God, I missed him. I missed him, and I didn’t even know it. I didn’t even know he stayed in town. This has got to be the curse’s fault, too. All my bad luck is catching up with me.
His wide-as-fuck shoulders make the room hunch down so he’s the focal point. The dogs are long forgotten in the no man’s land that has Dean’s bed in it.
“You… You can’t do that. You can’t come into my home and use that fucking mouth on me again,” he growls, nostrils flaring.
Rocket launchers erupt in my brain, and my shoulders start creeping up towards my ears. So that’s how we’re going to play it? Play ball!
“Yeah, right. I ruined your day by laying one on you. Please,” I wave away his mock-anger. Since when did a guy not like it when a hot female wanted to fool around? “And… it looks like somebody remembers who I am?” I stare down pointedly at the tenting in his sweats, and make sure he sees me licking my lips.
He’s changed so much. I’ve changed so much. What the hell does that mean?
Dean doesn’t necessarily look pissed off at himself, but the way his mouth screws up tells me he’s probably verbally abusing himself in his head. He runs a hand through his hair, making it all ruffled and disorderly. He gives the hank of hair an agitated tug and starts rubbing at his eyes.
“You always did tend to make my blood pressure skyrocket,” he sighs, now pinching the bridge of his nose. Cold, wet noses prod at my naked feet and I jump in my skin. Looking down, three pairs of doggy eyes are staring up at me with nothing but trust and hope and everything in between. “Just come sit on the couch.” He waves his arms in the air, like all of this is completely nuts.
I watch his big body move towards the kitchen, watch him bang his cupboards closed and glance down to look at the reactions of his dogs. One starts whining, eyes pinned to his head, while the littlest one clearly knows who is the princess here and worships me, going in circles around my ankles. I think I’m going to like him best.
“What can I get you to drink? I got water, orange juice, cream soda and a couple of left over Heinekens which I don’t recall buying,” he calls out, head and the rest of his body sticking out of the fridge. The damn counter blocks my view of his muscled ass that would be lovingly outlined by his sweats. A girl can’t always get what she wants.
“You still drink cream soda?” I ask, picking my purse up off the floor, and watching it bounce lightly on the couch cushion. My heels make those womanly sounds against the flooring, and every sound is like a tightening of my will, an extra ounce of power and control. I know what’s going to happen here, and what I came for, I’m going to get.
Except Dean’s never been a team player and you know it.
Dean pours me a glass of water from the bottle, frosting up the surface. I watch him painstakingly pour himself the cream soda, putting the stuff up to the brim, waiting for the bubbles to settle.
“This stuff’s better than coffee. It’s got enough sugar to keep me flying for a solid hour before I need a nap. Not that sugar is in any way a difficulty to get, but you know what I mean,” he says, handing me my chilled glass.
I gulp down some water, which has absolutely nothing to do with the fact that Dean is still on my tongue and I need to get rid of him ASAP.
He looks at me a second too long, and his cheeks get all pink. The stupid color has some sort of direct link with my vagina, and everything between my legs wakes up and demands attention.
Jesus Christ, he didn’t even do anything to me!
I’ve been told I’m a slow burn, but this guy’s completely screwing with my internal temperature. My nipples pebble hard enough that my entire body shivers with the reaction, causing me to teeter on my stilettos and have to compensate by taking a tiny step forward.
A canine yelp echoes about Dean’s apartment and I feel like a total shit. The little Yorkie looks up at me like I did nothing wrong, like I never even skewered his little paw with my stupid heel, his entire body shaking in tandem with the tail wagging. Black beady eyes look up at me like I’m the greatest person in the world and baby teeth the size of grains of rice peek through his mouth when his pink tongue lolls out.
I crouch down and let one of my hands cover his body, and get whimpers and shakes, and little licks over every inch of skin that belongs to my hand.
“Who’s this little dude?” I ask, grateful that I can keep my eyes on another species entirely rather than look up Dean at this height. Reminds me too much of the first time I was on my knees with him looking down at me. Reminds me too much of what it was like, how easy it was to be with him.