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“Why didn’t you tell me you were comin’ home?” I ask, letting my fingers slide underneath his shirt, tracing a path along his waistband. He braces his arm above my head on the door and tilts my chin up, pressing a long, slow kiss to my mouth.
“And miss this homecoming? Never.”
I slant my head and slip my tongue into his mouth, tasting and taking. His hand snakes a path down, popping the button on my jeans. He drags the zipper down, slipping his hand inside my pants. Yanking my panties to the side, he drags his finger through my folds, kicking my feet apart. I moan as he slips two fingers inside me. Breaking our kiss, he drags his beard across my cheek, whispering in my ear.
“Fuck yourself on my hand,” he demands, pressing his palm against my clit while his fingers are still inside of me. Nipping at my ear, he slides his tongue over the shell. I roll my hips, grinding my clit against his palm. I’m already so close to coming. Nothing I’ve done to ease the ache while he was gone has even compared to this man, the way he fucks me. I cling to his shoulders as I work myself against his hand, chasing my orgasm. He slides his fingers out of me, gripping my clit roughly as his other hand finds my throat, he squeezes. My eyes fall closed.
“Look at me,” he commands, squeezing. My eyes pop open and my jaw goes slack. If it were anyone else, I’m sure I wouldn’t enjoy this. But, with Dean, I know I’m safe. “Have you been touching yourself while I was gone?” I nod my head, best I can with his hand still wrapped around my throat, my pulse fluttering against his finger. “What did you think of to get you off?”
“Y-y-you,” I rasp out, still riding his hand, “I’m so close, honey.” He makes a noncommittal noise in his throat.
“And what, you think I should let you come?” He asks, releasing my throat and stepping back, leaving me propped against the door. “Touch yourself,” he demands. My hand replaces his, fingers going straight to my clit.
“Yessss,” I hiss out. “Pleasee, let me come.” My eyes are on him, watching me as he leans against the desk, wallet in hand, slowly dragging a condom out.
“Stop.” He demands and my hand stills.
“Dean,” I whine, my body screaming for release. He tears the wrapper open with his teeth, giving his cock a slow stroke with his hand before he rolls the condom down it.
“Lose the shirt,” he crosses his arms over his chest, his beautiful cock jutting out in front of him. I frantically rip my shirt off and shimmy out of my jeans, kickin’ my boots off. I’m back on him in a hot second, climbing him like a fucking tree. I sink down on his length and cry out as he fills me to the hilt. Sex with Dean before was never this good. Don’t get me wrong, he always made sure I was satisfied. But this Dean, this Dean is hot. He’s in control and he isn’t afraid to tell me what he wants and exactly how he wants it.
“Fuck me,” I whisper in his ear and his resolve snaps. Suddenly my back is to the desk, legs thrown over his shoulders, and he’s powering into me. The desk scrapes along the floor with each thrust. Each slam. Each punishing slide of his cock, the slight curve of it that always hits in just the right spot to make me scream.
“Play with your tits,” he grits, watching as I obey. I twist my nipples and meet him thrust for thrust.
“Dean, please. Please touch me,” I beg, watching him fuck me. He drags his hand up the inside of my thigh, finding my clit. It’s only a second before my orgasm tears through me, my hands slapping the desk, screaming his name. He’s right behind me, filling me to the hilt as he comes. He leans over me, pressing a kiss to my chest.
“Don’t ever leave me again,” I whisper, my heart thumping a staccato inside my chest. This man has the power to destroy me and I’m not sure I could live through the pain twice.
Dean
Dragging Whitley along behind me through the bar, I check to make sure everything has been closed properly and that the kitchen guys didn’t forget anything. She locks up the beer coolers while I check the grill and fryers, making sure everything is turned off and shut down for the night. Hitting the lights on the way out the front door, I turn to lock it and Whitley gasps.
“Dean!” She cries out and I whip around.
“What the fuck?” I growl, stalking towards her car, shattered glass scattered about. The word WHORE is spray painted in red across the side of it, tires slashed. The ‘stang sits untouched across the lot.
“Go back inside, lock the door, and call the cops.” She does what I say, and I scan the lot, looking for anyone who might still be hanging out. I am fucking heated that someone would even think of doing this to Whitley, who would never hurt a god damn soul.
I stalk to the door of the bar, banging twice and announcing that it’s me. The lock clicks and the door swings open as she hangs up the phone.
“Derrick’s on his way.” She says and her eyes flick back and forth between mine, glassy as tears fill them. “Who would do something like this?” She asks, tears slipping over her lashes as I pull her against me.
“Shhh. I don’t know,” I console her, tucking her head under my chin, “I don’t know, but I swear I’ll find out.”
We stand like that for a few minutes, her crying silently in my arms. A knock on the door causes her to jump.
“Whit, it’s Derrick,” is called from outside and I swing the door open, not letting go of my girl. “Anderson,” he greets, “glad to see you back. You got cameras installed outside?”
Fuck.
“No,” I huff out, frustrated, “it was on my to do list before I left town.”
“Damn. Alright, well let me go nose around, see what I can find. Whitley, I called a tow truck for ya, they will be here shortly. Will have ‘er towed to the precinct, give it a good once over. See if we can come up with anything.”
I give him a chin lift, a silent thank you for handling that call. I need to get my girl home, ASAP.
Whitley
