"I really hate this sometimes," he says, and looks over at me, his green eyes holding a wealth of pain. "I really hate you, and the way you've got me all twisted up inside."
I chew slowly on my frittata, enjoying the mixture of flavours. It serves to distract me from the ache between my legs, and the way my skin is hyper-sensitive. The way I'm hanging onto his every word, waiting for the green light.
I set my plate on the coffee table, and move around so I'm facing him fully.
Dean comes into my space, one hand going to my cheek, tilting my head up slightly so our gazes can meet. "Fucking hell, I want you, Katarina. Badly, so, so badly."
I want to make him feel better, wash away the pain of his day, of the anniversary of his father's death when he didn't even tell me about it. Yeah, I care for Dean, and I'm going to show him just how much.
I keep still, letting him make the first move. When you're in pain, sometimes you want, no, need, distraction to drown it away, at least temporarily. Sometimes you need to hurt someone else, like it's possible for them to steal the pain away for a few fleeting moments.
I want to distract Dean, instead of hurting him again. I don't know what kind of person that makes me right now, unable to fully give him what he wants from me. It's more than sex for Dean, and I don't want to give him anymore than I already have.
But we're both here, and he's hurting …
Dean leans closer, eyes moving from my lips to eyes, gaging my reaction. I think he knows I'm not going to stop him, not now. Finally our mouths meet and I'm drowning in him, elated that we're going to finish what he started at the cemetery. He groans into my mouth, opening for me so I can sweep my tongue inside and kiss him, make him forget his name.
The world ceases to exist, and we move closer to each other, and I finally have his weight on top of me, my goddamn skirt hampering me from opening my legs so he fits in the cradle of my hips. His hard cock is hitting my hip bone, and a growl comes out of him as he starts nibbling on my lips, stinging bites that I sure as fuck I never liked until now.
"We need to go slow," he groans, pulling away from my mouth every time he says a word. His hips fall more deeply into me as he tries to anchor his weight on his hands on either side of me.
"Stop talking," I tell him, fisting my hands in his hair and making sure he doesn't pull away from me again. Our tongues do the talking for us, a perfect battle of want and need, raspy flesh in a bid to taste more of the other. Fuck, I missed this. I missed him and I didn't even know it.
"Please, I'm going to make it end before we even get started."
No guy I know would willingly admit that to a girl. And that Dean is admitting it to me has me fighting back a grin and wanting to maul him further. I'd love to find out just how much out of control I can make him be.
"You make that sound like it's a bad thing," I tell him, practically mewling when he somehow turns and gets me on top of him. His hands go to my ass, squeezing and shaping, cupping and generally making everything inside me incinerate. I pulse and throb and I desperately need pressure and friction.
Dean somehow gets his hands under my skirt, and starts pushing it up my thighs, drugging sweeps of his hands on my legs, taking his time, making this more into torture than a one-stop-shop. His fingers knead my leg muscles, his thumbs tracing slow circles on my inner thighs, travelling up, up and up, until the skirt is over the swell of my hips, over my ass and just sits there like a tire around my waist.
Fuck yes, I can spread my legs, positioning myself on top of him to get him exactly where I need. Dean's cock is against me, hard and hot, and he sinks his teeth into my bottom lip just as I start to grind against him, using slow sweeps of my hips, up and down, up and down.
When Dean let's go of my lip, I somehow fight the haze and look down at his face, a mixture of pain and pleasure twisting his features, his green eyes lost in sensation. His mouth's open for the bouts of air he needs to drag in, and his hands are clutching my hips, almost as if he's fighting himself to make me go faster … or slower.
"Dean … " I whisper, sitting up, palms going to his chest. Oh, God, this is so good, so so good. I fumble for the buttons on my blouse, only to have Dean tear it off me, pulling down my bra cups and letting all of me out for him to see.
Some sort of fire lights behind his eyes, and I'm liking this caveman part of him, this version that doesn't stumble on words, or actions, the kind that takes what he wants, and what he wants is to make me feel good.
Fuck, his palms graze my sensitive nipples, making me arch my back and toss back my head. I continue grinding on him, breathing ragged, stomach hollow, every inch of me centered and the ache between my legs, the emptiness, and the sparks of white hot heat that explodes every time my clit hits him on the down stroke.
"Shit," he growls, lifting himself up so that we're mouth to mouth again. I get his suit jacket off, and start undoing all the buttons of his shirt, laughing when I hit his skin with my hands.
He's so hot right now, his heat warming my hands, his tongue dancing with mine in my mouth in such flawlessness that I forget I need to breathe.
I pull back, smiling at him, loving the way he's looking at me.
His features have twisted again, his teeth coming down to chew on his lower lip. He hugs me close, crushing me to his body, mouth going to my neck, to my sensitive spot that dissolves me into shivers, and somehow centers in the heart of my pussy.
The sucking sensation against my throat has me begging him to take off my panties, to sink into me, but I don't get an answer any more than him continuing to suck my skin, his tongue swirling, his teeth grazing me there.
My whole body's on fire, my hands are everywhere on his, nails raking down his chest and abs, watching in awe as they contract under my touch.
I'm suddenly sitting, facing the TV, and fuck if I know who's winning the game. Dean takes off my blouse fully, tossing it over his shoulder and quickly unsnapping my bra from around my ribcage. He moves in closer, getting his hands underneath me and unzipping my skirt. My panties are removed with the same tug he uses to get me out of my skirt.
I'm completely naked before him, and I've never felt more powerful, more alive, more … me.
"Christ," he breathes, one hand going to my slightly round stomach, his eyes going to my pussy, staring down with such an intensity I'll probably come from that alone.
"God, kitten, just look at you."
Even if he says the usual ‘you're so hot, you're so tight, blah, blah, blah,' it won't matter ‘cause it's Dean, and I know he'll mean it.
"Your skin," he says, gliding both hands over either side of my ribcage, knuckles grazing the underside of my breasts.
"So soft. And baby, look at your hips," his hands move there next, digging into the suppleness there. I wasn't expecting him to complement on such mundane parts of my body.
"Can I taste you?" he asks, and my heart's doing sommersaults. Another streak of heat dances from the top of my head to my pussy, and I pull in a sharp breath at his question.
"Yes, you can."
Dean takes his time kissing up one of my inner thighs, slow, drugging kisses that make my heart trip, and make the ache inside me ten times worse. He's driving me absolutely insane.
"Dean … " I warn, spreading my legs wider, giving him more access. I look down at him, my whole body shaking with need.
His tongue laps against me, slow, and careful. The sensation has me bucking my hips, my back bowing, as stars start to explode behind my eyes.
There's something to be said for going slow.
"Dean … " I whimper, straining to get more of his tongue on me. "I want to come."
"In a minute, kitten," he says, licking me again in that infuriating slow way of his. My whole body trembles and a moan escapes me. Dean licks me faster this time, his tongue the perfect friction. God, and then he puts his entire mouth on me and sucks.
I cry out, body contorting as the orgasm rips through me, destroying all my cells, all my molecules and putting me back together into a different human being with the same face and body.
Dean nips at the softness of my inner thigh, making me jump. He kisses his way up my belly, and frowns at my boobs. "I haven't paid enough attention to these yet," he says, voice deeper, impossibly sexier.
"Do you want to take this to the bed?" he asks, pushing hair back from my face.
I can only nod. If I speak, I might tell him I'm chaining him to the bed and not letting him out of my sight for the rest of his life.
I stand on unsteady feet, Dean still in his dress pants and socks, who guides me into my bedroom where he turns down the covers for us, and opens the light.
Dean drops his pants and his Star Wars boxers, and I'm confronted with the best looking ass I've ever seen on a guy. All muscular and perfect, I might just be taking a bite out of that later.
"C'mon, kitten," he says, patting the bed once he's settled himself in it, covers over his hips.
"Why are you being shy?"
Even his cheeks are red, and he keeps licking his lips like he's trying to remember what I taste like.
"You're one of the most beautiful things I've ever seen … " he says, staring at me with such authenticity that whatever I have left of my frozen heart gives a feeble thump, thump, thump.
"Except for Mace Windu's lightsaber. That shit's purple."