Chapter 17
“Hey!” I’m struggling to get the door open with Dean breathing down my neck. He presses a kiss just under my ear. “Ignore that my house is a mess,” I say as I finally get the door open.
“I don’t give a damn about what your house looks like. I just want to kiss you and not freeze my ass off,” Dean remarks with a laugh. All I can think about is how my entryway is covered in unread newspapers dating back at least two years.
Once we’ve got our coats off, Dean grabs me right in the hallway and presses a determined, hungry kiss to my lips. He’s soft, smooth and sweet all at once—he tastes just as I remembered him. Like coffee on Christmas morning.
“Show me your bedroom,” Dean murmurs between nips of my bottom lip.
“I don’t think we’re going to make it there, I mutter, sucking on his neck, it’s sure to leave a bruise. “The bed is unmade anyway.”
“Again, Madeline, I don’t give a damn about your unmade bed, or how messy your house is. I want your mess. I just want you,” Dean growls in my ear, holding my hair out of the way.
“Then take me,” I wrap my arms around his neck, pulling him in for a fierce kiss. I slip my tongue into his mouth and he returns the favor. He scoops me up, and I wrap my legs around his waist as he carries me through my house.
“I don’t…I don’t know where I’m going,” Dean laughs into my neck.
“Keep going,” I say, and we end up in the kitchen. He sets me down on the cluttered dining table, where my work-from-home set up is on one end, and a massive stack of legal and medical books are on the other. “Don’t worry about the books.”
“I’m not worried about the books.” He clears the table in one sweep, knocking the books to the floor in one massive clatter. “Fuck, sorry, I should have asked first.”
“I don’t care about the books, just kiss me, Dean,” I breathe his name like it gives me life.
He has to bend over to kiss me properly, using his hands to angle my face to get a deep kiss. I reach for his shirt collar, unbuttoning his flannel as fast as I can, hungry to get my mouth on his skin. I accidentally pop off one of his buttons, and it goes flying into the abyss that is my kitchen.
“I’m sorry!” I laugh. “I’ll find your button later.”
“I don’t care about the button, Madeline,” He finishes undoing the buttons for me, and I immediately press my face to his bare chest. His skin is tingling and I devour him. He is utterly, unbelievably soft. I can’t believe a person can be this soft.
“How are you so soft?!” I exclaim aloud.
“I was just born this way, I guess,” Dean laughs, flitting with the hem of my shirt.
He slides his hands up my back, caressing me in every way I’ve wanted him to touch me since last time.
I take my shirt off in one crossed-arm motion, throwing it onto the pile of books beside us.
Dean threads a finger underneath my red, lacy bra strap.
“I didn’t peg you for the kind of girl who wears a red, lacy bra.”
“There’s a lot of things you don’t know about me,” I whisper.
“I’m going to find all of them out.” He whispers, pushing the strap aside, planting a kiss where the strap left an indentation. “What should I know first?”
“I need to get in your pants.” I say bluntly.
“You need to?”
“I think I’ll die if I don’t.” I say.
“Am I that good?” He laughs, but it comes out darker and sexier than usual.
“You’re that good.”
“Let’s put it to the test,” Dean leans down and kisses me again.
This time, it’s completely lustful. His passion heats me up, through to the core.
My blood feels like magma, hot and flowing underneath the surface.
He tugs my pants down just enough to expose my thighs and underwear, his hand caressing my center.
“Oh, fuck,” I hiss as Dean leans me back on the table, pulling me so my ass is at the edge.
He cocoons over me, putting one arm underneath my neck for support.
I look into his eyes, a raging firestorm inside them, as he slips a finger around the fabric of my underwear, dipping it in my wetness. “Just take them off.” I beg.
Dean moves his arm, and dips his thumbs underneath the fabric, and draws them towards my ankles.
I shake them off from around my feet, and then wrap my legs loosely around him.
He distracts me by kissing my collar bones and sternum, so when he slips his fingers inside me, I gasp loudly.
My eyes roll to the back of my head as he curls his fingers, and uses his other hand to circle my clit.
“This is what—this is what I was telling you about,” I choke out. “You’re that good.”
“If you keep saying that, it’s going to go straight to my ego.” Dean grins and his dirty smile, with the way he’s touching me, is like highly addictive drugs injected straight to my bloodstream.
“I’m—” He hits a spot so good I can’t help but moan. “Keep going,” I whisper. He keeps the same rhythm and pace I asked for. I begin to pant when I near orgasm.
“Come on, Madeline. Let it out for me.” Dean’s instructions embolden me, and I come right on his hand, groaning with the buzz of how good it felt. “Good girl. I love when you come for me.”
“Now please, fuck me,” I pant. “Please.” He nods, and with a kiss, unzips his pants.
“Fuck, we need a condom.” Dean pulls back, looking around, as if I’d have them somewhere in the FEMA-declared disaster zone that is my kitchen.
“Do you have them in your jacket?” I ask. “Like last time?”
“I think I took them out,” Dean sighs. “Shit.”
“Well, where did you put them?” I ask with urgency.
“Do you have any?”
“Check under the bathroom sink. Down the hall to your left. If I had them, that’s where they’d be.
” I wrack my brain to think if I have condoms in the house.
It’s not like I’ve had sex in five years.
Dean disappears down the hall for a moment, and he’s gone a second too long, and it makes me think I didn’t have any.
But he returns triumphant, holding a single condom. “Fuck yes.”
“Not even expired,” He laughs.
“I probably bought them when I downloaded Tinder that one time.”
“When did you download Tinder?” Dean grins. “Did you get any matches?”
“Like two years ago. I got a hundred thousand matches.”
“I’m sure you did.”
He bends down to kiss me, and fondles my breast. Dean dips his fingers over the fabric, flicking and pinching my nipples. His hard-on rubs against my thigh as we kiss as a unit, contingent on one another’s moves.
“Put it on.” He murmurs, handing me the latex. I tenderly roll it on, squeezing him as I go. He lets out such soft groans each time I touch him, I can’t help but keep squeezing and pulling him. “Careful, Madeline, what you’re doing is dangerous.”
“Okay, okay,” I release him. “Come here.”
He leans over me, his tip poised at my entrance.
“I love you.” Dean lets the words flow through him loosely, his voice vibrating in this throat.
“I love you.” I return the words as he pushes into me. I pull his hips closer to mine with my hands as he grips my back, sliding us closer to the edge of the table.
The way he handles my body makes me feel uncultivated, like a wild animal who is only just learning how to be around humans.
Dean pumps his hips, pushing in and out of me, and it doesn’t feel just like straight up fucking—although we are on my dining room table, not exactly the most sensual of spots—this time, it feels like making love, because I know he loves me.
I adore the way his body moves, the way his skin folds and bends as he leans over me. He’s so tall it hurts. My body begs me for more of him, but this is all of him. I pant as he’s hitting some spot inside me that leaves me breathless.
My faith in Dean is strong, and he proves to me every time he knows what I need. He draws each breath from my lips with each thrust, and it doesn’t take long for me to come a second time. My sharp howls echo in the kitchen.
“You are so fucking beautiful right now,” Dean pants.
“Shut up,” I reply, wickedly out of breath. He thrusts once more before coming himself. His groans are tameless, fiercely heavy.
“Oh, god,” He exhales. “Sweetheart.” I receive a smattering of sloppy kisses, some landing on my eyes, eyebrows and forehead.
“I told you, you were good.” I smile as he pulls out, taking a step back. I sit up as he leans on the kitchen counter for support. “Incredible, even.”
“You’re incredible.” He pulls me into another kiss before dropping the condom in the kitchen trash.
“Will you stay here tonight?” I ask.
“I’ll stay as long as you want,” He whispers, running his palms through my sweaty hair.
“Will you sleep next to me?” I pull back to look at his face, it’s bright red.
“I’ll sleep next to you every night if that’s what you want.”
I give him a grin. “It’s what I want.”
“Me too.” He smiles.
“Do you want the house tour?” I ask.
“I’d love nothing more.” He zips up his pants, and hands me my shirt, and it reminds me how eager I am to do laundry.
“Well, this is the kitchen, obviously.” I say, stretching my arms.
“I see that.”
“Follow me.”
Dean follows me through the rest of the house: the living room, the back deck, the “study” which is really just a massive storage closet, and last of all, the bedroom.
“Do you want to see the studio?” I ask.
“What’s the studio?”
“Get your jacket.” I lead Dean outside, down the back porch and through the unshoveled snow.
“It might be a little dusty in here, sorry.” I crack open the door to what used to be a garage, and then was converted into Andy’s recording studio.
I flip on an industrial light switch, and the small room is illuminated.
“So this is the studio.” Dean takes a look around.
There’s a small, round table in the center of the room, and a makeshift recording booth in the back.
Several of Andy’s instruments are displayed here—it was my shrine to him.
Guitars hang on the wall, a drum set is in the corner and a cello stands in the other.