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He rounds the desk and slides the drawer open, snagging a condom. Dragging myself off the desk and making my way towards him, I take the condom and tear it open, reaching out with my free hand and giving him one long hard stroke before rolling the condom down his shaft. A groan rumbles out of him.
“Someone was pretty sure he was getting lucky eventually, eh?” I ask, arching an eyebrow. He scrubs his hand over his mouth, eyes roaming all over my body.
“Just optimistic,” he says, and I push on his shoulder, causing him to drop down into the chair.
“Optimistic, my ass,” I murmur as I straddle him, lining his thick cock up with my center and I sink down, arms braced on the chair on either side of his head. He watches intently as he drags his cock through my folds, pressing it against my entrance. He slips himself inside of me as I lower myself down, slowly, giving my body time to adjust to his length.
This, my body cried out. Him, my pulse thrummed.
“Good fucking Christ,” he hisses out once I’m finally full of his cock, “this pussy. So tight.” He thrusts up and my head drops back as I roll my hips.
“Oh my god, Dean.”
“Do that again,” he demands, and I roll my hips again. His hands grip my hips, fingers biting into my skin. “Ride me.”
Obliging, I start riding his cock. I’m frenzied, chasing my release. Up and down, in and out, tits bouncing in his face. He drags his hands over my hardened peaks, plucking at my nipples. His breath is just as labored as mine, every muscle in his body tense as I work myself faster and harder. Dean abruptly stands, taking me with him and I yelp as he drops me back down on the desk. I loop my arms around his neck as he slams in and out of me, his hand finding my clit and giving me exactly what I need. I cry out his name as my orgasm tears through me, his not far behind.
“Fuuuuckkk,” he groans out as his release hits, hips stilling, completely filling me. We stay like that for a minute before he presses a kiss to my temple and slips out of me to dispose of the condom. What the hell just happened, I ask myself, trying to wrap my head around the situation. Reminding myself that this is Dean, the boy who left me broken and alone. This man who seems to want to make things right, but how do I know he won’t run scared the first time we have a disagreement?
He settles himself between my legs again, linking my fingers with his and pressing a kiss to my hand.
“I can see the wheels turning inside of your head, but please. Just give me a chance to prove that this can be good.” He seals his lips over mine, sliding his fingers into my hair, “that we can be good.”
I’m not sure we can ever overcome the heartache that we went through, the years that we’ve lost. But I’m willing to try, which is why when he asks me to come home with him, I find myself whispering yes.
***
The drive to Dean’s house has been quiet, the silence in his truck cab heavy. I take the opportunity to really look at him for the first time since he’s been home.
I take in all his features, like his inky black hair, long and shaggy, skimming his neckline. His thick dark beard that is neatly trimmed and looks very well kept. His bulging bicep muscles. He glances at me, his emerald green eyes meeting my gray ones, and a grin finds its way across his lips, that dimple in his cheek popping out. He still looks so much like that boy I fell in love with all those years ago.
“What?” He asks, turning his attention back to the road.
“Nothin’, it's just… surreal to be sittin’ next to you.” His hand squeezes my knee.
“Agree. Never thought I’d convince you to get in my truck, much less convince you to fuck me.” He grins again and I roll my eyes, glancing back out the windshield. He starts to slow the truck and pulls into a drive that is well hidden off the main road, barely noticeable unless you are looking for it. Trees line both sides of the driveway, making the house unseeable from the road. We drive for about half a mile and the trees start to thin out, making way to a modest farmhouse with a porch swing and wraparound porch. There’s a light shining above the swing and flowers in the beds out front.
“Dean, this is incredible.” I breathe out as he puts the truck in park out front.
He clears his throat. “Uh, thanks. It’s just... We… I always wanted a farmhouse. Something close enough to town where it’s not too much of a drive, but far enough in the country,” he says but I cut him off.
“That you can still see the stars at night,” my breath hitches and my eyes fill with tears. It’s something I always said to him when we were younger. I hated not being able to see the stars at night in town, so every night we’d drive outta past the city limits and park, just lying in his truck bed staring up at the stars for hours.
I’m so blown away that I don’t even realize Dean’s out of the truck and at my door until it’s opened and he’s helping me out of it. He tugs me along behind him and up the white painted steps. He punches a number in on the electronic keypad and opens the door, motioning for me to go ahead of him.
“Alexa, turn the foyer lights on.” He calls out, hanging his truck keys up on the wall and locking the door behind him. The lights flicker on and I gasp. Dark hardwood floors run the length of the foyer. Gray shiplap on the walls. There’s a sliding barn door tucked under the stairs and a living room at the end of the hallway. I turn around to tell him how incredible the place is, but he’s no longer behind me.
“Dean?” I call out, moving farther into the house. My ears are met with the skittering of nails on the tile floor and a ‘woof’.
“Ranger!” Dean hollers but it’s too late. The dog comes tearing around the corner and his face lights up when he sees me, paws trying to gain purpose on the hardwood floor. He’s a German Shepherd puppy, so he’s still small. I drop down on my haunches as he catapults his wiggling body into my arms.
“Oh, aren’t you just precious,” I coo, scratching him behind the ears and running my hand over his silky fur. Dean comes into view and he whistles for the dog, who finally stops licking my face and sits, one ear up and one ear down, with his head cocked and his tongue lolling out of his mouth.
“Sorry,” he says, sheepishly. “Doggy obedience isn’t going so well. Ranger, come.” The dog trots off after Dean, who lets him out the sliding back door.
I follow them both into the kitchen. “I didn’t know you had a dog.”
“Ah yeah,” he says, opening the fridge and pulling out a pitcher, “got him at a shelter in Colorado before I came back to Alabama. He was the last of the litter, the runt.” He shrugs his shoulder as he pours us both a glass of sweet tea. “I couldn’t leave him there.”
