my throat, and I shiver and arch up to meet him. “Didn’t want to fuck everything up. Not if you had already picked your twin.”
My hands burrow into his hair, clutching him closer to my throat—like I never want another single inch between us ever again. “But Wyatt is—”
“I know.”
“You didn’t realize back then?”
“No.” Teeth scrape my earlobe, and a pleased shudder rolls through my whole body from head to toe. “I was doing my teenage rebel thing, remember? My head was too far up my ass to see much else.”
Ha. I pet his hair. “Well, you were always the twin I wanted. Even when you were clueless.”
Dean raises his head and looks me in the eye. He frowns, like he’s trying to judge whether my words are really true. “Yeah? You sure about that, sweetheart?”
Duh. But he still doubts that he’s my first choice? Still feels like maybe I wanted Wyatt, but I settled for second best? An identical version of the man I wanted but couldn’t have?
Oh, hell no.
My legs hook around Dean’s waist, bringing our bodies flush together, and I smush my boobs into his chest. Let him feel the excited thump, thump, thump of my heart, and the desperate way I crave his touch; the damp heat between my legs and the flush on my skin. Can’t fake that.
“Does this feel like I wish you were someone else?” I demand, snatching his wrist and pressing Dean’s palm against my chest. My heartbeat thunders beneath his touch, and goosebumps prickle across my bare skin. “Does this seem like I’m only half into this?”
Throat tight, I drag his hand all the way down my front—down to where I’m slick and needy and desperate. Dean cups my pussy through my pants, then lets out a pained, animal groan at the humid heat seeping through my clothes.
“No.” He laughs weakly, rubbing a thumb against the seam of my pants. My hips twitch, and I moan and chase his touch. “Fuck, Annie. You’re too perfect. This is like a dream.”
God, I know what he means, because I don’t know which way is up right now. Couldn’t point at the floor or ceiling. All I know is Dean , his heat and strength and hunger, and the possessive way he’s touching me, claiming me, exploring his territory. All while letting the perfect amount of his weight pin me down to the mattress.
Not so much that I can’t breathe or move.
But enough that I’m secure. Held in place.
“You’re like a sexy weighted blanket,” I say.
Dean pauses in pulling my zipper down. “What?”
“Never mind.”
I’ll explain later. Right now, I need his fingers inside me.
The bed rocks as Dean undresses me—pants first, then camisole, then panties and bra. Fuzzy socks last.
“Is that a kink?” I ask as Dean climbs off the bed just long enough to shuck the rest of his own clothes. “Are you a fuzzy sock guy?”
He snorts, crawling back on top of me. “If you’re the one wearing ‘em, maybe. Mostly I just didn’t want your feet to get cold.”
Getting cold is the last thing on my mind right now. The air in this small bedroom is warm and electric, and once we lock together once again, bare skin to bare skin, I’m freaking feverish.
Can’t think properly. Can’t make sense. All I can do is cling and arch up and kiss Dean Kinnear over and over and over. The hit man groans against my lips, sliding our tongues together—and he sounds as wrecked as I feel.
“Do it,” I say at last, breaking away and panting. “Fuck me, Dean. Please.”
And he nods, hazy-eyed, but then starts kissing a tingly path down my body.
“Wait, what are you— oh .” I cut off as a hot mouth seals around one nipple, sucking until my whole back bows off the mattress, my belly twisting impossibly tighter. Every gentle pull of his mouth makes my pussy clamp down on nothing. “Dean, I— Dean .”
He switches sides, merciless. I yank and twist on his hair, but it achieves nothing.
On and on he tortures me, first suckling on my nipples and then kissing down the rest of my front, pausing to dip his tongue into my belly button. By the time Dean shoulders his way between my thighs, I’m already trembling on a knife’s edge. Hyper-sensitive and yet still so needy.
“I’m gonna make you come first.” He slides a thumb along my slit, gathering up the wetness then rubbing at my clit. I jerk against the bed, breathing hard. “I’m gonna get you nice and relaxed and ready for me—and then I’m gonna fuck you so deep that no other cock will ever do.”
Works for me.
Hey, I don’t want any other cock. I never have. That’s why Dean narrows his eyes at me when he presses the first finger inside; why his jaw goes rock hard.
“Tight,” he mutters, then raises an eyebrow. “ Real tight. You wanna tell me something, Annie?”
I shrug, caught between laughing and screeching for him to get on with it before I explode. He’ll figure it out soon enough.
Dean makes a rumbly noise, pumping that finger in and out. My hips roll and my nerve endings spark as I hump his finger, desperate for more but grateful for at least this much.
“You’re not gonna tell me?”
He sounds put out. I grin and clamp down, squeezing his fingers with my inner muscles. “You’re a smart man, Dean Kinnear. Why don’t you work it out for yourself?”
A second finger joins the first, pressing inside me and stretching my tight channel. A thumb swipes over my clit, adding to the delicious torture, and Dean frowns at me the whole time, trying to figure out if his hunch is right. As though maybe he’s being punked.
Men. Honestly.
“You know what I think?” he says at last, once my whole body’s rolling and my stomach muscles are taut, everything trembling as I chase the skilful twist and press of his fingers. I’ve touched myself like this before, obviously, but Dean’s fingers are so much thicker and longer. Made for this. “I think this is a virgin pussy. No one ever caught your eye, so you scratched your own itch all these years. That’s what I think. Am I close, Annie?”
So close—but not quite right.
“Mostly.” I gasp and writhe as Dean keeps pumping, twisting, rubbing, his eyes fixed on mine. “I’ve never… you know. I waited. But not because I didn’t want anyone—because I already wanted you.”
Those words land heavily on Dean, hard enough to stun. For a moment, his expression goes blank and his hand stops moving between my legs. Then a flush darkens his cheekbones, and he ducks down with a snarl to lick a stripe up my slit.
“You’re mine,” he says, the words tingling against my sensitive clit. “Christ, you’re mine. Let me prove it to you, Annie.”