Summary: You’ve been missing something of paramount importance – until now.
A/N: this fic is inspired by a few things private and one very special-to-me fic by @covered-byroses called Give You A Hand. I probably read that fic twice a week. lol Thanks, CBR.
You don’t know what possessed you to make the choice you made tonight – to go to bed with this unfamiliar man who’s not your husband. Maybe it’s the enticing enigma that surrounds the Winchesters in your small town. No one knows what they do or what brought them to Lebanon, and you were more than intrigued by the opportunity to find out a little bit more about them, drawn in by his smile, his eyes, his charm.
On the other hand, it could simply be that you’re lonely. Maybe… maybe you’re finally acknowledging how unhappy you truly are, how unsatisfied, how sad; but this surely seems the backend way about it.
Regardless, when you went up to the bar for another round for your coworkers and he looked at you – something swirled in your belly and lower. He made you wet from just one look. It had been a long time since you’d been wet by any other method than lubricant and the slick gush was at once welcomed and nervewracking.
And when he touched you – shook your hand, gentle and firm, his work-roughened skin electrifying your soft palm – it was a revelation.
Now you’re laid out under him, his big hands moving you to his liking – which turns out to be yours as well – his mouth and fingers working your cunt, his skin sliding over yours. He’s all heat and friction and power, and you’re having a hard time breathing through the sensations and emotions.
This is what you’re missing in your life, this intensity and sensuality. You knew you would; you and your mom talked about it, about how important sex is to a successful marriage, but you brushed it off, disbelieving that the utter lack of passion could leave such a large void.
After all, you’d had your day. You’d been around the block – Hell, you’d been all over the neighborhood and into the next – many, many times, right? And really how important is sex itself? Turns out it’s vastly fucking important.
You feel closer to this man, this stranger than you’ve felt to your husband in years. It seems that sex is the easiest and strongest way for you to bond with another person. You wish you could find intimacy in other ways, but nothing else gives you the comfort and closeness you get from really good sex.
His fingers and his tongue and his lips are making you feel things you haven’t felt in over a decade, and he’s uttered nothing more than lascivious moans and groans in almost 30-minutes. The last thing he said to you before your clothes hit the floor was, “I just wanna make you come.” And you didn’t argue.
You don’t know what he does for a living. No one does, although everyone speculates – CIA? Are they in witness protection? Are they even brothers? You get the distinct feeling that it’s something important in the primal sense as if his very existence, his history and his brother’s are woven into the fabric of the universe, keeping it together.
He couldn’t be more different from your white-collar, perfectly pressed, good-natured husband, with his weather-worn face and hands, dangerously scarred torso, and an almost frightening darkness comfortably nestled in the verdant depths of his warm, smiling eyes. You almost make yourself laugh when you wonder if this guy even has an email address. Not that you’d use it if he did. You just want to use his strong, solid body.
He slowly curls his long, strong fingers inside you, brushing the callused tips over your g-spot to roll equally roughened knuckles in their place, and you groan. You can’t get your legs open enough for his beautiful face and wide shoulders, so you’ve draped one knee over the heat and breadth of him, flung the other wide, and pushed your fingers into his hair to hang on as he owns your cunt.
“You’re so wet,” he breathes between swipes of his tongue and twists of his knuckles. “Bet y’could take my whole hand.”
You groan again, the thought of his big, rough hand fucking you whole and hard makes you slick over him even more.
“Want that?” he whispers, pushing up onto an elbow to watch you, corkscrewing his wrist and slowly slipping his pinky in to join his other three fingers. Before he clamps his slick lips over your clit he chuckles, “fuck, yeah, y’do.”
You really can’t open up enough for him, but he finds his way inside you. He’s got most of his fist up in you, knuckles rhythmically rubbing your g-spot, thumb working your clit in time with his tongue. Before you know it, you’re coming, and it hurts, and it’s bliss, and fire sizzles up your sides, up your throat, through your temples to your brain… you’re screaming.
You’re screaming his name, and you’re swearing, and everything hurts so fucking well. You feel like he’s split you in two and put you back right as he slows his movements, licks you long and soft, kisses your hipbones one at a time and gently retracts his fingers from inside.
When his forearms brace his full body over you and fence you in, you can smell yourself on his lips and cheeks and chin. He doesn’t hesitate to kiss you deep and long, push his hand slick and wet with your cum into your hair. It’s all so filthy, and you whimper around his thick tongue, licking into your mouth.
Your hands explore his skin, scars scattered over a smooth, beautiful canvas. He’s slim but his shoulders are broad and he’s solid everywhere, curves and planes in all the right places. He’s strong and he just keeps showing you what he’s capable of.
“You came so hard,” he groans on the consonants and draws out the vowels into your neck, and your knees come up around his hips. “Got me all wet. Fuck.”
He uses his teeth on your neck, then, sucks the delicate skin, pulls. You’ll have bruises and you can’t even pretend to care. Then his hard cock is slipping and bumping at your entrance.
“Open up for me,” he murmurs. “Gonna make ya scream again.”
You huff a breath, lock your legs behind his back, and tilt your hips, feeling him immediately slide inside, his full length slicking your clit down as he solidly fills you where he’d stretched you so wide with his almost-fist. Your cunt sucks him in wet and tight, and the sounds you’re making together are messy and lewd.
You swear aloud, long and breathy, and then he’s all the way in. Deep and snug and – this is what you want. You want this every time – this is heaven. You don’t want to let him out.
He moves, then, and it’s slick and solid and you’re one with every slide. You move like you belong together like this is the first and last and everything. Then he rises to his knees and twists you and lifts your leg, and his thick cock is hitting you where it counts.
You say his name and grip his wrists where they’re strategically placed on your body and you come again. You decide right then that you’ll gladly take everything he gives you. You’re eternally thankful that you finally met the mysterious Winchesters of Lebanon, Kansas. And you have a feeling that this one might be just as thankful for meeting you.
IncogNinja 