One Night Only (23 in 1): While on a job in the middle of America, Dean enjoys a rigorous night of mutual gratification with a local art student.
Dean x OMC
River:“It doesn’t take Dean long to find him amidst the thin crowd and cheap holiday decorations. He’s shorter than Dean, thicker, blue eyes just this side of grey, and more than a few days past a clean shave. The beard is what clinches it. Dean shivers internally as he takes a seat at the bar one seat down from the man.” *written for @julesthequirky’s #Quirky’sWinterHolChallenge
Michael/Dean x anonymous female character
His Sword: Michael takes some time to remind Dean who’s in control. *written for @covered-byroses #Michael!Cember event
Choose Your Own Winchester x Reader
Lifting the Veil: You’ve been missing something of paramount importance – until now.
Jensen x Reader
Wrecked: “After the show, alone in a dark corridor, he shows you exactly what that song means.”
Angeles: “It started with being in the same place at the same time, friends in common, similar interests in music and movies. Then you touched his knee and laughed when he said something funny – and the look in his eyes left you hot and shivering.”
In For A Penny: This is what they want. This is what they need.
SERIES
Dean x Donna
The Mud On Your Boots: It’s been a while for Donna, and with a wedding and a recent purchase of sex toys, an unexpected visitor is more than welcome. WORK IN PROGRESS
Dean x Reader
Shadow Love: You’re an ancient, powerful supernatural entity on the run with Dean as your bodyguard. Neither of you knows your identity or your purpose, but the pull between you is so strong that you can’t resist each other. When you begin to regain memories, you aren’t sure whose they are; and Dean begins to pull away. Meanwhile, Sam, Cas, and Rowena are on the case. WORK IN PROGRESS
Dean x OFC
Plus One: OFC Vanessa hates weddings until she meets a handsome stranger.
Dean x OFC x Sam
And Then There Were Three: OFC Natalie and Dean are in a "not serious” relationship and one night, she and Sam take a step that will change things forever.
MOC!Dean x OFC
Pretty Reckless: Dean stumbles upon another hunter so much like himself. When they’re connection grows inexplicably stronger, they find an answer they never thought existed.
Bottle Service: They haven’t been looking for a permanent third, not really. But sometimes you find the thing you need when you least expect it; isn’t that what they always say?
The hunt is long over. You ganked a djinn, showered, had some greasy food and a few beers, and you should be in bed fast asleep. Instead, you’re in an old beat-up armchair, knees spread wide astride Dean Winchester’s lap, taking his tongue in your mouth and two of his fingers in your pussy.
“More,” you moan, your lips dragging over his squared jaw and down his neck, begging him to use his whole fucking hand to get you off. You want to come and you’re certain he can make you; you just aren’t sure how far you want to go to let him.
Dean smiles against your temple before brushing his lips across the thin skin and slipping a third finger into your slick and swiping his thumb over your clit. “Should get these pants off,” he rumbles, pulling your earlobe between his lips. “Get my mouth on you.” He takes your mouth with his again and you moan into it.
Dean’s the most beautiful enigma. He’s crass and socially awkward, he’s a ruthless and exacting hunter, and he’s the most generous lover you could ever imagine. That last part sent you for a loop 15-minutes ago when you climbed into his lap, expecting him to throw you down and fuck the shit out of you, fast and hard.
Now, here he is, taking his time, making you so fucking wet and kissing you senseless of all fucking things.
“Then what?” you whisper, clenching around his thick fingers, digging your nails into his shoulders.
He chuckles. “Then you come,” he says like it’s the only possible answer before swallowing your tongue and sliding his lips against yours. He curls his fingers and you groan.
Part of you wants to get yours right here in his lap on his big, battle-worn hand then get the fuck out, go to your room and have a good night’s sleep. You could tell all the other male-attracted hunters of the world all about how you got Dean Winchester right where you wanted him, got off and got gone. Most hunters don’t kiss and tell; but if you bag a Winchester? You fucking tell.
“I’m coming now,” you gasp and you’re trembling. Dean holds you in place by the back of your head as he kisses you through it.
Your fingers slacken from the cotton of his white t-shirt, slide in toward his neck, and up to hold his face in your hands. You moan into his kiss again because you can’t even remember the last time you were kissed, or you kissed someone else in any other way than the obligatory one-night-stand or casual-fuck kiss. It’s really a lost art for people like you and him – no one has time for foreplay or tenderness in your world.
You break your connection and rest your forehead to his, catching your breath. Dean’s pulled his fingers from your body and he’s lifting them into view. He rolls his head to the side then slips his fingers into his mouth one at a time to the last knuckle, slowly dragging them through the purse of his full, wet lips. When he closes his eyes on a moan, you lose your breath.
“Dean,” you whisper, pulling back to get a better look at him.
You cup his jaw, and he nuzzles into your palm. His eyes flutter open, long, pretty lashes lightly beating his flushed cheekbones. With a significant amount of inexplicable joy, you notice the freckles you’ve heard so much about. The subtle sweetness, the boyishness in his rugged features, is so totally incongruous with everything you’ve ever heard about him and you’re unreservedly fascinated.
Then his face blooms with a striking grin and his eyes are sparkling – literally fucking sparkling. “What?” he asks, lazily perusing your face. He rests both hands on your hips and licks his lips as his gaze settles on your mouth.
“What d’you want?” you ask, shocking yourself, your thumb traces his cheekbone and you marvel at the way his tongue can keep your attention for so fucking long, running along his bottom lip and flirting from behind his teeth.
“This,” he answers in that same tone as earlier, like you should already know the answer.
“What?” you ask again with a bit of a chuckle, combing your fingers through the sides of his hair and massaging his scalp. You’ve never been the most nurturing person, but something about him makes you want to pamper him.
Dean drops his eyes and smiles like he’s shy. Then he gathers you to him and stands up out of the chair. He’s kissing you again and you might be giggling as you wrap your legs around his waist. He takes two long strides to the bed, knees onto the lumpy mattress with you wrapped around him then lays you both down flat in the center of it all.
He doesn’t speak for a long time, he just entwines his fingers with yours, gently presses your hands into the bedspread on either side of your head and brushes his lips everywhere he can reach in this position. He murmurs and sighs and sometimes he uses his tongue and teeth. Your knees are bent but fallen open, and your indecision earlier about how far you’d go with Dean Winchester is no longer up for debate.
He moves down your body, pushing your tank top up with one hand, grazing those fingers over your rib cage and under your back to clamp around your side, brushing his thumb just under your bare breast, and pulling your leggings down with the other hand, fingers wrapped around the waistband. You push your fingers into his hair and lift your hips to give him better access. He swirls his tongue in your belly button, pulling at the ring with his teeth and you gasp.
“Oh!” Sometimes when you’re alone you tug at that ring for the sensation you crave, to remind yourself that you can feel something good, but no one else has ever paid it any attention.
Dean huffs a quiet laugh over the damp skin of your belly, making you shiver with delight, then he raises to kneeling, dragging your leggings and underwear the rest of the way down your legs and off. He tosses them over his shoulder before pulling his t-shirt over his head, baring that infamously thick, solid torso of his then resting his hands on your open knees.
“Can I taste you?” he asks, tilting his head in interest, watching your expression shift from dazed to confused.
Dean Winchester is asking permission to eat you out and you’re floored. As if you’d ever say no.
You nod dumbly, breathlessly, and he grins then drops over you to plant a solid kiss to your lips before retracing his path downward. He pushes your tank all the way over your breasts on his way down and palms one, pulling the nipple between his roughened thumb pad and the calloused knuckle of his trigger finger.
When he reaches his destination, he settles between your legs, drapes your knees over his shoulders, and slides his hands under your backside. His fingers wrap the crease under your ass and his thumbs splay you open. He licks you bottom to top and circles your clit with the flat of his tongue.
The sounds he’s making almost have you coming on the spot. Then it occurs to you that you’re on the verge of your second orgasm and you haven’t even seen his dick yet.
“Dean,” you breathe, pushing up onto one elbow and combing your fingers through the mess of hair on top of his pretty head. He doesn’t stop what he’s doing, though his eyes meet yours in question. “You should let me-”
He grips your lower belly, heel pressing into one hipbone and fingers wrapping around the other side. He shakes his head and smiles bright. “Not yet.” Then he sets back to work, sliding his tongue through your slick and pushing one middle finger inside.
You sigh and drop your head back, reveling in the velvet of his tongue, the plump of his lips, and the slide of his finger. You took three of his fingers in the chair earlier, but you’re swollen now, and you’re at a different angle, and he’s placing the most pleasant pressure over your belly in time with his tongue against your clit.
He pushes you to the edge until you’re almost coming again. Then he pulls his finger back and removes his mouth, leaving you gasping for air. You look at him and he asks, “Trust me?” with reverence and eagerness in his eyes. You nod because you do without question.
Dean smiles and rolls you to your belly. You cast your gaze over your shoulder and see him wedging himself between your thighs. You rest your cheek on your folded arms and pop your ass in the air and enjoy the show.
He palms your ass, spreads you open, and licks you long and deep. Then you hear him spit before feeling his thumb brush your tight hole and push two fingers inside your swollen sex. You’ve never experienced this with another human, only your vibrator, but if you’re going to let anyone touch you there, it’s going to be Dean Winchester.
“Aah,” you whisper, pulling your knees up under you, pushing your ass further in the air, opening yourself more, and his mouth and hand follow. He’s licking and fucking and stroking you so good. You imagine all the times he’s done this, all the women who’ve taken it with utter fucking bliss, you feel yourself turning to liquid and you groan. “Dean, God.”
He buries his face in your ass and slops his tongue and lips against you, slips another finger inside your pussy, twists them and presses down on your g-spot. When his tongue persists against your back hole, you shriek and clamp around his fingers. Then you’re gushing wet and there’s a buzzing sound and you see spots.
You’re panting as he lays you down on your side and you feel the bed shift with his departure. You lie staring at the door, listening to the bathroom sink turn on and Dean banging around in there, gargling, washing up. When the water turns off, you roll to see him approaching the bed.
“Want a beer?” he asks, and your eyes drop to the bulge in his pants.
“Sure,” you answer, sitting up.
“I’ll get it,” he says, holding up a hand to still your movements. You watch him move to the small motel fridge to retrieve the beers.
“Like walkin’ around with a hard-on?” you ask with amusement and hear him snort before he stands and turns to walk back to the bed, twisting the caps off the bottles and letting them drop to the floor. He climbs onto the bed and hands you one of the beers then settles next to you.
“Not particularly,” he answers, sipping from his bottle and eyeing your bare form. “But I do like the way you’re gonna feel now that you’ve come twice.” He licks his lips. “Swollen and full.” His eyes meet yours again and he wraps his lips around the bottle opening to take another swig.
You swallow and feel your heart flutter in your chest and your belly flip. The air has left your lungs and you can’t find the witty retort you’d like to use.
“Gonna drink that?” he asks, nodding to the beer in your hand.
You blink then shake your head and set the beer aside. When you turn back to face him, his chin is dipped to his bare chest and his eyes are turned up, watching you. He’s picking at the label of his beer bottle, and you take it from his hands then put it with yours.
He takes your hand in his and pulls you to him. You settle over one of his thighs with a hand on his belt. “You are nothing like I thought you’d be.” You gaze into the pure iridescence of his shallow ocean water eyes.
He smiles and tilts his head again. “What’s that mean?” He twists and twines his fingers with yours and studies your face.
You take a deep breath. “You’re so,” you pause. “Indulgent.” Dean chuckles at that then pulls the hand that’s clasped in his until you’re kissing again. He kisses you for several moments until you pull away. “See?” you say, chuckling a little yourself.
He shrugs. “It’s just me, sweetheart.” That glint in his eyes makes your heart skip, and you sigh.
“Okay,” you answer softly and use both hands to run over his chest and shoulders before dragging them down to open his pants. He grins and bites his bottom lip, runs his hands up your bare thighs, and watches your hands work his dick from his pants.
“It’s obnoxious how perfectly made you are, you know that, right?” you say, gripping and lightly stroking his length. “From your head to your toes to your fingertips to…” You look down at the thick mass in your hands; it’s the prettiest dick you’ve ever seen. “This.”
Dean groans when you tighten your grip and slide backward, smearing his thigh with your wet. You drop and dip your face to swipe your tongue along the underside of his length. He twitches and swells further as you get him wet with your mouth.
He produces a condom from somewhere and hands it to you. It seems such a shame to you to cover up something so beautiful, but you roll the latex over him anyway.
“Come up here,” he says, hooking his hands under your armpits and hoisting you up his body until you’re mouth to mouth. Then he rolls you to your back, slotting his hips between your thighs. His half-shed jeans chafe your sensitive skin, and you like it, but you want him naked.
You bring your knees up and try to tuck your toes in the pockets of his jeans to push them down, and he laughs. Dean scrapes his teeth from collarbone to collarbone and pushes his jeans down and off with his own hands.
Seconds feel like minutes as he pushes inside you, breathing against you, holding you down with his hands and his weight. You’re so keyed up; you want everything at once. You close your eyes and exhale and hook your ankles behind his back. You kiss him and hold him close and tell him what you want. “Fuck me, Dean.”
Dean nods. His face is a portrait of hedonism, jaw slack and eyes hooded, a small smile turning the corners of his lips, tongue dancing between his teeth. He braces his forearms and his knees, opening you so, so wide and starts to move in hard and deep – so deep. “Talk to me,” he says, nuzzling your jaw. “Tell me how it feels.”
“Ung, Dean, so good,” you moan, kissing him wherever you can. Your hands caress his skin, smooth and scarred and stretched tight over muscle. “So hard,” you gasp. You feel every inch of him sliding inside you.
“I wanna feel you come.” He breathes, gripping one of your hips and holding you in place. “Please?” With his hands and his voice and his solid slide inside you – he’s taking you apart piece by piece.
You slip a hand between your bodies and press two fingers over the flesh that hugs your clit. He slams into you, slow but hard, rises to his knees, taking one of your legs with him, your calf over his shoulder. His fingers join yours to toy with your clit and he’s smiling down at you.
“So beautiful,” he whispers, running his hand down the front length of your extended thigh. “C’mon.” His smile is wide, and his breath keeps coming in pants. “Lemme feel that pretty pussy come on me.”
He doesn’t have to tell you again. Watching him above you, broad chest and shoulders, glistening with sweat, his jewel eyes shot through with moonlight from the window, and that lady-killer smile – and you’re coming hard.
He groans and stutters his hips, scoops your other leg over his shoulder and drops to all fours to pound you, fucking your orgasm to its shaking end. You finally cry out his name when you feel him throbbing and coming.
“So,” Lana says, from the back seat of your Jeep. “Heard you were on a hunt with Dean Winchester last week.”
“Ooh, yeah,” Tracey reacts from the passenger seat, flipping the visor back into place and turning to watch you closely. “Dish, sister.”
At the mere mention of his name and that hunt your skin ripples with goosebumps.
You woke up as the little spoon with lips latched over the pulse point in your neck. One big, warm hand roamed your hip and thigh, and you pushed back into his warm body. He slid between the tops of your thighs and along your slick slit, hard and thick.
“Not much to tell,” you say, reaffirming your grip on the steering wheel, making a show of gauging the traffic around you. “We got the djinn, had a burger and a couple beers.” You shrug, and you can see your hunter colleagues exchanging wry glances.
“Fuck off,” Lana says with a scoff of disbelief.
“What, were you puking blood or something? Because…” Tracey shakes her head and drills you into the driver’s seat with her skeptical glare.
When you reached up behind you to grip the back of his head, he rolled you to your stomach, straddled your thighs, and slid his forearms under your shoulders, bracing himself on the mattress. You clasped your hands over his, and he began to move.
You laugh. “No, I wasn’t puking blood,” you shake your head and take the turn to pull into the Target parking lot. Part of you wants to keep the experience to yourself. There was something almost sacred about it and it feels like if you talk about it, you’ll sully it.
“Concussion?” Lana posits, as you park.
“No,” you laugh again. “Nothing like that, just…” Your voice trails as you hop out of the Jeep.
Dean rutted against your ass with his hips, making his hard cock slide over and over your distended clit. His weight held you down, but you arched your back enough to cant your hips and ass to let him slide home. You both groaned when he hit that spot.
“Just?” Tracey prods as the three of you make your way to the big box store entrance. “Bitch, there is no way I’m buying that you slept in the same motel as Dean fucking Winchester – post-hunt, no less – and didn’t fuck the living Hell out of him.”
You shrug again. “Well, I didn’t,” you say, which isn’t a total lie. Truth be told, the fucking was all done by him; you just reaped the benefits. “D’you guys have supply lists?”
“Oh, my God,” Lana grumbles, gripping Tracey’s arm. “She’s changing the subject.” Then she gasps and looks at you with shock. “Wait- was it bad? Please tell me that gorgeous asshole has a tiny dick or is a rotten lay. Please.”
He banged into you, with hard languorous thrusts, taking your breath with each inward slide when he’d hit your g-spot. You lay there, taking what he gave, gripping his fingers with yours.
“Fuck, you’re so wet and tight,” he groaned. “Come with me.”
“I can’t tell you that, no,” you say, poking through a clearance end cap of cleaning rags. Their speculation is getting to you, making you feel like you need to defend Dean’s honor.
“So, he is good,” Tracey surmises, pulling a face. “Of fucking course.”
“Great,” Lana rolls her eyes. “Now I won’t be able to sleep again for a week just thinking about him fucking me into a tree or on the hood of the sex mobile.”
“What a dick,” Tracey bemoans, and you laugh again.
“Harder, Dean,” your breath shook and everything in your gut tightened. “Coming. Want it harder.” Dean grit his teeth and pushed up to his hands, hammering into you, fucking you into the mattress with abandon.
“Shit,” he stuttered, and you felt him spill inside you, pushing you further into your orgasm.
“Okay,” you stop and turn to face them. “This is all I’m gonna say and then we’re done. Capisce?” Lana and Tracey nod eagerly with big, expectant eyes.
“It was the best sex I’ve ever had and probably ever will,” you start. “He’s a kisser.” You smile wistfully, remembering his mouth on yours, on your skin, between your legs. “His hands are strong and calloused, but gentle? And more than capable.” You nod in agreement with yourself. “And that mouth…” You shake your head and sigh. “Suffice to say that Dean Winchester knows exactly what to do with every last inch of his gloriously hard body.”
You come back to the moment at hand with a grin. Your shopping partners are staring, eyes glazed over, and you wink before wandering off, leaving them standing, mouths agape, in the storage container aisle.
“We got a bunker in Lebanon,” Dean said, tossing your duffle into your trunk. “If you’re ever in the neighborhood, gimme a call.”
You smiled and nodded. “Will do.”
Dean pulled you in for a hug and a chaste kiss to your forehead before releasing you. “See ya ‘round, kid.” He smiled then turned and made his way to his car. You climbed into your own car, started her up and pulled out of the parking lot, headed in the opposite direction as Dean.
You watched in the rearview mirror as the Impala got smaller and smaller until it finally disappeared
Summary: “You have no idea what I’d do to you,” Dean seethes.
“Oh, I have quite the imagination, Mr. Winchester,” she pants, finding just the right spot and slamming down on him.
Pairing: Dean x you, Dean x reader, Dean x her
Words: 2245
Warnings: femdom, Dean’s tied to a chair, wearing a cock ring, face sitting, things might get a little rough, but it’s all in good fun, female ejaculation/squirting
He’s tied to a chair, arms bound at the wrists behind the chair back and ankles knotted to the legs. He’s gagged with a thick rope wound twice around the circumference of his head, threaded between his teeth as it holds a wadded cloth inside his mouth. She didn’t blindfold him and surely that was part of her plan – to make him suffer, to watch, unable to do anything about the scene unfolding around him.
“It’s killing you, isn’t it, Dean?” she purrs. “To be so helpless, no leverage or choice.” She circles behind the chair, dragging neatly manicured, French-tipped fingers along the width of his bare, sculpted shoulders. “You’re not used to not having power, are you?”
Dean stays still and stares straight ahead. He can feel the goosebumps rising all over his naked torso, but he tells himself to chill. This is what he agreed to after all.
“Maybe you secretly like it,” she speculates. “Strutting around with such bravado like your dick’s too big for this world.” She chuckles. “Maybe you’ve got somethin’ to hide, hmm?” She uses the riding crop she’s wielding to lightly swat the bulge at the apex of his thighs, and he groans around his gag.
“Or maybe you’re hung like a horse but can’t get it up,” she says with a giggle. She can clearly see him straining the denim, but she wants to drag the degradation part out for a bit before she rides him. “Or …” She’s at his back again and drops her head, bracing one hand on his shoulder to murmur in his ear. “You get hard as a rock and are hung like a horse, but you just don’t know what to do with it and you come too fast.”
Dean shifts in his seat and his heart races. She slides into view and she’s twirling the fate he’d imagined around her slender index finger. “Don’t worry, sweetheart,” she says with a wicked grin and red in her eyes. “Mama’s gonna take good care of you.”
Suddenly, she’s straddling his knees. She slides the handle of the riding crop between is back and the chair, pops the ring between her teeth, and yanks at his belt. Once his belt’s unbuckled, she leaves it alone and jerks his button fly open then uses both hands to pull his cock from his boxers, pushing as much fabric out of her way as possible.
She takes the ring from between her teeth and sighs, gazing down at the pulsing flesh in her hand. “It’s as pretty as your face, Dean,” she says with delight, red eyes flicking up to meet his silvery-green. “Not that I’m surprised.” She ducks her head and spits, heavy and long, then rolls the ring down his length to his base and pumps.
Dean groans with the sensations she’s inflicting. He’s more than half-hard and she’s just pushing him further and further down the line. After several pumps and twists, she pushes away from his lap and stands in front of him once more.
“You’re a simple man, Dean,” she says, removing her jean jacket and dropping it to the floor, kicking her boots off and generally removing her clothes with the perfunctory nature of a person in the midst of a daily ritual. “With simple desires and tastes; beer, burgers, and babes, am I right?”
Dean tries not to roll his eyes. Yeah, he likes all those things – a lot – but he’s anything but simple.
“Well,” she says, her curved and bronzed body nude but for the jewelry sparkling in her belly and her clit. “Let’s see if we can’t complicate things a little.”
She raises her leg in a side kick stance and extends it with a snap, her foot connecting solidly with one of his shoulders and tipping the chair back until it hits the floor, sending the riding crop skidding across the concrete. Dean grunts with the pain of his back, hands, and wrists being slammed to the hard surface at such an awkward angle. He knows immediately that nothing’s broken, though – yet very, very bruised.
Before he can dwell too long on the pain behind him, she’s on top of him, straddling his face and settling her full ass back onto his chest. “God, you’re beautiful, you know that?” She slowly works at the rope that’s securing his gag. “Of course, you do,” she mutters, concentrating on the knot she created earlier in anxious haste.
“I’m taking this gag out,” she says, catching his eye, unwinding the rope. “I’m sure you can already guess what I have planned.” Dean’s eyes flick down to her exposed cunt, spread open and glistening before him, and he can’t help but moan.
She pauses her movements and sits back again, taking him in with an amused grin. “Does Dean Winchester get off on eating pussy?”
Dean’s tried for years to not show his hand, but his body’s visceral reactions to food, sex, and hunting are clear. He likes those things, he’s good at those things, and he is done apologizing for it.
“Tsk tsk tsk,” she scolds, slowly reaching for the gag once again. “Dirty boy.” Her scent and her words and, to be honest, her scolding tone makes him throb so fiercely, he thinks he might bust the cock ring.
Once she has the cloth removed from his mouth and he’s swallowing convulsively to return a semblance of saliva to his mouth, she’s giggling. “Need a sip of water, sweetheart?”
“Shut up and get on with it,” he rasps, his eyes hard and hot, and his breathing heavy.
Her eyebrows jump, and she slowly shifts her hips forward. “Ask and ye shall receive,” she mutters, sliding her cunt over his chin, slicking and scraping him with the winking jewel in her clit, then swiveling onto his lips with her wet swell of flesh. “Oh, Dean,” she moans and drops to all fours when his tongue slips up through her slit.
He wants to touch her, slide his hands over her curves, thrust his fingers up inside her and wrap them around her throat. He settles for fucking her with is thick tongue and sucking her clit with his lips. Then he uses his teeth to pull at the stud, and she squeals.
“Fuck me with your tongue,” she gasps, reaching between her legs and pulling at the piercing. Dean does what he’s told, making his tongue hard and long, curling and dragging it toward her g-spot but not quite reaching it. “Shit, just like that, you sonuvabitch.” She grinds into his face, creating an obscenely loud squelching and slopping.
“Can’t wait for your cock,” she breathes, sitting upright, spinning the thick stud in her clit. He’s moaning beneath her and the vibrations ramp her up. She grips a handful of his soft hair and undulates over his tongue and lips until she’s coming out loud. “Yes!”
She rolls off of him and to her back on the cold concrete and tries to catch her breath, glancing to the side at her companion. Dean’s bare to his hips, hard in every way imaginable as he remains fastened to the chair, staring at the ceiling. He doesn’t struggle against it, and she finds his submission to be a beautiful thing.
“This’s a real rush, ya know,” she says, twisting to sit and inspect her prey. “Dean Winchester at my command.”
“Fuck you,” he says, with a blasé tone, keeping his eyes on the ceiling.
“Now, Dean,” she says, climbing astride his hips, making him grunt in pain at even the slightest extra weigh pressuring his already overstrained wrists. “Let’s not makes this unpleasant. You agreed to be my fuck toy for one night if I agreed to release your friend from Hell.” She presses her ass back against his painfully ringed and erect cock. “It’s simple, really. Simpler than you turns out.”
She drops a kiss to his lips, smelling and tasting herself and Dean sighs into her. She pulls back just enough to see the wildfire in the sagebrush of his eyes. “You wanna come, don’t you?” she whispers, and he silently snarls in return.
She pushes up to sitting and stares down at him, dragging her fingertips in random patterns over his sweat-sheened chest and belly. She’s always been enthralled by how solid he is. Even as still as he is at the moment, he’s a sight; but when he’s in motion…
“I really wanna untie you,” she sighs, climbing off of him. “But I’m afraid that bothersome fighting instinct of yours’ll kick in, and I haven’t ridden your cock yet.” She heaves the chair and him upright then straddles him again with her back to his chest and his straining cock in her hands.
“Believe me, honey,” Dean grunts. “If you untied me, you’d definitely be ridin’ my cock.”
“Is that a fact?” she asks, sliding his rigid length along her slit, getting him wet.
“Or, I’d be ridin’ your ass,” he returns with a restrained shrug. “Whatever.”
She shivers in his lap before rising on her tiptoes to guide him inside then sinking down over him. “Promise?” she breathes, bracing her hands on his knees for leverage and moving to find the right angle and pace.
“You have no idea what I’d do to you,” Dean seethes.
“Oh, I have quite the imagination, Mr. Winchester,” she pants, finding just the right spot and slamming down on him. “You’re so fucking big and so fucking hard. Jesus.” She’s got the angle for the hard, swollen head of his cock to bump and rub her g-spot and she’s starting to feel like she’s about to lose control of something important.
“Fuck,” he breathes, jaw clenched. “C’mon.” He throws his head back and mouth open, willing himself not to come like this.
“I’m gonna come so hard,” she whines, slamming down on him a few more times before gushing wet onto the floor.
Then she slides to the floor herself, sprawled in her own mess, panting and seeing spots. She hears wood cracking and feels the air shift and then she’s being lifted, slammed against a wall and he’s inside her again.
“Nice knots, but not good’nough, sweetheart,” he growls in her ear and takes mouths full of her skin as he tastes her neck. He’s still strung with frayed scraps of rope on his wrists and around his ankles. The scratch of the edges rubs into the tender skin of her ass and thighs where he’s holding her up and pressing her against the wall, her legs askew over his forearms. The cock ring is gone but he’s still unbelievably hard and his thrusts are brutal.
“Dean,” she gasps, clutching his shoulders, taking what he gives because she’s got no other recourse. And because she wants this.
“What’d I tell ya, huh?” he says, his mouth on hers is just as brutal as his hips nailing her to the wall. “Believe me now?”
“Dean,” she sobs, clamping around him and tightening the grip of her legs around his thighs, digging her fingernails into his shoulders.
“That’s right,” he whispers. “Come with me, baby,” Dean’s words and hips stutter and he kisses her neck and shoulders. Then he’s coming inside her, long and loud, having the presence of mind to kneel with her so they don’t crash to the floor.
He holds her between him and the wall, feeling her vibrate and he smiles. “We gotta work on your knot tyin’,” he says, nuzzling and kissing her temple. “That was too easy, princess.”
“I squirted,” she says with a tiny, surprised voice, blinking rapidly before removing the red contacts from her eyes and tossing them to the floor. “I thought that was a myth.” She rests her head back against the wall with a sigh, and he chuckles.
“Not a myth,” he says, pushing stray pieces of hair out of her face. “Just needed a little nudge is all.”
“That was more than a nudge Dean,” she says, breathless. “You were so hard.”
“Told ya I like bein’ tied up and bossed around by a beautiful girl.” He tips her chin to look her in the eyes and grins.
The night they met, she was hunting a rugaru and he was hunting a werewolf. They immediately clashed over battle tactics, theories, music in the car once she agreed to join forces, and who was the better Bond. Then they ended up showing each other their scars and telling stories.
She still likes Daniel Craig.
“It was the cock ring, it wasn’t me,” she says with an eye roll.
“It was you,” he says lifting her off of his lap. They both groan with the separation. “You’re sexy as fuck. Don’t sell yourself short.”
“So, I did good?” she asks, watching him tuck himself back into his pants and button up.
“Better than good,” he grins again, palming the back of her head and bringing her in for a forehead kiss. “You’re a natural, kiddo.”
She smiles and lets him help her to her feet. “Oh, my god, it’s cold in here,” she says, suddenly feeling the chill of the bunker holding room.
“Here.” Dean scoops up her clothes and hands them to her, collects their toys, and drapes his flannel around her shoulders. “We gotta get back upstairs before Sammy comes lookin’ for us.”
She nods and scurries out the door and Dean follows, switching off the light behind him.
There’s a long list of terrible things that she’s done in her life. She stole a tube of lipstick from the drug store when she was in the 6th grade, hooked up with her roommate’s crush on her birthday, lied to her mom about having to work so that she didn’t have to go home for Christmas, and now she’s fucking one of her clients, who also happens to be a married man.
She thinks stealing the object of her roommate’s affection tops that list.
Before the door to her condo even closed, her hands were deftly working his belt undone and shoving his leather jacket to the floor, and his tongue was in her mouth. She got his pants open and his cock in her hands within two minutes before pushing him back to land on her chaise.
Now he’s under her, upright, one long leg thrown off to the side, big black boot planted firmly on the hardwoods, and she’s working her hands up under his t-shirt, pushing her body down until her mouth is on his skin.
He combs his fingers through her smooth, sleek tresses, twisting and pulling. The sting in her scalp makes her hiss, and he chuckles and pulls tighter. She nips and licks at the skin of his lower belly as she squeezes his hard length in her hand. Then she’s licking him from base to tip and swirling her tongue around to gather the moisture there.
“That’s it,” he murmurs, loosening and tightening his grip in her hair, making knots and snarls. He looks lazy above her, eyes hooded and lips parted just enough to show the edges of gleaming white enamel and the slide of his tongue just behind it. She wants him to tear into her with those perfect teeth, drink her down, then lick himself clean.
She closes her lips around him and slides her tongue up and down, getting him wet, pulling up and enclosing his base in her small fist.
“What a good girl,” he murmurs, as she bobs up and down, twisting and squeezing her hand. She meets his gaze and shivers. He’s watching her intently with a small, serene smile, his eyes anything but calm. Then he pulls tighter on her hair. “Get back up here.”
Her belly flips and she obeys. She loves submitting to big, beautiful men. This man has at least 10 inches in height and 80 pounds on her and a face that meets DaVinci’s proportions of perfection. She can’t say no to him.
She slowly crawls over him, pushing his t-shirt up as she goes, taking in every exposed inch of his perfectly made body. He’s thick and solid and he looks – and feels – incredibly strong. He raises his heavy arms, so she can remove the t-shirt completely, and then he’s bare to her. She runs her hands over his broad shoulders and down his chest, over his solid rib cage and abs.
He grips her bare knees and slides his hands up under her short, flouncy leather skirt, easily maneuvering her to straddle his thighs, sliding his hands up until he’s slipping two fingers inside her thong to stroke her wet slit.
“Nice and wet,” he states plainly, holding her eyes with his – chaos and promise swirl in those deep emerald lakes. “Can’t wait to get on my dick, can you?”
The flutter in her belly when his strong, warm hand enveloped hers on their meeting has blossomed into a throbbing ache in her cunt and she needs something inside her to soothe that ache. She tries not to whimper, closes her eyes, rutting against his knuckles sliding in her slick. She curls her fingers around the denim of his open jeans and just feels him.
“Look at me,” he commands her attention, and her eyes fly open. Her breath is shaking. His voice alone has her in tatters in his lap.
The hand that isn’t teasing her cunt is fisting his hard cock. “Take it.” She’s panting breath and licking her lips. He smiles with a slow sway of his head as he releases himself and grasps her delicate wrist.
They’re both mostly clothed but dabbling on the edge of each other’s most intimate parts. The contrast between the illicit nature of their encounter and the restraint of the moment makes her feel like exploding right there. Then he pushes his middle finger into her, and the cool, metallic slide of his ring along her wet, heated lips has her clenching around him.
He laughs quietly as he pulls her into him by the back of her neck, his fingers wrapping around the column and his thumb resting at the hollow of her throat. He kisses her long and deep. “Put me right here,” he mutters around her lips, swirling his thick fingers in her wet. “Not inside, yet – just slide over it.” He pulls his finger out and wraps his hand around the thin scrap of satin and yanks until it snaps. She blissfully does what she’s told.
“Are we… we didn’t talk about protection,” she breathes, slipping wetly over his thick, solid length, dipping as she pushes backward to drag her swollen clit in an agonizing path. She looks him in the eye and he shakes his head.
“Too late now,” he mutters and his eyes and voice soften. “I’m good if you’re good.” His thumb brushes the delicate skin of her collarbone.
She lets out a sigh of relief and nods. “I’m good,” she replies and picks up her pace.
She wants to tilt her hips just enough to get him inside her, but he told her not to and she’s not about to go against his commands. “You wanna come?” he asks softly, nuzzling into the crook of her neck, unzipping the side of her leather tube top. He kisses her jaw and presses his thumb along the straining muscles in her neck.
She nods, her breath labored and her knuckles aching with the pressure of her grasp on his jeans as she frantically slides over him. “Do it,” he whispers.
She pushes down over her clit and rotates her hips, steadying herself with one hand braced on his shoulder. When he pulls the thin skin of her neck between his teeth and sucks, she’s coming against him, crying out, clenching emptiness.
He gets her top off and tosses it aside. “No bra,” he observes, his eyes flick to meet hers pointedly. “Dirty girl.”
He reaches up and lightly slaps one breast then pinches and pulls the nipple. She gasps, clenching her thighs around his hips and thrusting into him. God, she wants him inside her right now and she wants him to hurt her a little.
“You walked around that party all night in that short little skirt and nothin’ but a thong to stop me from doing this.” He slides a hand between her legs and immediately pushes two fingers inside her and curls them upward. “Come to find out, you weren’t even wearin’ a bra… tsk tsk.” He drags his other hand from her neck over her collarbone to cup and squeeze her breast. “Such a tease.” He releases her breast then pulls and pinches and twists her nipple hard.
“Look at you, ridin’ my fingers,” he speaks, his voice deep and on the edge of taunting. “You already came, so greedy.” He grips the back of her neck again, holding her in place then pulls his wet hand from between her legs and slaps each breast twice, leaving behind faint pink impressions and slick from her cunt. She’s breathless and gasping for air.
“No shame,” he says, dipping his head to take a nipple in his mouth, pulling it between his lips and swirling his tongue around, tasting the wet that he left behind. His grip on her neck tightens and she digs her fingers into his bare shoulders, grinding against him
He’s mouthing one nipple and twisting the other between thumb and finger. “A’right, enough playin’,” he says, licking and sucking her nipple, gathering her against him and pushing off the chaise to stand. Her legs wrap around him and the leather of her skirt and the denim of his jeans chafe against each other and her bare skin. “Let’s get that wet little pussy around my dick.”
He crosses the room to the wide open double doorway to her bedroom, taking the three steps up into the room and depositing her on her bed. “Get that skirt off,” he says, striding toward the chair facing the foot of her bed. He unlaces and removes his boots and socks and kicks them to the side. By the time he’s shucking his jeans to the floor, she’s naked and pulling the covers of her bed down.
She doesn’t see him move but she feels him wrap one big hand around her ankle and drag her to the foot of the bed. “Hands and knees,” he says, and she scrambles to do what she’s told. “Good girl.” He gently smoothes his hands up her back and down her bronzed and creamy sides, dipping his head to place wet kisses and nips along her spine. He traces the inked designs on her back with his tongue and wraps his long thick fingers around her hips, digging into her hipbones, his thumbs sliding down the crack of her pert ass.
She gasps and pushes back into him. “You like that?” he asks with a smile in his voice. “Like a little assplay, sweetheart?” His thumbs slide deeper between her cheeks and she hangs her head and groans. “Hmm,” he hums, pulling her cheeks apart and dropping his head to spit. “Just a little?” he taunts, rubbing his saliva around the tight ring of muscle with one broad thumb tip.
She groans louder and pushes back onto his thumb. “Not just a little,” he chuckles, pressing the tip of his thumb inside. “Shit, did I win the goddamn lottery? Do I get to fuck this sweet little ass?”
“Oh, my god,” she moans and whines and makes all the undignified noises of a wanton whore. And she couldn’t give a shit less.
“Well, we’ll see, huh?” he says. Then his knees hit the floor and she feels his hot breath ghost her wet. “Open up.” He slaps the inside of each knee and she spreads as far as she can until her cunt is on his mouth.
She hears him groan as he dives into her, over and over. She settles onto her forearms, her cheek buried in down, to give him better access and he holds her open as he eats her. The very thought of how she must look, face down, ass up, an obscene display of submission, makes her begin to flutter anew.
“Fuck, you’re a mess,” he mutters into her cunt, fucking her with his tongue, fingers rubbing her clit, his thumb still anchored in her ass. Then he’s tapping her clit with his fingers and sucking at her opening.
Tap rub tap tap tap rub
Each wet tap and rub is harder, more insistent, and he alternates between fucking and sucking her cunt until her toes are curling and her back is arching and she’s coming, vibrating around his tongue and weeping into the down comforter.
He doesn’t give her time to recover, she’s convulsing beneath him as he stands, holding her in place. “I wanna feel that,” he says, guiding himself inside her and pulling her back onto him. “Oh, fuck,” he groans, stilling, feeling her clamping and spasming. He throws his head back, holds one of her hips, and slides a hand from her tailbone up her spine to grip her shoulder.
“You are so beautiful,” he whispers, returning his gaze to see her slumped under him. Her back rises and falls with each heavy pant. He drapes himself over her. “Y’okay?” he asks, and she nods and sighs.
“So good,” she whispers, rolling her hips and reasserting her stance beneath him. He pushes in deeper and she feels herself stretch to accommodate him.
He kisses her cheek and rises to stand again, gripping her shoulder with one hand and stroking her belly with the other. He thrusts, and she feels every firm slide, every inch and curve of him.
The soft cotton of the comforter rasps against her abused nipples as her full breasts sway from front to back in a rhythm set by his increasing force. “Yes,” she gasps when he starts to bang into that spot at her front wall, pressing with his full hand over her belly and her clit.
He’s relentless but deliberate and she feels herself turning liquid. He draws his hand back from her belly to smack her ass – once, twice, three times – loud and hard, and she’s coming hard enough for both of them.
“Shit!” He grits his teeth and rails her, bruising her hip and shoulder. He shouts her name when he comes, spilling inside her hot and deep.
Under the hot, steady spray of water in her steam shower, he massages every inch of her body with coconut scented suds. His hands are strong and capable in their movements, and she thinks he probably could’ve been a doctor or a physical therapist with the obvious dexterity he possesses.
“You could charge for this, ya know,” she mutters, resting against the wall of muscle behind her. His chest pillows her head, so she feels more than hears the rumble of his quiet chuckle, as he draws soapy circles on her soft belly.
“Nah,” he says, sliding a hand down between her legs and one long, soapy finger up between the crack of her ass. “Reciprocity’s much more satisfying.” Her nudges his fingertip at the tight ring of muscles and she holds her breath. He hums into her neck and kisses her. “Breathe,” he whispers into her ear, palming her cunt and slowly pushing his middle fingertip inside her back entrance.
She draws a shaky breath, wraps one hand around the back of his neck, and lifts her foot to rest on the bench beside them as water rains down over her breasts and belly. “That’s good,” he says, working his finger further inside, pressing the heel of his palm over her clit and rotating. He pulls the shell of her ear between his teeth then blows air across it, and she shivers.
He’s meticulously readying her, caring for her, and it takes her mind on a spiraling journey. It stings but it feels good to know he’s doing it. He really could charge for this.
Once he gets his finger all the way in, he twists and she inhales sharply at the slight pain. “Shh,” he says. “Just a little prep.” Then he’s removing his finger, kissing her shoulder, washing his hands, and rinsing her clean.
He turns her to face him, her back to the fall of water and dips his head to kiss her mouth. “Let’s go get in that big bed of yours,” he says.
“Okay,” she replies, running her hands up his torso then out across his chest, and placing a kiss to his collarbone. He hugs her with one arm as he twists the water off with his free hand. Their bodies slide together as he kisses her again.
She’s breathless when she slides from his embrace to open the shower door and reach for a towel. “Here.” She hands him a towel and grabs one for herself. When she turns to face him, he’s fully nude, unashamed, and dripping, rubbing his wet head with the fluffy, white towel and watching her. She swallows slow and thick.
Every moment with him pushes her further and further to the edge of her mental boundaries, which is what she loves about every heady second. She doesn’t have a lot of rules, per se, mostly because she likes taking risks, so this whole affair is intoxicating and invigorating. And he’s the one in charge.
She wants to push back.
“So,” she starts conversationally, her eyes roaming the slopes and planes of his body, landing on his straining erection. “When am I gettin’ somethin’ bigger than your finger in my sweet little ass?” She blinks innocently, dabbing at her wet hair, and his eyes harden and flame.
He straightens his stance, chin up, eyes staring her down. He tosses the towel aside and strides toward her, licking his lips like something wild, and her stomach does a whole somersault. There isn’t much difference between the nurturing creature from three minutes ago and the feral beast about to pounce on her – the measured cadence of every movement and word and the fierce quality of control are present in both personae.
She backs out the bathroom door into her bedroom, dropping her damp towel to the floor and almost tripping over an errant shoe. The sense of not knowing what he’ll do next makes her nicely uneasy.
“Pick up your towel, smartass, things’re ‘bout to get messy.”
She bends and scoops up the discarded towel, and he stalks her as she backs toward her rumpled bed until the backs of her knees hit the raised mattress.
“Should probably make yourself comfortable while ya still can,” he says, taking a turn and heading toward her nightstand once she’d hopping onto the bed. He slides the top drawer open and makes a sound of victory then produces a bottle of lubricant. He grins wide and wiggles it between thumb and middle finger with enthusiasm. “Toys?” She just breathes for a moment, watching his naked body flex and strain with every movement.
He snaps to get her attention. “Honey, we’re gonna need more than just my fingers to get you ready for my dick, I promise you that.” He pops the cap on the lube and squeezes a little into his hand then strokes himself a few times. “I mean…” he pauses and looks pointedly at the hard cock wrapped in his fingers.
“I see,” she breathes and arches a brow; it’s not like she didn’t already know this, but his statement of the obvious is a turn on. “Under the bed. There’s a basket.”
“Of course, there is,” he grins then squats to flip the covers up, quickly finding what he’s looking for. He sorts through the items then tosses a vibe and a butt plug onto the bed. “That oughtta do it.” He stands and pats the pillows. “I said get comfy.”
She crawls to the head of the bed and burrows into the mound of fluffed pillows. “Roll to your side,” he orders, running his warm hands down her arm and over her hip as she obeys. For several moments, he just touches her, humming something in a minor key and she starts to drift. Then he pushes her top leg and hip forward, baring her cunt and making access to her ass easier for him.
He stands over her, pressing her knee into the mattress and lightly running fingers along her slit. She’s already wet obviously and the more he teases, dipping his fingers inside and dragging moisture up to toy with her tighter hole, the wetter she is.
“Let’s get you to come again first.” His voice is quiet and melodic. He places one knee on the bed and dips to lick her from hole to hole to clit, circling, then dragging his tongue down to push inside her cunt. He pulls her clit between his lips, and she hears the small vibrator he’s chosen. “You use this on yourself?” he asks, lightly running the live toy where his tongue left traces of his saliva and her slick.
“On occasion,” she answers her breath catching in her throat.
He slips the toy inside where she’s starting to seep wet and angles it so he’s rubbing directly over her g-spot. “Touch yourself,” he says, stroking the spot over and over and turning up the vibe speed. She does and within 30-seconds she’s coming. “Good girl.” He kisses her cheek before removing the buzzing toy and changing its position.
He drags the vibrator back to where she’s tight, holds it over her hole and waits. She clutches her hands into fists, her breath shakes, and her hips thrust. She wants to say something – a promise, a threat, a prayer – but all that comes out are vowel sounds and the occasional stutter over his name.
“How’s that?” he asks, switching the vibe off and replacing it with a lubed finger.
“Good,” she answers with a tightness in her voice that betrays her.
“Really?” he teases, circling the hole he’s trying to open. “’Cause it looks like you’re white knucklin’ it, babe.” His fingertip is more insistent, but his other hand moves to stroke and squeeze the muscles in her legs and hip. He dips his head to kiss her temple and lingers. “Let go,” he whispers. “That’s why we’re here, remember?”
She sighs and nods and takes another deep breath. She unclenches her fists and everything else and closes her eyes to just let him touch her, let him take her. She feels his ring finger slide in to the second knuckle and he gets more lube.
“See what I mean about makin’ a mess?” he laughs lightly, twisting and pushing the finger into her until his fist is flush with her ass cheeks. After a couple of slow passes, he says, “grab that towel.” He pulls his finger out of her. “Then lie on it.”
He climbs onto the bed, pumping his hard cock in his hand, watching her get settled on the towel. “Let’s try this.” There’s a necessarily benevolent facet in his tone. He lifts her legs by the calves and places them on his shoulders, sliding under her until his knees are framing her hips. Then he’s got the lube again and he’s coating her with it. He hugs one thigh to his chest as he pushes his ring finger back into her ass in one push. She gasps lightly, but it isn’t painful – she likes the stretch.
“See?” he says, smiling down at her, caressing and kissing her knee. “Good, right?” His thumb rests over her clit, then, and he pushes with a second finger. There’s a sting with this, but it’s good and she tries to push onto his hand. He won’t let her, though.
“No, no, baby,” he says, smoothing a hand down her thigh. “Let Daddy drive.”
She squeezes her eyes shut tight and huffs a breath of air. “I just want-” she grits her teeth and tries to breathe. They had a plan going into this – the anal is a bit of an offshoot – but the plan was that he was in control. She knows she needs to settle down.
“I know,” he says, pushing a second finger in nice and slow, adding lube, twisting gently. “And we’ll get there. You need a lesson in patience, little girl.” His voice at the end is stern and she knows where it’s coming from and what he means. She made him an offer and a promise and she’s bordering on brattiness. He won’t put up with much more of it, surely.
After several minutes of working her open with his fingers – finally using three and pleasantly stretching her – he lubes up the plug and slowly slides it home. He takes her legs from his shoulders, holds them together, and rests them on the mattress. “Settle down,” he says, kissing her lips. “Be right back.”
A moment later he returns with a washcloth. He’s still hard. She loves men who can so effortlessly control their bodies – and hers – to this extent. She loves men like him.
“How do you feel?” he asks, pushing her knees open with his, climbing between them, lubing up his cock.
“Full,” she answers languorously, watching him stroke himself as he looks down at her with a smirk and hooded eyes.
“Well, you’re gonna get fuller.” He reaches between her legs and works the plug out of her with a squelch and she blushes. He rolls his eyes. “Stop, it’s totally normal.” He reaches for her wrist then as he settles back on his feet. “C’mon, get on top,” he says, patting his lap.
She scrambles to kneel and straddle his thighs. He works more lube into her backside and holds her open, his slick fingers sliding against her skin. “Okay,” he nods. “Do it, baby.” He gives her a small smile.
She takes a deep breath and begins to sink down onto him. When the wide head of his cock begins to breach her entrance, she hisses. “Easy,” he says, stilling her bruised hips. “That’s the hardest part, just take it slow.”
As she slides down onto him over what feels like a fucking decade of agonizing anticipation and stimulation, her entire body is alive and buzzing in a way she’s never felt. “Oh…” she gasps a ragged sob. His hands keep her steady and his face slowly loses the carefully trained mask of calm.
He’s restrained, but barely – the veins and muscles in his neck knot with effort. She’s fluttering and flitting and the sounds she’s making are soft and ethereal. His hands are everywhere when she’s fully seated in his lap.
“Tell me,” he says, brushing her damp hair out of her face. He needs to know where she is mentally and emotionally. His eyes narrow and he examines her every movement.
“I’m… my whole body’s on fire,” she breathes. “I dunno… I dunno what to do next.”
He cups her face in his hands and kisses her deep and long. “Don’t have to,” he says against her lips.
Then he’s slowly lifting her by her hips and she gasps out loud, throws her head back. He doesn’t lift her all the way, though, just enough to test her tolerance to the friction. She’s out of her head, he can tell, so he lets her drop back down, lets her rest. He lifts her a few more times, higher and faster, and by the fifth pass, she’s in tears and babbling.
“You’re gonna come now,” he says, slipping his middle finger into her cunt, pressing, and rubbing her clit with his thumb. “Move – up and down, nice and easy.” He braces a hand at the small of her back, and she moves.
She moves faster and harder than he had, but he feels her reactions, knows she can take it. “That’s my girl,” he praises, pressing his forehead to hers, watching her intently, feeling her clench around his single finger. “Fuck me good.”
She is so full, so fucked, so completely fucking used – this is what she wanted, what she needed tonight. And he’s giving it to her.
“Oh, god,” she sobs, and she’s coming, gushing all over him, convulsing. Before she passes out she hears him say her name as he pulses hot inside her.
When she wakes the next morning, the sliding doors to her bedroom are closed and she smells coffee. Her heart leaps into her throat because she really didn’t expect him to be there when she woke up. She rolls out of bed, combs her fingers through her hair and searches for her robe.
As she pulls her robe on, she slides the doors open and he’s nowhere to be found. She sighs – with relief, she tells herself – and heads to the kitchen. There’s indeed a pot of coffee and today’s newspaper next to the pot with a number and a note scrawled across the top.
Thanks for last night – we both needed it. If you’re ever in Vancouver, give me a holler.
It’s been one of those days – started off with your toes sunk into cat puke at 4:45 am, coffee maker overflowing at 5 am, your car battery dead under the hood when you tried to leave for work, and your key snapping off in the lock of the diner once you got there.
You desperately need to blow off some steam, so you push him against the rough brick wall with all you’ve got. He grunts in the cool night air, but the grin on his lips tells you he isn’t complaining. “What’re we doin’?” he asks, his eyes laughing and his tongue dancing just behind his bright white teeth as he rests his hands on your hips. You want to suck that teasing tongue into your mouth, so you yank him into you by the lapel of his leather jacket and rise to your tiptoes to kiss him.
“You’re a big boy,” you answer around lips and tongues and teeth. “M’sure you can figure it out.” You push your hands under the thin cotton of his t-shirt to get to his hot, bare skin. You want to touch him, feel him. The crackle of energy when your fingertips graze the smooth, flat of his belly shocks you to your core and you gasp. His grip on your hips tightens for a second then loosens again and you feel the muscles contract and tremble under your touch.
This guy – all swagger and cocksure attitude one second then coy smiles and cautious touches the next – is exactly what you need right now. You want this agonizingly beautiful, brash boy to sit pretty while you use his thick, hard body to work loose your frustrations and tensions from this crap day. And something tells you he’ll love every minute of being used.
You don’t even know his name. You didn’t ask and he didn’t offer it. The fact that you haven’t exchanged even the most essential of pleasantries puts a sharp edge on everything – and then he smooths over it with a soft, warm grin. You’ve never had an anonymous one-night-stand – it’s not easy to do in such a small town – but it’s always been a fantasy of yours and the time is now – with this boy.
He lets you kiss him, fervently pulling at his full, curved lips with yours, twisting your tongue with his. Your hands plane smooth skin stretched over muscle and bone. He’s got the kind of body that comes from hard labor, not a gym. You imagine that he puts his back into everything he does and the thought makes you shiver.
You start to second-guess your location choice because the back alley of Jake’s bar isn’t exactly the best place to get naked and you really want to see this guy naked. You emit a grunt of frustration as one of your hands drops to the waistband of his jeans, fingers hooking inside. He chuckles and you think he must be a mind reader. That arrogance is back in his tone. “Whatsamatter, princess?” He smirks down at you and you groan again, tugging at his belt.
“Smug asshole,” you mutter as you pull the leather from the buckle and pop his button open.
He laughs again and cups your jaw, dipping down to kiss you. When you get his zipper open and slip your hand inside his pants he sighs and pushes his hand into your hair, holding you steady to tongue fuck your mouth.
When you come up for air, you say, “guess you got a reason to be smug.“ You wrap your hand around his heavy length then pull his bottom lip between your teeth. Your nails sink into his muscled back just above the waist of his boxers as you squeeze his cock in your hand and his soft, pretty eyes flare.
He slumps against the wall, bending one knee and pushing it between your legs so you can ride the solid length of his thigh. He holds your head in his hand as he kisses you and slides his other hand up the outside of your thigh and under your skirt, the cool, heavy silver ring on his right hand seering your skin as it goes. “Tell me what you want,” he says, lightly stroking your heated skin and licking your lips. You can feel his eyelashes flutter against your cheek.
“Your fingers… inside,” you breathe into his kiss and he drags his hand across your hip to push two fingers inside the leg of your satin thong. For a few moments, he just strokes your trimmed curls with his knuckles as he kisses you deep and slow. Then he twists his wrist and his fingertips slide along your wet slit. His hands are rough but his touch is so gentle and when he pushes his long middle finger inside you and twists, you moan and squeeze him harder in your hand.
He hums into your mouth, pushing another finger in to join the first and swiping his thumb over your clit. “Like that?” he asks, his voice is so soft but it’s deep and you imagine yourself diving into it, swimming around.
“More,” you beg, grinding down onto his hand and thigh. He presses his lips to your throat, kissing and licking down the column. You want to slide forward, sink onto his cock, but then he presses his thumb over your clit and his fingers into the other side of that wall and they’re almost touching as he determinedly rubs and presses until, with a virtual snap of his fingers, you’re coming. “Holy shit,” you gasp in surprise, and he covers your mouth with his to stifle your oncoming cries.
You’re whining and vibrating as he slows his movements to stop and gently cup your cunt with his big, warm hand. As he kisses you, he lets go small rumbles and sighs of satisfaction. You back off of his thigh and pull away from his mouth, his hand wet with you dragging from under your skirt, and you drop to your knees in front of him, taking him in your hand and holding his eyes with yours as you slowly lick his tip.
He scans the alley, breathing heavy then looks back down at you, watches you circle his head with your tongue as he slides his fingers slick with you into his mouth. He moans around them and you can see his tongue swirl as his eyes roll back and close. Before you can take him all the way into your mouth he hauls you to your feet.
“Nah,” he says, as he half-zips his pants. “This way.” He looks both ways and behind you both before twining your fingers with his and walking with purpose, a bounce in his step and a boyish grin on his lips. He’s so handsome, so pretty, and you never knew you could have so much fun with a total stranger; it’s hard to believe that he’s even real.
His smile is like the sun when he raises your joined hands above your head and spins you like a ballerina three times before you land your ass against the trunk of a beautiful classic car. He kisses you as he lifts you by your waist to sit on the trunk, rests his hands on either side of your hips, and settles in.
“This’s my baby,” he whispers, trailing wet kisses from your lips over your chin and down. “She’ll treat us right.” His lips graze your throat and collarbones as he gently pushes you to lay back, hooks his hands under your knees, and moves between your legs. He’s kissing every sliver of exposed skin as he rests one knee on the bumper to duck his face between your thighs.
He swipes his tongue over the wet satin, drapes your legs over his shoulders, then pulls your thong aside before pushing his tongue into you. He moans and sucks at you. You’re so wet and you just came so hard on his fingers, you know you’re a mess but he’s literally eating it up.
He places one palm over your lower belly between your hipbones and slides a finger from his other hand inside you as he licks. “Mmm,” he moans, flicking his eyes up to meet yours. You watch as he languorously licks and sucks and fucks two fingers then three into your cunt – all while holding your eyes with the verdant heat of his own.
His tongue and lips are everywhere and you can hear him sucking your slick from you. “Come again like this and we’ll get in the car…” That voice is going to kill you; it’s warm and melodic, like a lullaby. He rumbles against your damp skin and you’re about to lose your mind from the sheer eroticism. “Get this little skirt off…” He pulls his fingers out of you to lightly rub your clit and push his tongue inside. “Get my dick inside you…” He switches his fingers and tongue again so he can pull your clit between his lips. “Want that?” he asks between sucking and licking your clit, his eyes and tongue dancing playfully.
You definitely want that.
You nod, as his licentious gaze and large hand on your belly pin you in place. “Yeah,” you breathe, reaching to cup his jaw. His eyes close when he nuzzles into your palm with something like a purr rumbling in his chest.
After a brief quiet moment, he reopens his eyes and they’re on fire. He doubles his efforts, then, fucking you with his thick, warm tongue, lightly rolling your clit between the pad of his middle fingertip and his thumb. He presses down on your belly with his hand and covers your cunt with his whole mouth and sucks and you’re coming again.
Your back arches off the trunk and his necklace slams against the steel as he tries to hold you steady to tongue and suck you through your orgasm. You start to slide, and he braces his hands on either side of your hips, kissing you down from your high.
Once your breath has returned to relative normativity, he helps you to sit then stand on your wobbly legs. He kisses your mouth and you taste yourself mixed with the whiskey he was drinking back at Jake’s. “C’mon,” he breathes, that mischievous twinkle that sparked your curiosity, to begin with, is lighting in his pretty green eyes. “Let’s get naked.”
He yanks the back door open and ushers you inside. The smell of leather and gunpowder and iron fills your olfactory senses. You fleetingly notice that his car is incredibly tidy; then he has his hands on your shoulders, pushing your hair to the side and his soft, warm lips brush the nape of your neck.
“Everything okay?” he asks and you turn to face him. Genuine apprehension mars his beautiful features, so you grin wide to reassure him.
“Yes,” you answer with an enthusiastic nod, taking his face in your hands, smoothing his cheekbones with your thumbs and he blinks lazily, nestling into your palm again. He likes touching, obviously, but he also seems to like being touched. You now assume he wouldn’t let you suck him off in the alley simply for fear of being caught.
As he lightly clasps your hands in his and kisses the insides of your wrists, he returns your gaze. The shy boy is back and you are so thrown by his many faces and postures – all so delectable – all oddly attuned and seamless.
He releases your hands and slides his heavy leather jacket from his broad frame before chucking it over the front seat. He reaches for you and you climb astride him, immediately pulling his t-shirt over his head and tossing it to the floor.
“Ugh, I’ve been wanting to do that for hours,” you say, running your hands across the expanse of his chest and shoulders as he slides his big hands up under your skirt.
“You super attached to this?” he asks, tracing your ruined thong with an impish grin. You laugh a little. “I mean, it’s trashed, let’s be honest.” He says with the most sincere expression that makes you giggle harder. “Might as well finish it off, am I right?”
You nod. “Do it, cowboy,” you say, rising to your knees to give him better access.
“Yank it or cut it?” he asks with a naughty little leer as he uses a single finger to rub along your slit over the sodden silk.
You almost come right then and there with the thought of him slicing your wet thong from your body. You can’t wait to see his knife. “Cut it,” your voice is hoarse and he chuckles, palming the back of your head and pulling you in for a kiss, while simultaneously reaching under the back seat. What comes next makes your skin break into goosebumps.
The blade of the knife glints in the moonlight streaming through the back window. It’s large and beautifully made – kind of like its owner. He licks his smiling lips as you kneel over him panting. “Get ridda the skirt, princess.”
You unzip the side of your skirt then stand as best you can to shake it to the floorboard. He wraps one hand around the side of your waist as you hunch over him, stopping you from sinking back into his lap. He gazes up at you through his thick lashes then snags his bottom lip with his teeth as he slides the flat of the knife up under the hip of your thong.
The cold steel of the blade makes you shiver – or maybe it’s the fact that you’re half-naked in the backseat of a car with a knife-wielding stranger who’s almost twice your size.
He slowly slices through the fabric at each hip, holding your eyes with his. His tongue runs along a row of perfect white teeth as he snatches the silk and tosses it along with his discarded jacket before stashing the knife back under the seat.
“C’mere,” he beckons you back and you’ve never felt more wanted. The way he looks at you like you’re the only thing that matters and like he actually needs you, makes you melt.
His pants are still only partly zipped, so it’d be easy enough to be on his dick in seconds. But you know you should be responsible. “D’you have any…” You look around the back seat like he’d have a dispenser or something. “Condoms?”
He shakes his head and your heart drops. “You’re not naked yet,” he says, motioning with his hands to let him at the clothes on the top half of your body. You giggle again and raise your hands over your head so he can pull your sweater up and off. Then comes your bra-cami and his eyes are fucking priceless when your braless tits bounce in front of him.
Before your camisole has hit the floor, he’s got his arms around you and a nipple in his mouth, licking, sucking. He slides a hand up your back into your hair and pulls you further into him so he can lavish you with wet, warm attention.
“Still wearin’ my shoes,” you whisper. You can slip them off, but you think he might like to do it for you.
He chuckles low in his chest. “My bad.” He shifts in the seat so he can lay your back on the cool leather. He pitches backward and his necklace and belt dangle and jangle under him, as he lifts your feet in his hands to remove your Chucks. He doesn’t bother unlacing them and once he’s slipped them off he tosses them in the back window.
“Now you’re naked,” he announces like it’s his proudest moment.
Your arms and legs are flailing slightly. You’re not sure what to do because he’s just hovering over you with one of those playful little smiles, stroking the skin of your thighs with his calloused fingertips. The blue light of the moon dips and rides the planes and curves of his smooth skin, and his jeans are so low on his hips that you can see the dark patch of curls leading right where you want to be.
“Hurry up,” you whine, the sound surprising even yourself. He laughs full and loud as he reaches his back pocket, pulls out his wallet then produces a condom.
“Just one, so let’s make it good,” he says, and you’re not sure if he’s kidding. You’ve never come more than once, if at all, in an encounter – let alone twice and counting.
“Okay, your turn,” you say, pointing at his jeans. “Off.”
He snorts a laugh and drops the condom packet to your belly then unzips and shoves his jeans down with his underwear, his hard length bobbing and weaving like a boxer. “Want the boots to go, too?” he asks, like an asshole.
You roll your eyes. “No, just-” You make a similar motion to his earlier, indicating that you really just want him to get on top of you.
He grins and drops over you, pushing your thighs open with his hips and planting his hands on the door behind your head. He drops in to kiss you, glancing down at the condom he discarded earlier. “What’re we waitin’ for?”
You scramble to retrieve the packet from where it lays on your ribcage, tear it open and pull the desired item from its confines. Meanwhile, he’s licking you everywhere he can reach. He likes licking, and you like that he likes it.
One of your legs is slung over one of his knees and he pushes the other up and out as you roll the condom over his cock. The hand braced behind your head on the door mostly supports his weight, but you definitely aren’t moving the thigh wrapped in his hand any time soon.
You guide him to where you’re wet and he catches your eye. As he pushes inside you, you can’t not stare at his face, his eyes, his jaw as it twitches and clenches; and then he groans and stills over you. “Relax, okay.” He touches his head to yours, breathing, soothing your thigh with his hand.
You didn’t realize that you’d clenched so tightly onto him. You don’t want this to be over, so you take a deep breath. “Sorry.”
He shakes his head then kisses you more. “No sorries,” he says, then he starts to move. The solid slide of him is unlike anything you’ve ever felt. “Open up, sweetheart,” he says, thrusting in and out, shallow then a little deeper as you allow, kissing your lips and our jaw. “I promise, I’ll make you feel so good.”
You gasp, suddenly overcome by emotion. You really don’t know why he cares so much about making you feel good, but it makes you warm from your head to your toes. “You already have,” you whisper, trying to open yourself to him even more. Everything he’s doing feels so good. He feels so good – his lips and his skin and his hands and his whole fucking body against you, on top of you, and inside you. You want him to feel good too.
You lightly press your fingers over your clit and you can feel his hard length sliding just under your skin. Then he drops one foot to the floor of the car for leverage and starts to drive you harder and faster and your brain spirals. His fingertips dig into the armrest of the door and into the back of your thigh as he fucks you. “Please come,” he begs. “I need to feel you.” His face is a mix of pleasure and heartbreak and you’ve never seen anything quite like it. Your heart knows that what he’s said is the God’s honest truth, too, so you press your clit harder and closer to his thrusts. You’re so wide open to him and he’s hammering you into his back seat when you start to come around him.
“Fuck me,” you sob.
“Yeah,” he replies, picking up his pace. “Fuckin’ take it.” He slams you hard through your orgasm, your sweat-damp skin slipping against the leather interior. You’ve never had anyone do what he’s doing to you – not anything he’s done, really. This has been a roller-coaster ride of sensation and emotion from the second your spotted him hustling pool.
He’s fucking you so hard, now, but there’s nothing harsh about it; then he’s coming just as hard as he fucks with that rich, beautiful voice ringing around you. He swears out loud and releases your leg long enough to smack the door behind your head. As his thrusts slow he pitches backward again, pulling you with him, cradling your hips. When he finally pulls out of your body, he’s sitting on his boot, breathing heavy and loud, caressing your skin and gazing down at you in a way you’d describe as adoring if you thought a stranger could really adore another.
“How ya doin’?” he asks and you shift your weight. Your skin’s starting to cool in the humid air of the car. You see that the windows are fogged over with your breath and you guess that anyone who may have walked by outside surely got a show.
You shiver and nod. "Good,” you say, wrapping your arms around yourself as you try to sit up.
“Oh,” he says, pulling up and fastening his jeans, leaving the belt undone and reaching over the front seat to dig around before joining you again with his jacket. “Here.” He wraps you in the leather when you sit up next to him. “Thirsty? I got a cooler of beer.”
“Sure,” you answer bringing your knees up under your chin and wrapping yourself entirely in his scent. The jacket smells like him and his car, and you already miss him.
He reaches for a small cooler on the floor. You remember seeing it earlier, now, but it seemed unimportant then. He twists a cap from one bottle and hands it to you and you take a sip. Before he gets his cap off of his beer, you hear gravel crunching under footsteps and a voice outside the car. “Dean?” It’s a male voice and he sounds a little desperate. “Dean… I’m sorry, but… Bobby called. We gotta go, dude.”
The boy next to you hangs his head with a heavy sigh before taking a deep breath and raising his head again and calling back to the voice. “A’right, Sammy,” he says pursing his lips. “Gimme a minute.” He turns his gaze to you and apologizes.
“It’s okay,” you say, reluctantly shrugging out of his jacket to search the floor for your clothes. You’re still in a bit of a daze.
He drops his unopened beer back into the cooler and reaches for your shoes in the back window. You both work to get your clothes back in place and your belly flips and flutters with every brush of his fingers and small grunt of his voice. He haphazardly pulls his inside-out t-shirt over his head and there’s a moment where you just look at each other, his fuck-messed hair, gentle eyes, flushed cheeks, and full lips burning an image into your brain. “Need a ride home?” he asks, hopeful, and you shake your head.
Once you got your car jumped that morning, you drove to work. “My car’s around here somewhere.”
He nods and lays a hand on the door handle then takes one last longing look at you. “Ready?” The regret in his eyes claws at your heart, but you nod and scoot across the backseat. He pushes the door open and you follow him into the night.
Summary: “It started with being in the same place at the same time, friends in common, similar interests in music and movies. Then you touched his knee and laughed when he said something funny – and the look in his eyes left you hot and shivering.”
Pairing: Jensen x you, Jensen x reader
Words: 1633
Warnings: one-night stand, let’s pretend he’s single – or not – no judging, NSFW
It’s late at night or early in the morning – you’re not entirely sure, but you’ve been with him for hours. It started with being in the same place at the same time, friends in common, similar interests in music and movies. Then you touched his knee and laughed when he said something funny – and the look in his eyes left you hot and shivering.
Now you’re on your back, buried in plush pillows and rich white cotton, breathless, his mouth is on your cunt, tongue inside, slow and thick and wet, twisting. He really uses his whole beautiful face in the process of getting you off, brushing and pressing your clit and holding your eyes with his, neatly trimmed beard chafing your delicate skin in the most pleasing way.
You once had a boyfriend who loved giving head. He did it every time he got you naked and he was really good at it. It always left you feeling dreamy, liquid, loved.
What this man is doing to you right now makes you feel like you’re being devoured from the inside out, like you’re his prey and he’s ravenous, like you’ll be utterly exhausted of all resources when he’s done.
He pushes a finger inside you and you grip a handful of his soft, thick hair. His tongue is flat against your clit as he pushes another finger inside and thrusts, curling, repeatedly, slowly. The puffs of air against your wet skin make you tingle everywhere and the sound of his breath is lewd and erotic. When he slides a third finger inside, you’re fully occupied, and his fingertips rub and press that spot. He presses his flat tongue on your clit, rotates it, then takes you between his full wet lips and pulls.
Your knees bend and your hips arch and you’re coming hard. “Ahh, fuck,” you gasp and your breath keeps coming in grunts for moments afterward.
He slowly pulls his fingers from your body, moves to his knees, swipes a hand over his beard and licks his lips with a smack. He caresses your weak, open thighs and watches you beneath him with a look that you can’t place. You don’t want to place it, don’t want reality in this moment, don’t want anything but to physically feel him.
You sigh heavily, finally recovering your breath, and reach for him. “Such a good boy, cleaning your plate,” you say, and his grin is so bright as his chest puffs with pride before he settles over you, balancing on his forearms.
“I try to be thorough,” he says, brushing kisses against the thin, delicate skin of your throat.
He’s hard, just as he has been since you left the bar. You tried to go down on him in the limo, but he wouldn’t let you. Instead, he kept his eyes on the partition while he fingered you until you came silently and slumped beside him into the leather seat.
When you got to his room, you told him that you had no chance of getting pregnant and were negative for all STIs. He was thoughtful before nodding and kissing you stupid, carrying you to the bed to strip you of every piece of fabric and your invisible guard.
He holds your face in his hands, kissing deeply, as he grinds and rubs against you, spreading wet from his tip along the outside of your folds. One of your hands grips the outside of his thick bicep, splaying against the dark ink, and his kiss speeds up. You reach between your bodies and grip his cock in your hand, rubbing the head along your wet slit a few times, and you both moan. He bucks into your hand and drops his forehead to yours, your breath mingling as you guide him inside.
You rock your hips against him, bringing your legs around to hook at the ankles behind his back as he pushes himself up onto his hands and wide spread knees. He sways his hips and kisses you, working his way inside and the slow stretch is delicious.
“God, you feel so good,” you breathe, luxuriating in the push and pull of every inch of him inside you. He’s kissing your neck and the rasping of his beard against your skin pushes you into a malaise of sensation, mingled with the sight and sound and smell of him, the ripple of muscle under your fingers as he leisurely thrusts into you, and the taste of his salty skin as you lick his neck.
“I wanna feel you come,” he says, rising to his knees again, dragging your hips into his lap. He grips you and moves you, changing the angle from a lazy slide to something more urgent. “And see you. Hold on.” One hand moves to where you’re joined and his grip on your hip tightens.
His expression is one of indulgence and single-mindedness, brow furled and mouth agape, as he focuses on where he’s sliding in and out of you. He licks his lips, catching his bottom lip with his teeth as he presses two fingers over your clit. It’s like his hand is floating over you, willing you to come again, his thrusts shallow and intense, working that spot until you’re coming, loud and long, chanting his name.
His eyes are alight and glazed at the same time, awe and need. He settles you to the bed, gently pulls out, running his hands over your ribcage, hunger taking over his gaze. When his hands reach your hips, he pushes and pulls. “Roll over,” he says, and you do. “On your knees.”
You push yourself up and he’s behind you in a second, wet, warm fingers brushing your hips then guiding himself inside. It takes him a minute to find the rhythm he wants and every thrust hits you differently – deep, hard, angled – all good and you fall to your forearms, arching your back for him.
“There it is,” he groans, sliding a hand from your tailbone up to grip your neck and pushing until your face is buried in the pillow. He holds you in place and hits his stride, hard, deep, and breathtaking. Every time he snaps and bottoms out, your breath leaves you. Your hands scramble for purchase and he reaches for one, pinning it to the small of your back. You offer the other and he holds them both, keeping your shoulders pinned with his other hand.
“See if you can come like this,” he says, gripping you tighter. You don’t much care whether you do or not. He’s been more than generous and it’s his turn, but the mere speculation and the way he’s controlling your body are scintillating. His words and actions send a spark from your chest to your cunt and you clench around him. “I bet you can.”
You sob into the pillows on your fourth orgasm since you climbed into the town car, and you feel his thrusts stutter. He whispers something indecipherable as he comes, his fingers leaving an indelible mark on your skin.
Your bodies separate and you each collapse to the mattress, panting and staring at the ceiling. After a few quiet moments, he asks, “You hungry?”
He orders room service and you head to the bathroom for a shower. The hot spray of water makes you groggy and your muscles and joints are loose from him working you over. As you’re toweling off and sliding into the soft, thick hotel robe, you hear a knock at the door. You stay in the bathroom, combing your fingers through your wet hair, listening as he opens the door and lets the room service employee inside. When you finally hear the door shut, you exit the bathroom.
He’s wearing a black t-shirt and a pair of grey sweatpants and appears to have raided the mini-bar. “Looks good,” you say, picking up a piece of fried calamari and popping it in your mouth.
“Yeah, it does,” he says and you catch his suggestive gaze as he sips his beer, paying zero attention to the food.
You eat, chatting amicably, he flirts and you politely deflect. You have to leave before the sun actually rises. That’s your number one rule and you told him that before you even let him kiss you.
You finish your beer and scan the room. “Where’re my clothes?” you ask, just now noticing that he tidied the room while you were in the shower.
“Closet,” he answers with a mouth full of hummus and yet somehow remaining entirely fuckable.
You shake your head and move to the closet then duck into the bathroom to dress, feeling used and sated in the way you hoped for. You blast your hair dry and pull the sides back with the spare hair tie you carry in your bag before leaving the bathroom for the last time.
He’s standing in the hallway just outside the bathroom, arms crossed over his chest. “Headed out, I guess,” he says and you nod. He nods and pushes away from the wall, grips the back of your neck much more gently than he had 30-minutes before and brushes his thumb along the column before dipping to kiss your forehead.
You lean into his warm lips and sigh, pressing a kiss of your own to his collarbone. “Thank you,” you mutter and you hear a small chuckle. You step back and take one last look into his eyes, daring you to stay, before turning and walking the rest of the way to the door.
He doesn’t say a word but you can feel his eyes on you as you pull the door open and let it shut it behind you.
Summary: After the show, alone in a dark corridor, he shows you exactly what that song means.
Pairing: Jensen x you, Jensen x reader
Words: 1049
Warnings: Kissing, Vaginal Fingering, Clothed Sex, Wall Sex, Slight Chain Metal Kink, lip biting, Jensen Ackles in that fucking CBGB t-shirt and hat and the wallet chain WTF dude, Let’s pretend he’s single, Like a Wrecking Ball, you know why, Smut, Shameless Smut, Consent is Sexy, NSFW
You’re tucked into a darkened corridor, your back against a wall, and you’ve hooked two fingers into his belt loops. You slide a hand under the hem of his t-shirt to touch the hot, smooth skin of his torso, running around his back and up.
His mouth is indulgent and languorous, working your lips, sliding his tongue against yours. He’s barely touched you with his hands yet – only to drag you back to this place to be alone before whipping his hat off and tossing it to the side. He’s using them to brace himself against the wall, trapping you in the most dangerous way. One hand on either side of your head, he hunches over you, fingers splayed against the exposed sheetrock, elbows bending and straightening with each shift as his kiss ebbs and flows.
You want him closer. You want to feel the length of his body, his heat and weight, pressed against you, so you fist the cotton on his shirt and pull. He obeys your beckon, standing to his full height and sliding a hand up your outer thigh and under your skirt. He traces the edge of your panties as his tongue traces the inside of your top lip.
While you thank the powers that be that you chose a skirt instead of jeans, he lifts you, pulling your legs around his hips, then pins you to the wall. His mouth is on your neck, his hands cupping your ass. Your legs drape over his forearms and he’s so fucking warm, but you shiver. You hold his face in your hands and take his bottom lip between your teeth and pull, making him huff a breath like a small chuckle and he’s grinning ear to ear.
“Fuck,” he groans, once you’ve let his lip go and move to lick and nip his ear, sliding your arms around his neck. He grinds into you, the soft, thick cotton of his pants dampening from the slick, seeping through the crotch of your panties. The metal of the chain at his hip is cool against the hot, delicate skin of your inside thigh.
He shifts one of his hands under your ass to pull at the satin between your thighs, wraps his fingers entirely around the fabric and runs his knuckles along your wet slit. “Okay?” he whispers and your brain spins. It’s more than okay, but him asking permission, even though he has the upper hand – literally and figuratively – pushes you so close to coming you can’t use words to answer. You vigorously nod and he pushes inside you with his long middle finger.
“Pants,” he says as you kiss and lick each other. You trail one hand down from his shoulder, over his chest and stomach, flip your hand up under his t-shirt and graze his skin, work his button open and push his zipper down as best you can before reaching inside and pulling him out. Your thumb runs over his head as your fingers wrap around his thickness. “Christ,” he grits through his teeth, pressing his forehead to yours and slipping another finger inside you.
“Condom?” you ask and he nods.
“Back pocket,” he says. “I got you.” He reinforces his grip under your ass.
You reach behind him with the hand that isn’t full of his cock and he pushes the fingers that aren’t fucking you into the back of your hair. You find the foil packet in his loose back pocket and bring it to his mouth. You hold it steady as he carefully tears it open with his teeth his eyes drilling you in place.
You shake the empty packet to the ground and work the latex over his hard length. “We good?” he checks in with you again, keeping eye contact, and you are so turned on by his constant consideration. You give him verbal reassurance this time. “Fuck yes.”
He nods and licks his lips, pulls your panties to the side, lifts you up, then pulls you down onto him. You both gasp as he moves you up and down, slowly working his way inside, spreading your wetness and opening you wider with each shallow thrust. Once he’s fully seated, he pulls out then slams back in to the hilt. You cry out and he covers your mouth with his.
He moves in and out of you and you feel every inch of him everywhere inside. You’re so full and right on the edge. You hang one arm around his neck and touch yourself with your free hand. He’s fucking you into the wall, again and again. You’re reminded of telling your friends how you’d wreck him if given the opportunity. Now he’s doing it to you. Not that you’re complaining.
He keeps his mouth on yours and you feel that familiar sensation tingling in your gut before it starts to spread like a current of electricity outward and straight to where you’re joined, where you’re pressing on your clit so his thrusts rub against you just right. Your moans become more emphatic and frantic and suddenly your skin breaks into a sweat. You pull your mouth from his and smack your head back against the wall with a shout.
He’s crashing into you through your orgasm, grunting, and his grip on your ass and hips is bruising. You’ll have something to remember him by for a few days at least. Then you feel his hips start to stutter and his mouth is on yours again as he comes, muffling his own shout.
You hang from his shoulders, trying to catch your breath. He pulls out slowly, readjusts your panties with such care that it makes you tremble anew, then gently sets your feet to the ground, caressing your wobbling thighs.
He kisses you then asks if you’re good. You assure him that you are better than good. “That was a literal dream come true, so I’m real good.”
He smiles as he puts himself back together and reaches for his hat then throws an arm around your shoulder. “We should get back to the party.” You nod and grin up at him, still a little dazed, but you wrap an arm around his waist as you both make your way into the light.
IncogNinja 