Chapter 41
FORTY-ONE
It’s later.
Much later.
So late I can feel the sun rising out of the water behind him. See the faint promise of a pinkish glow, creep across the deck.
After Dean made me come, I barely had a chance to recover before he picked me up and carried me into the bathroom to sit me on the edge of the tub while he took off his clothes.
Smooth, tattooed skin. Thick pecs. Chiseled abs.
Long, well-muscled limbs. How is it possible that he gets more and more beautiful, every time I see him?
When he unbuttons his pants and pulls them down I feel a gasp scramble up the back of my throat.
Jerking my gaze up to meet his, I feel my cheeks heat with embarrassment. “Did you—”
“Come all over myself while you were fucking my face?” He gives me one of those unreadable expressions of his.
The one he wears when he doesn’t want me to know what he’s thinking.
“I sure the fuck did, Methuselah.” Stepping into me, He gathers my dress and pulls it over my head before tossing it on the floor. “Does that bother you?”
“No...” I shake my head on a hard swallow. It’s true. Knowing that Dean got so aroused by the taste and feel of me that he came while he was eating me out doesn’t bother me. It definitely makes me feel things but bother isn’t one of them. “It doesn’t bother me.”
Dean makes one of those rough sounds in the back of his throat. Like his expression, it’s hard to read. “Come on,” he says, holding out his hand. “Let’s get you cleaned up, Princess.” Slipping my hand into his, I stand and let him lead me to the shower.
That was hours ago. After our shower, he dried me off and carried me to bed where he put me under the covers, naked, before he crawled in after me the same way.
As soon as he was in bed, Dean reached for me.
Pulled me into his arms and wrapped them around me, his large, warm hands splayed across my back.
My thigh trapped between his. He’s hard again.
I can feel the press of it against my belly but he doesn’t seem to be interested in doing anything about it.
Instead, he just holds me, the top of my head tucked under his chin.
My mouth brushing against his tattooed chest with every breath.
“Dean…” I say his name softly even though I know he’s not sleeping. Not yet. Like me, he’s lying here awake and wondering what happens next.
“Yeah?” His tone is low, pitched just above a whisper.
Angling my head so I can see him, I say it before I lose my nerve. “Can I ask you something?”
I watch his brow furrow, his jaw tighten, the flex of it illuminated by the pale glow of the moon. “No.”
“Oh… okay.” Stung after everything that’s happened between us, I start to pull away when he stops me.
“I know you, Mills,” he says, explaining his refusal. “You’ll ask, I’ll answer but it won’t matter what I say because you won’t believe me anyway, so what’s the point?”
He’s right.
I wouldn’t believe him.
He could tell me the sky was blue and I’d have to look outside to check.
“I’d try.” Shaking my head, I roll my lower lip between my teeth for a second while I try to figure out what I’m trying to say. “I’d try to believe you.”
Before I can figure it out, Dean sighs. “How about this,” he says, loosening his grip, he puts enough space between us so that I can see his face. “I declare this bed Truth Island. We can’t lie to each other here, so if you ask me something, I have to answer honestly and you have to believe me.”
“Truth Island?” I laugh a little at the idea, the sound of it nervous for some reason. “Are you serious?”
“Yeah, I am.” Raising himself on his elbow, Dean looks down at me with a nod. “No second guessing, no wondering if we’re lying. We can ask each other whatever we want. We don’t have to answer but if we do, it’s the truth. End of story. You agree to that, you can ask me anything you want.”
“Okay…” Nodding my head on the pillow, I look up at him. “Truth Island.”
He flashes me a grin, his teeth making a brief appearance before they disappear. “Alright then—what do you want to know?”
I want to know what you meant on the plane when you said that Paige lied to us both.
If you regret what’s happening between us.
If it means anything to you.
“What did you want to tell me earlier?” When he just looks at me like he doesn’t understand the question, I sigh. “You asked me if I wanted to know a secret…”
“Oh.” Giving me a smile that makes him look a little uncomfortable, he sighs. “I know your name is Melisandre.”
“That’s not a secret.” I give him an exasperated eye roll. “I already know that. My father—”
“No…” He shakes his head while giving me a lopsided smile. “I’ve always known.” I must look confused because he chuckles quietly. “Come on, Mills—you’re Melisandre Blackwell. I live in New York—how could I not know your name?”
“I don’t understand.” I feel my brow furrow. “If you already knew then why—”
“Why the years long guessing game?” That grin of his shifts into a smirk.
“I already told you—I like watching your eye twitch.” Lifting a hand, he moves my hair over my shoulder, the brush of his fingers against the side of my neck sending a shiver down my spine. “Your turn. Tell me a secret, Mills.”
I don’t want to go back to New York.
I want to stay here and I want you to stay with me.
I think I might be falling for you.
“I hate the opera,” I tell him instead. “My family has held a box at The Met for nearly a century and I go several times a year but I hate it.”
Dean laughs. “Define hate.”
“If someone offered me the alternative of having my fingernails pulled out with a pair of rusty pliers, I’d jump at the chance, rather than sit through three hours of listening to people yodel in Italian.”
“Mmm…” Dean gives me a bemused smile. “I’ll add that to my collection.”
“Your collection?”
“Of random facts about Millie…” The bemused look on his face shifts into something else. Something deeper. “Believe it or not, I pay attention.”
“Like?”
“Like you went to Yale but your safety school was MIT. Like you love French scrambled eggs and vintage Dior. Like your birthday is in May and your favorite color is green.” Lifting his hand again, he skims his fingertips across my forehead.
“Like when you’re frustrated, you get this little line, right here…
” Letting his fingers move lower, Dean traces them along the curve of my jaw.
“It usually shows up when you’re getting ready to tell me what a cocky, miserable bastard I am. ”
“I don’t think you’re miserable,” I tell him on a breathless laugh. “I think you’re actually quite satisfied with yourself.” Shaking my head, I feel that line he mentioned pucker against my forehead. “How do you know all that?”
“I told you, Mills—” He gives me one of his frustratingly sexy smirks while his fingers trail lightly down the line of my neck. “I pay attention.”
“To me?”
“Yes.” I feel his fingertips skim lower to tease the ridge of my collarbone. “To you.”
“Why?”
He makes that warning sound in the back of his throat, signaling a dead end. Whatever his reasons are, he won’t tell me. Before I can push and probably start an argument, Dean moves over me, settling his hips into the cradle of my thighs. “I don’t want to play anymore.”
“Play?” The sudden press of his thick, rigid cock against me is enough to pull a soft, shuddering gasp up the length of my throat. “I wasn’t aware that we were playing.”
Braced on an elbow, Dean looks down at me.
“Of course we’re playing, Mills…” Dipping his head, he nips his teeth against my lower lip, his hips flexing again on a low, rumbling groan when my mouth opens under his.
“It’s what we do, you and me…” He does it again, rubbing the head of his stiff cock against my throbbing clit.
“It’s all we do.” Hissing softly at the contact, Dean’s mouth slides along the tight line of my jaw, teeth nipping, tongue licking, until it’s hovering above my ear.
“Play games …” Flexing his hips again, Dean notches the head of his cock against my entrance. “Try to beat each other...”
“Dean…” Lifting my hips on a mewling whimper, I press my hands into the small of his back, fingers digging into his spine, trying to pull him closer. “Please…”
I feel a rough chuckle rumble against my throat when he hears how desperate I am.
“Please what?” Lifting his head to look down at me, Dean flexes his hips again, just enough to give me the tip of his cock.
“If you want something, Morticia, you’re going to have to swear for it,” he says, his teasing in direct conflict to what he just finished telling me.
Okay.
Two can play at that game.
Wrapping my legs around Dean’s hips, I angle mine underneath his, opening myself up to him completely.
“I want you to quit playing games and fuck me, Dean…” Lifting my head off the pillow, I drag the flat of my tongue up the tight, straining cords of his tattooed neck, stopping at his ear.
“I want to feel your cock—every inch of it, pounding itself inside me. Stretching my pussy—”
“Fuuuck…” Turning his head on a feral growl, Dean captures my mouth with his, licking his way past my slightly parted lips, his tongue stroking and tangling itself around mine, claiming my mouth while he rocks his hips like he did before, giving me short, shallow thrusts, the head of his cock rubbing against my G-spot.
It feels good.
Too good.
So good, I can already feel the heat of release tingling against the base of my spine, ready to explode.
Tearing my mouth away from his, I dig the back of my head into the pillow on a frustrated moan.
“Dean…” Sliding my hands lower, I sink my fingers into his ass cheeks, trying desperately to pull him closer.
Make him give me more. Fuck me harder. “Every inch…” Lifting my hips, I meet his with a soft, strangled cry. “I want—”
“Fuck.” It comes out on a rough tone against the side of my neck, a second before I feel the arm braced on the pillow next to my head, push itself deeper, lifting him over me.
His other arm reaches back to hook itself around my leg, pulling it from around his waist. Looking down at me, Jaw flexing, ink-covered chest pumping, Dean shakes his head.
“Do you remember what I said? What I need you to do?”
Be still for me, Princess. Be my good girl and let me fuck you the way I need to…
“Yes.” Nodding up at him, I fight the urge to move so I can pull him deeper inside me on my own. “I’ll be good.”
“That’s the fucking problem…” Lifting my leg even higher, he settles it over his shoulder, the back of my trembling thigh, pressed against his chest. “Too good…” Leaning heavily against the arm braced beside me, Dean flexes his hips, stroking himself inside me on a hissing groan, the stinging pressure of it nearly enough to take my breath away.
Rolling my lips between my teeth to keep from crying out, I swallow the moan trying to push its way up the back of my throat.
“So good…” Looking down at me, he does it again, pulling back slowly before pumping himself back in, working his cock deeper and deeper with every slow, measured thrust. “You’re doing so good, Princess…
” Turning his head, Dean presses a kiss to the inside of my thigh.
“Taking me so perfectly…” The hand wrapped around the top of it grips and pulls, opening me even wider.
“Every inch…” He pumps his hips against mine, harder and faster with every stroke.
“My good fucking girl.” Scraping his teeth along the sensitive skin of my inner thigh, he groans, the rumble of it low and tight in his chest. “Touch yourself, Millie…”
“Dean…” I moan his name, pushing a hand between us to swirl my fingers against my throbbing clit without hesitation. Over and over, again and again until every nerve ending is on fire. Until every cell is screaming for more. “Harder. Please—I need—”
Giving in on a rough shout, Dean gives me what I’m begging for, his hips pistoning against mine, so hard and fast, it nearly breaks me.
Yes.
Throwing my other hand up, I press the palm of it flat against the headboard and lock my elbow, holding myself steady, taking everything he’s giving me. Every deep, ruthless inch of him until I’m stretched so tight I can feel the scream of it in my bones, and I’m teetering on the brink of oblivion.
“Dean.” I say his name again, this time on a scream, right before I come, my back bowed so tight, I can feel the shake of it in my spine as wave after wave of sensation washes over me.
Throwing my leg off his shoulder, Dean falls over me on a roar, hips still grinding and pumping against mine while my quivering pussy grips and flexes around his cock.
“That’s my good perfect girl…” Hand fisting itself in my hair, he pulls, angling my head so he can growl it in my ear, each word punctuated by a deep, punishing thrust while he comes inside me. “Milk my cock like a good little slut.”
His dirty words, coupled with the relentless pound of him inside me, triggers another orgasm, this one deeper. So deep it twists my bones, wrapping me around him before flinging me to the stars.