Chapter 13 #2
“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 tiny connection 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.
“Yes,” I say it so quickly, like my life depends on it. “You can take them off. You can even get them wrinkly. I don’t care.”
He laughs like the way sunshine feels in the summer, and I squeeze my eyes shut because I can’t bear to look at him for fear I might combust. The cool air and kisses landing on my inner thighs tell me that I may explode anyway.
He smoothly finishes taking off my most complicated pants and tosses them into a crumpled heap on the rest of our clothes pile.
Dean bends down over me, his hand fondling and caressing me over my underwear.
I groan as his fingertips pass over my softest parts.
I had sworn to myself up and down that new relationships and hookups and one night stands were never worth the risk, for fear that they might realize how truly unhinged I am and abandon me, but in this moment, I’ve made the ultimate exception, and it has proven me wrong.
“Fuck, Madeline. I want to touch you so badly.”
“Touch me,” I encourage him. “Take them off, too,” I whisper, tugging at my own underwear.
Dean takes them off for me, and I don’t see where they land.
He reaches up, grabbing my hands, taking my watch off and tossing it on the bed.
I groan with a wave of pleasure when he finally sinks his mouth between my legs.
“Your groans are killing me,” Dean whispers to my thigh as I grasp at the bed quilt.
He returns back to my center, and his tongue moves in perfect circles.
I elevate my hips for him to get a better angle, and he licks me so well, I feel like I might start astral-projecting above the bed.
My thighs quivering, I’m practically pulling up all the bed sheets as Dean unravels me through tender licks and kisses.
“You’re killing me,” I pant. A moan escapes my lips as his tongue hits me just right.
The buildup is absolutely vicious. Every swipe of his mouth takes me just a smidge higher and further up that hill, until I’m crashing, barreling down.
Waves of gratification tear through me like ocean waves in a storm.
“Fuck, Dean, what was that?” I ask, not entirely sure I’m on the right planet.
“I love seeing you come for me.” Dean comes up for air, mouth damp, and crashes back down to me, thunder and lightning bolts, kissing me fiercely. He climbs off of me and I whimper.
“Where are you going?” He doesn’t answer, but I see he’s digging around the closet, fussing with his coat. He grins, turning around. He holds out a small box I almost don’t recognize, but it’s very obviously condoms. “Only three?” I laugh.
“Let’s get through this one first, sweetheart,” He groans, tearing the box open. Tossing it on the floor, climbing back onto the bed, he hands me the foil pack. “Put it on.”
I rip it open, carefully, so as not to tear the latex, and gently roll it over him as he watches. I give him a few pumps, recalling the way his fingers felt inside of me and I am bristling to know what it feels like to have his cock inside me.
Dean lowers himself onto his elbows, his hands cradling my head, our noses bumping. With a kiss, he pushes himself into me. I gasp sharply at the way he fills me up. He pauses for a moment to check with me.
“How are you feeling?” He asks, shifting in me slightly. “I bought lube if you need it.”
“Good—” I say, and the second I do, he grinds against me. “I’m good. Keep going.”
“Just tell me if it’s too much,” He whispers.
I nod against his neck, wrapping my arms around him, my hands tangling in his hair, pulling on the strands. He shifts his hips, pulling out of me, and pushing back in with intensity.
“Oh, fuck,” He cries out.
He builds a steady rhythm and after a minute, I can’t catch my breath either. He lifts my leg to get a better angle, and I groan as he pushes in smoothly. Before I know it, we’re both calling out for each other.
“I want you to come, Dean,” I pant.
“Don’t worry about me.”
“Fuck,” I focus on the to and fro of his movements, and I fall into a gratifying listlessness as he moves. It’s almost too much, feeling him inside me. It doesn’t strike me until just now how badly I’ve wanted him specifically, not just another person. It had to be him.
And oh, fuck, it is him.
I’m coming for a second time tonight, and my tipping point of groans and trembles sends him into a frenzy.
His shuddering release shakes me and the bed frame.
In one, remaining primordial growl, he’s finished himself, both of us heaving.
Our foreheads smack together lightly, not enough to hurt, but enough to startle me.
“Well, shit,” Dean says when I jump.
I can’t help but burst out with a laugh.
“I’m—” He starts.
“Did you plan this?” I interrupt him.
“Did I plan this?” He repeats. “Of course not.”
“But you had condoms!”
“I’ve had those in my jacket for weeks.” Dean pulls out and rolls over next to me, giving me a smile and a laugh. He hands me the box of tissues from the nightstand.
“You mean to tell me we just used an old condom?” I laugh, feverish with heat.
“It’s not old,” Dean chuckles, tossing it in the bin.
“I get a bunch of freebies at the pharmacy. I took a few boxes before I left. I like to leave them in bar bathrooms.” He tosses me my sweater which I gladly put on, cold without his touch.
After handing me my underwear, he put his own briefs and flannel back on.
He glances and types something into his phone.
Dean looks at me expectantly, like I’m the one who is supposed to know what to do next. Do we order food? Do we get in the shower? Do we just go to sleep?
“Come on, get up,” Dean offers me a hand, his phone making noise that sounds like doo doo doo. It takes me a second to realize what’s happening. He’s put a song on.
“Huh?”
“Get up.” Dean gestures to me, holding his hand out, singing along to a tune I don’t recognize.
“What?”
“It’s my favorite song. Up!” He laughs again, interrupting his song, and I scramble to get out of bed, grabbing his hand. He pulls me into a tight hold, humming some more.
“What’s this song?” I ask. The phone crackles faintly on the dresser with steady guitar rhythm and crooning vocals. It takes me a second—he wants to dance with me. I was never really much of a dancer.
Dean waltzes me around the room, and I’m giddy with elation as he sings along to the song playing in the background. “I would beg and steal, j–u–u–st to feel your heart beating close to mine. Don’t you know this song?”
“I can’t say that I do.” I laugh timidly.
“You should. Beggin' on my knees, all I ask is please, please love me.” Dean recites, as the song ends. “It’s Elvis.”
“This is your favorite song?” I ask. We sway to the tune of the song even as it’s over.
“One of them.” He gives me a soft smile.
“Let me play you mine?” I ask.
“Sure.” He hands me the phone, and I type in Harvest Moon Neil Young into the YouTube search bar.
Something about this song just soothes something deep in my soul. We slow dance to Harvest Moon and when the harmonica solo hits, I close my eyes, resting my head on Dean’s bare chest. I used to think of Andy during this part. But now, all I can think about is Dean.