Dean nods, like he's hearing a voice coming from the stone. "Yeah, it's still weird though, watching her get all dressed up, then look down at her ring and try to pull it off. I bought her a chain so she could wear it all the time, but she's stubborn and won't listen to me."
I stare at the letters carved into the tombstone, marvelling at how absolutely useless they are.
Beloved husband and father, never forgotten. What kind of consolation is that?
"I miss you a lot," he says, voice cracking. He's pulverizing my hand in his grip, and I struggle not to make a sound.
I'm here, Dean. I'm right here. I won't let you go.
"I wish I could talk to you about this girl I'm having problems with. She's driving me crazy, Dad. She's the one that hurt me, and ever since then, I can't get her out of my head. She doesn't believe in love, Dad. How whacked is that? She never got to see you and Mom looking at each other the way you used to." Dean nods again, like he's hearing wise words. "I know, it's my job to make that happen. I'll … I'll come see you soon, I promise."
Dean stares miserably at the white stone, still holding my hand in that bruising grip.
What's a little physical pain in the light of a soul-destroying one?
"Are you cold?" Dean asks, turning his head to look at me, really looking at me for the first time tonight.
I shake my head. Even I know the right answer to this question. I give him a tiny smile, trying to lighten the mood. His eyes zero-in on my mouth.
"I would like to kiss you, if that's okay" he says, still staring at my lips. I don't know what he thinks he's going to get out of one kiss, but I'm game.
I nod, and feel his one warm hand and one cool one both softly land on either of my cheeks.
He tips my head back while staring into my eyes, as he slowly, so slowly comes to rest his lips against mine. He takes his time on my mouth, just a brushing of flesh on flesh about to drive me crazy and making me want to do unholy things on top of graves.
His tongue slowly sweeps in and I open for him, tasting him again. It's like he's got a switch that's been thrown and I lose his hands on my face and feel his hands fisting my coat at my lower back, now lifting me so we're closer than before.
Pretty sure I'm going to go to hell for making out on a grave. That's got to be a sin.
Dean pulls back, breathing hard, eyes dazed. "You drive me crazy, kitten. Absolutely fucking crazy."
"I'm sorry," I say, and this time I mean it.
"You're place or mine?" he growls, setting me down. My inner thighs start to quiver, and heat pulses through me at the thought of him in my bed.
"You sure about this?" I ask, because it's the right thing to do. Also, I might just be taking advantage of him. I'd hate it if we have sex and tomorrow morning Dean's out of my life forever. I've come to enjoy our Thursday nights together.
You just love his cooking.
That's not true … much.
"I need you," he says, voice cracking in the middle and it sucks that I'm so horny that I can't adequately comfort him right now. But I will!
I nod. "Alright, say bye to your brother and we'll get going."
We walk back towards my car, hand-in-hand again, Dean being considerate of my smaller frame and even at one point holding me in front of him while my feet dangle a foot above the ground so I don't ruin my heels any more than I have to.
It sure as fuck doesn't help that I'm plastered to his front, and his dick gets cradled by my ass. Dean growls in my ear at the contact and I'm going to need new underwear stat.
Dean says goodbye to his brother and the kid's girlfriend, waving, and telling him he'll call sometime tomorrow. Guess Dean's place is younger brother free.
When he looks to me as he takes a seat in my car, his eyes are bright and his lips look to be a bit swollen from me. He's never looked sexier, more beautiful to me. I'm going to take care of him tonight.
I'm not going to take, and it's not going to be all about me.
I'm going to give him the ride of his life, and he'll be so addicted to me he'll never think I'm not worth it.
But first, I need to go about this carefully. I'm finally getting what I want, and I need to make sure Dean does, too.
It takes two to play ball, and whatever hurt he's feeling right now, it's my responsibility to take it away, at least for tonight.
Tomorrow? That's a different ballgame. Might as well say forever, since I don't know anything about the future.
If there even is a future.
Chapter 25
I let us into my apartment with Dean's giant hand at the small of my back.
Oh, possessive. I like it.
"Take a seat, I'll make us some supper," I tell him, taking off my coat, and hanging it up in the closet. I keep my heels on, loving the extra height and the way they make my legs look. I'm more than sure Dean appreciates the view, too.
I open the fridge and lean in, checking out whatever perishables I got in there. Eggs, some Singles cheese, a bunch of veggies that would make a killer omelette. I got some sriracha in there, too, to top it all off. Gathering all the ingredients, I plop them on the counter, then move about to my piano cupboards, stooping low to get the frying pan.
Placing it on the element, the cool hand at my back seeps in through my blouse and spreads along my skin. I shiver, and grin.
"Don't you want to eat something first?" I ask, whirling around, and placing both hands on his chest. His heart's even and steady, but his eyes are stark in his face, the green practically glowing. I'm going to love it trying to get his eyes to have that hazy look after I'm done with him.
He smirks, and I laugh at myself. His hands go to my ass, palming a cheek in each one and giving me a squeeze.
Well, hello, Dean Carter. I don't think I've met this side of you before.
"I need you now," he says, his voice nothing more than a low rumble. My nipples pebble hard in my bra, and he takes one of my hands and places it on his scruffy jaw, only to kiss me in the center of it.
Damn. That beard is going to leave marks on my thighs. Better for remembering later.
"Please," he begs, and starts removing my blouse from underneath my skirt, looking about ready to rip it off my body. He could be the dying man looking for one last chance at revenge, the way he's so desperate to get me naked.
But then, he's too concentrated on my rockin' body, on exposing my tits, ass, and pussy instead of realizing that this face comes with that package. Maybe he's even thinking of somebody else, instead of realizing it's me.
"Kitten, please. I need this," he says, but his hands have stopped moving on my skirt, about ready to bring the zipper down. I haven't told him no, and I'm not resisting his advances. Hell, it's taken awhile for us to get here, and now that we are … it just doesn't feel right.
"Say my name."
Dean's eyes widen, his mouth pops open, and his tongue makes an appearance to lick them.
He has no idea how that's affecting me. He has no freaking clue.
"Katarina DiNovro. I'm not drunk. I know who I'm with."
The knots in my chest unwind themselves and I take a deep breath.
"Good. That's good. There's no need to rush, okay? We've got lots of time."
He nods, swallowing hard, setting me away from him. "You've got anything to drink?" he asks, and I move to my wine cabinet, showing off a 2009 Liano that I think he'll enjoy. "Don't be stingy on the pouring, either."
I fill a hefty glass, but watch him take his time in drinking it.
"I'm sorry about being so abrupt. I shouldn't've done that."
"Did I tell you no?" I ask, closing my blouse.
Dean shrugs, takes another swallow of wine. He isn't savouring it but instead looks like he's forcing himself to keep it together and drink like a normal human being. He shakes his head.
"But you weren't ripping my clothes off, either. So you weren't into it."
"Come sit down on the couch. There's a game on. Just decompress a little. I'll make us a frittata."
"You're being sweet to me and now I feel like an asshole. I want you, kitten, but not like this. Not when I'm torn up inside, and I can't pay attention to you."
Well, doesn't that just light my fire.
"You've got nothing to worry about." I move to the kitchen and start my business. I get the veggies cooking first, and the smell of frying them in butter consumes my apartment. Dean gives me a thumbs up from the couch.
My body's on autopilot, because I'm pretty sure my brain has been switched off and my vagina is now running the show. My skin feels too tight, and I'm so wound up, breathing's getting harder and my panties are too abrasive and not enough stimulation all at once.
Dean gets under my skin. Is that a good thing or a bad thing?
"Here we go," I say, bringing two plates over with cutlery wrapped in napkins under my arm. I settle beside him on the couch, wishing I could go change. Dean grabs his plate without any further prodding, and downs it like a starving man eating his last meal.
"Good?" I ask, eating my portion more slowly. "There's more on the stove, if you want."
Dean shakes his head after carefully wiping his mouth. He gulps down more wine, tossing his head back to finish the rest of it off. I'm about to ask him for a refill when he settles himself more deeply into the couch, and stares at the TV, watching the Habs losing.
"That was delicious," he tells me, still looking at the screen. I nod my thanks, but I'm pretty sure it's lost on him, though. I'm finding it hard to eat, and it's never hard to eat. Dean does that to me.