( the groan rolls through him just as she expected it, and for a moment dean has to brace himself on the edge of the bed, one knee bent into the mattress, his face pressed into her hair. he meets her eyes when she turns to look at him, his heart beating wildly in the wake of the kiss pressed to the tattoo on his chest and the stroke of her hand. )
Yeah. Better now. ( he says, a little rough around the edges — and it's confirmation of something else, too, something closer to yeah, i want you. i want this. if his voice breaks in the back of his throat from the brush of her thumb over his cock, it gets swallowed by her kiss, searing through him, slowly fraying every nerve. she's barely even touched him and already his knees feel like they might give. maybe it's just the exhaustion of a rigorous hunt, or maybe that's just what she does to him. christ.
a low, breathy sound passes his lips, a huff of a laugh spreading through the thin air between them. it's hard to tell if he's laughing at himself or the fact that bev is surprising him all over again. ) Hold on a sec, huh? ( not to ruin the mood, but if he doesn't sit down they're gonna end up crashing into the bed when she makes his legs tremble — and he firmly has no doubt she's fully capable of making him weak at the knees. he leans in to steal another kiss, his hands drifting to her waist as he turns them in place, backing himself onto the edge of his mattress; it creaks faintly under his weight. in the shift, his robe has come undone, spread open, leaving him on full display, the waist belt hanging loosely at his sides. he should feel exposed, vulnerable, but he's never felt shame about sharing his body, especially not with someone he cares about, someone he knows understands him in a way no one else could. after all, his body is the one thing he's always had control over, even when everything around him felt impossibly out of control — and why the mark terrified him as much as it did.
he reaches out for her hand, the one she'd touched him with only moments ago, brushes his thumb over the back of it. )
You know you don't have to. ( which isn't the same as i don't want you to. hadn't she told him the same thing the first time they did this? you don't have to — or, i don't want you to feel obligated. he'd be more than happy to pull her in, let her sit on his lap, straddle him all the way, let her ride him until she unraveled; happy just to watch her take her pleasure of him, knowing he could give that to her. but the look in her eyes has a different intent, something dean has rarely experienced in all his years of one night stands and failed romances: it seems to say let me do this for you because i want to — and who would he be to deny her? he knows intimately the pride that comes with making someone else feel good, so of course he wants her to feel the same, wants her to be able to view this not as an obligation but a gift, something they can both share. something they can both enjoy. ) Ain't nothing wrong with missionary if you change your mind.
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Yeah. Better now. ( he says, a little rough around the edges — and it's confirmation of something else, too, something closer to yeah, i want you. i want this. if his voice breaks in the back of his throat from the brush of her thumb over his cock, it gets swallowed by her kiss, searing through him, slowly fraying every nerve. she's barely even touched him and already his knees feel like they might give. maybe it's just the exhaustion of a rigorous hunt, or maybe that's just what she does to him. christ.
a low, breathy sound passes his lips, a huff of a laugh spreading through the thin air between them. it's hard to tell if he's laughing at himself or the fact that bev is surprising him all over again. ) Hold on a sec, huh? ( not to ruin the mood, but if he doesn't sit down they're gonna end up crashing into the bed when she makes his legs tremble — and he firmly has no doubt she's fully capable of making him weak at the knees. he leans in to steal another kiss, his hands drifting to her waist as he turns them in place, backing himself onto the edge of his mattress; it creaks faintly under his weight. in the shift, his robe has come undone, spread open, leaving him on full display, the waist belt hanging loosely at his sides. he should feel exposed, vulnerable, but he's never felt shame about sharing his body, especially not with someone he cares about, someone he knows understands him in a way no one else could. after all, his body is the one thing he's always had control over, even when everything around him felt impossibly out of control — and why the mark terrified him as much as it did.
he reaches out for her hand, the one she'd touched him with only moments ago, brushes his thumb over the back of it. )
You know you don't have to. ( which isn't the same as i don't want you to. hadn't she told him the same thing the first time they did this? you don't have to — or, i don't want you to feel obligated. he'd be more than happy to pull her in, let her sit on his lap, straddle him all the way, let her ride him until she unraveled; happy just to watch her take her pleasure of him, knowing he could give that to her. but the look in her eyes has a different intent, something dean has rarely experienced in all his years of one night stands and failed romances: it seems to say let me do this for you because i want to — and who would he be to deny her? he knows intimately the pride that comes with making someone else feel good, so of course he wants her to feel the same, wants her to be able to view this not as an obligation but a gift, something they can both share. something they can both enjoy. ) Ain't nothing wrong with missionary if you change your mind.