I watch Dean as he watches his own hand. I know he can see the goosebumps spreading across my body, my nipples responding to his touch, my legs rubbing together in anticipation of what is to come.
When his return trip down my body dips lower than my belly button, I let my legs fall open a little. I can’t believe I want him to touch me again, but I do. I can’t get enough.
He takes the invitation and presses his palm over me. I’m so wet. I should be embarrassed, but I really want him to know how much I want him. How ready I am for him.
One finger dips between my lips and enters me slowly. “Jesus, Mel. You’re so wet.”
“Dean, yeah. I want you… again, so much…”
With that, he adds another finger and pushes deep inside me. I can’t stop the cry that leaves my lips. He doesn’t pause as he probes my depths. When he hooks his fingers upward to press my g-spot, my groan is deep and long. His mouth finds a nipple and sucks roughly. The feelings rushing through me are sweet torture. I can’t let him do this again. I can’t have a third before he even has one.
Without warning I pull away and flip myself over onto my hands and knees. I move with more confidence than I feel, but I know this is what he was wanting in the living room. I mean for him to have it.
It takes a moment for him to react and I am abruptly self-conscious. When I look back over my shoulder and see him staring with hunger at my airborne ass, I realize he’s stunned but in a good way. Oh thank God.
I don’t expect his next move. Instead of moving behind and grabbing my hips, he lays down, flips himself onto his back and slides under me. Oh hell. I’ve actually never done this before and I feel even more self-conscious.
I’m about to suggest a change of position when he lifts his head and sucks my inner labia into his mouth. Suddenly I’m lost. Whatever he wants… he can have whatever he wants. His hands move up to my ass now and pull downward, encouraging me to grind against his face. I don’t think I can. This feels amazing, but what if he can’t breathe? What if I hurt him? What if he doesn’t like it?
Doubts run through my head until he pulls his mouth off me with a pop. “Stop thinking and fuck my face, Melissa.”
Well, um, okay then. I guess that answers that. I take a breath and try to focus on relaxing. Just feeling good. Dean returns to his ministrations. Licking, stroking, worshipping every inch of my skin and my flavor. The man is clearly a fan. I must say I am, too.
Dean’s strong hands are kneading my ass again, down to the backs of my thighs and then back up again. He spreads my cheeks and presses them together while never ceasing his oral assault. I feel his fingertips stroke lightly over the entrance hiding there and I tense. He moves his hands away and then back again. I’m trying to relax and finally sit up a bit, my own hands cupping my breasts. I’m hoping to distract him from this area but finally realize this is actually better. I can move more freely now and holy shit is it nice.
When I pull upward to escape the overwhelming pleasure, Dean growls and lifts his head to chase me down. I moan loudly at the shiver of pleasure that runs down my spine.
Oh God, I really am going to come again. His fingers are still exploring my ass, but never pushing beyond my unspoken limit. First he makes me feel good and then better. I quickly dismiss my internal question about how he learned to be so good at this and just appreciate that he is. When he sucks my clit between his lips and I can hear him slurping the moisture there, I lose it. I’m thrown over the edge without warning. I’m barely aware that I’m grinding against his face so roughly that I must be hurting him. I don’t care. This was his damned idea. He said fuck his face? Well, I am. My hands grip the headboard in front of me until my knuckles are white.
Once I ride out my orgasm, I realize Dean has now moved to the place I’d expected him earlier. He’s on his knees behind me, his hands on my hips while he’s kissing my shoulder softly. “Thanks… again…” I whisper.
“Babe. I told you already. I can never get enough of seeing you come. The sound of you groaning my name? No thanks necessary.”
I called out his name? Huh. I didn’t even realize.
“But if you really want to thank me…” He punctuates his comment with a push on my back, encouraging me to bend again. I am happy to comply and bury my face in a pillow that smells just like him. I wonder if I can steal this when I leave.
My ass is in the air, Dean’s hands spread across it. One hand slides slowly up my back and kneads at the muscles he feels there. Back down, he traces the line of my hips, my thighs, and then around to reach my clit as I feel him line himself up with my entrance.
When he eases in to me, I stop breathing. I’m so full. He slides out slowly and then presses harder, deeper inside of me. His hand begins to rub at my clit and his hips set a steady pace. If he thinks I can come again, he’s crazy.
“Fuck me, Dean. Just…fuck me.”
The noise he emits sounds half pleasure half pain, but he pulls his hand back, plants both of them on my hips and slams into me mercilessly. Yes, finally, he lets go. I can feel his balls smacking against my clit as he pounds into me. I reach beneath myself to let my fingers feel him as he slides in and out of me. I clutch at his balls, causing him to growl low in his throat, but he never slows.
I move my hips backward to meet each thrust and despite myself, I can feel another orgasm building. I don’t think I can get there, but damn he feels good. Whatever voodoo he is doing really works for me. Just when I think he’s going to come, he pulls out and pushes me to my right side, lifts my left leg high and re-enters me. This angle hits me in a place I didn’t even know I had, and I grunt with every thrust. “Yes, yes, yes…” Feels so good.
This angle also gives him free access to my clit, which he takes advantage of, and I know I’m going to come again. I hold my breath, concentrating on getting there.
Dean leans down and kisses me. Then he whispers in my ear, “Come again, Mel… come for me again.”
And I do. God help me, but I do. It’s so strong it almost hurts. Everything goes dark and I’m only vaguely aware of Dean’s pace picking up. As I’m coming down from my high, he stills and suddenly I can feel him filling me with his seed. The growl from deep in his chest satisfies me in a new way as well. I like Dean any way, but a feral Dean is perfection.
He collapses on top of me kissing me softly, moving just enough to let my leg straighten. He pushes one of his between them. We’re tangled together, kissing like we can find sustenance in each other’s mouths. Maybe it’s not our mouths, maybe it’s just each other. A wave of sadness hits me and I bury my face in Dean’s neck to fight it off.
He seems to understand what I need and wraps me in his arms in the most comforting embrace I’ve ever experienced. “This wasn’t how things were supposed to go when I came here,” I say against the pulse of his neck.
“Yeah, and how was it supposed to go?” I can hear the amusement in his voice.
“I was going to storm in, tell you how much of an asshole you were and then storm back out leaving you stunned silent and ashamed of yourself.”
“That’s pretty much how it went down.”
I pull back and look at him. “Um, not so much.” I wave down indicating our clearly not angry naked bodies.
“Mel, you called me an asshole, I was stunned and I’m ashamed. You accomplished what you came for.”
I’m silent. I don’t know how I feel about him being ashamed. I assume he means ashamed by his disappearing act, but I’m not entirely certain. It occurs to me that I’ll probably never see him again so I may as well just ask.
“Are you ashamed of what just… happened… between us?”
A look of shock passes over his features before he grasps my face with both hands. “You listen to me. I’ll never be ashamed about anything that has happened between us. Never.”
I can’t stop the tears that well up in my eyes. Damn him for being so sweet and earnest.
“Mel, I’m ashamed for not having the balls to te
ll you what was going on. The truth is that it’s just complicated and I feel stuck between doing the right thing and doing the thing I want to do.”
I laugh. “Um, I think you just did the thing you wanted to do.”
“Mel. Stop it. You know what I mean.”
I shut my eyes tightly. All this sincerity is making me uncomfortable. “I think I do know.”
I reach up to cover one of his hands with mine and press my cheek against it. How I can go from such intense pleasure to such emotional pain astounds me.
“Dean, I understand. I do. I get it. I just… I can’t help but wish…”
“I wish, too, baby. I wish, too. In a different place and time…”
With that we are both silent, just lying together listening to the sound of our breathing.
Eventually our hands start a slow exploration of each other again. There is no race to the finish, just a sensual exploration. The time for talking is done, but we still want to know every inch of each other.
At some point I drift off. I’m not sure how long I sleep, but I wake being spooned with Dean lightly kissing my neck. I glance at the clock and realize it’s nearly dawn.
“Dean… I should go soon.”
He doesn’t answer, just continues kissing my neck, my ears, my shoulder. His hand cups my breast from behind and I moan softly. I would give anything to wake up like this every day, but I know this is it.
I roll to face him and trace my fingertips over the rough stubble of his face. I’ve always thought his piercing blue eyes were his best feature, but I realize now it’s really his words. His heart. It’s just Dean.
I refuse to give into the melancholy that threatens me. We’re facing the last of our hours together and I refuse to be sad.
This time we make love soft and slowly. We reach our orgasm together again and I smile knowing it really is possible. I always thought it was a myth.
We both seem to want to press as much of our bodies together as we can. Curled together, we both drift to sleep again.
Chapter Four
When I wake again, Dean’s bedroom is bright with morning sun. The clock tells me it’s 9 a.m. but my heart feels as though it’s the deepest of night. I need to go. God help me, but I have to leave here and never come back.
I try to disentangle myself without waking him, but Dean stirs, groaning a sleepy complaint at the disturbance.
I stiffen and wait for him to shake the cobwebs from his head. The tension is palpable. We both know this is the end.
“I have to go.”
“Mel….”
“Dean, no. Don’t make it harder. I have to go. You have to try to save your family. And I have to try to save my heart.”
He rolls to his back and closes his eyes. I take that as my cue to get moving.
I get up and look around for my clothes. I remember they’re in the living room where they were stripped from me the night before. The memory of the erotic way he stripped me sends a ripple of pleasure through me.
I shake my head. I need to get out of here before I can’t make myself go.
I leave the bed with Dean still lying quietly on his back. If it weren’t for his breathing, I’d think he’d fallen back to sleep.
I stop at the bathroom before padding naked and barefoot to the living room for my clothes.
As I enter the living room, I realize Dean is standing in the kitchen making coffee. He has slid on his well-worn jeans. The way they sit low on his hips makes me want to strip them right back off of him.
Stop it, Mel. Stop it. You’re leaving.
I move quickly to my clothes hoping to cover myself before he turns around. No such luck.
“God, you’re beautiful.”
I stiffen when I hear his voice behind me. I scoff. “You don’t have to say that. I know what I look like and frankly, you already got laid…” I trail off, hoping my self-deprecating joke will lighten the moment.
I grab my t-shirt and slip it over my head. Forget the bra I can’t find. I just need to cover myself. As I slip my beloved “Oh Hell No” t-shirt over my hips, I feel Dean slide behind me. One hand is on my hip, the other sliding around to my not-flat stomach. It’s always odd to me how self-conscious I can feel after sex. Once a man has had his face between my thighs, you’d think a simple touch would be fine. You’d be wrong.
Dean’s voice is in my ear. “You. Are. Beautiful.” All I can do is sigh and lean my head back to touch his. He is not making this any easier.
“Okay, Dean, I’m beautiful. But I have to go now.”
I try to pull away, having spied my jeans under the rocking chair in the corner. Dean isn’t having it.
Instead, he pulls me back and spins me into his arms. “Melissa Key, you are beautiful. If you leave here and I never see you again, know that. Know that I am proud to have spent the night with a beautiful, amazing woman in my arms. Know that I will never forget last night or you. I don’t want to forget it. It was a beautiful night.”
And that’s it. Now I’m crying. Damn, damn, damn. All I can do is cling to him for long minutes. I don’t want to look up for him to see the tears on my face, though there’s no way he doesn’t know I’m crying.
When my tears slow enough for me to speak, I smile sadly against his chest. “I’ll never be sorry.”
He pulls back, his eyes narrowed. “What?”
“It’s my favorite movie quote of all time. Dirty Dancing.” I quirk my head to the side in quick acknowledgment of my girliness. “Johnny tells Baby that he’ll never be sorry.”
He runs his fingertip down my nose and smiles sadly. “I’ll never be sorry.”
I brush a light kiss across his lips and then grab my jeans and slide them on. I find my bra behind the couch and stuff it in my pocket. My panties? Well, I have no idea.
“Dean, my panties are here somewhere. Just be aware…”
His smile is evil. “Don’t worry. I know where they are.” Oh my. And now I’m blushing. Alrighty then. I can’t help but grin back. His wickedness is irresistible.
We stand, just staring at each other for a moment, and I realize it’s time. “I have to go.”
Dean’s only answer is a slight nod.
I slide my shoes on, grab my purse, gather as much dignity as I can, and head to the door without looking back. I refuse to let this be a walk of shame. I’m not ashamed, damn it.
Halfway between Dean’s door and my car, I hear him jog up behind me. I keep walking.
When I get to the car and reach for the handle, Dean reaches over my shoulder to slam his hand against the door jam. Now I’m stuck outside of my car between Dean and my Honda. Which one is the rock? Which one is the hard place?
“Dean…” I sigh and lean my forehead against the door frame.
He grabs my shoulders to spin me around facing him. “Melissa.” And then he’s kissing me again. His body is pressed against mine, pinning me to the car. I couldn’t resist even if I wanted to. I don’t want to. I could kiss him a thousand times and wish for a thousand more.
I drop my purse and touch his face gently with both hands. Just one more touch. One more taste.
Suddenly, I remember we’re standing outside Dean’s house and anyone could see us. “Dean, someone will see,” I whisper against his lips.
“I don’t fucking care.”
My brain shuts down as I return his kisses. My hands pull at his shoulders, wanting us to be impossibly closer. He groans loudly and moves to kiss the sensitive spot under my ear. As I tilt my head back to allow his exploration, I notice a car coming down the street and I sober quickly.
“Dean, no. You have to stop. We can’t do this.” I push against his chest.
He steps back and cocks his head to the side, startled by the sudden change of direction. I take a deep, strengthening breath and look him in the eye.
“We agreed that last night was it. You know it’s the right thing. I know it’s the right thing. Your family is more important than… whatever this is.” I wave a hand
between our chests.
He scrubs his hand down his face and looks to the sky.
“Melissa, I just… I want you to know…”
I shake my head and interrupt. “I do know.”
Knowing if I keep talking, I’ll lose my nerve, I turn back to my car, climb in and start it immediately. I purposely focus on my mirrors as I back down his short driveway. It isn’t until I’ve turned onto his street that I risk a glance back toward the house. Dean is still standing where I left him in his driveway, an unreadable expression on his face. We make eye contact briefly and I know my tears are imminent.
I raise my hand in a small wave, turn my focus back to the street in front of me, press my foot on the gas and leave. No matter the pain that threatens to shred my heart right here, I know it’s true. I’ll never be sorry.
About the Author
TJ Branham is a writer who moonlights as a responsible mother of two in St. Louis, Missouri. She enjoys staying up too late, oversleeping, and napping inappropriately. She hates whistling, alarm clocks and anything coffee flavored.
TJ, a voracious reader since the dawn of Daisy Dukes, once devoured four Babysitter Club books in one day. She loves long baths in scalding water and prefers fiction that would make Nicki Minaj reach for the smelling salts. Upon her death, TJ requests she be interred in a coffin filled with bubble bath, two candles, and a stack of smutty books.
Website coming soon.
@AuthorTJBranham
TJBranhamWrites
Beginning of the Storm
KC Maxwell
Between Hearts: A Romance Anthology Page 15