Just a reminder: This story is T-rated : )

Chapter 6

Dean lay awake staring at the ugly motel room ceiling. Sam's soft snoring emanated from the bed next to him. How odd, thought Dean, Sam sleeping and me with insomnia. The bickering must have tired him out.

They'd argued all the way back to town from the Macleod's cabin. Dean recalled Sam's accusations.

"They're a coven," Sam had insisted.

"Who?" Dean had asked fuming in the Impala's passenger seat. Having had a few beers he'd thought it smart to let Sam drive. Besides Sam had practically dragged him out of the cabin and thrown him in the car.

"All those Brits!"

"They were just hanging out at a bonfire, Sam. I didn't see any ceremonial daggers or hear a summoning of the Goddess."

"There's a strong bond between them all. I could sense it. They're connected in some way and have been for a very long time."

"So what? They're old friends and bandmates."

"What were you doing with Lyra in the cabin?"

"How is that your business, dude?"

"You're my brother, Dean. It's my business if you're getting mixed up with a black witch."

"That was not black magic at the waterfall today."

"Yeah, well what was it at the graveyard next to the power plant last night? What's with all the natural phenomena happening around here lately? She's messing with some powerful dark forces and leading you around by your…"

"Shut up, Sam." Dean slouched angrily in his seat glaring out the window at the passing darkness. "Just shut the fuck up."

They'd driven the rest of the way to the motel in irate silence. He hated fighting with Sam but what he hated more was that Sam might be right. Lyra wasn't a black witch. Yes, she was definitely mixed up in some dark business. Apparently, she was from a long line of pagans. Yeah, there was something weird and powerful glowing inside a case in her father's cabin.

But she had a voice like a roadhouse angel and she was so damned beautiful. She was clearly torn up about her sister. Her father had been vague about their Wiccan practise and they hadn't had the nerve to ask about his missing daughter, he'd been so hospitable to them. Lyra needed Dean. He knew that without a doubt.

Pressing his palms to his closed eyes, Dean lay in bed trying to clear his head. It was no use. Silently he rose and dressed.

Grabbing his cell phone on the way out, he shut the door quietly. His phone vibrated once, he had a text message. Climbing into the Impala he looked at the phone's display. It was from Lyra. Can't stop thinking about you. The text was from 4 minutes ago.

Me too. Dean wrote back.

An immediate reply: Meet me in the cemetary.

oo00oo

The heels of her boots clicked along the paved path, the sound reverberating off nearby tombs. She walked beneath the canopy of an enormous elm tree its branches stretching upward toward the starlit sky. The cemetary was quiet except for the nightime chirrup of a thousand crickets.

Dean stood silently beneath the massive stone angel watching her walk towards him. She'd changed out of her jeans. Her long black coat swished back behind her revealing a short black skirt and the full extent of her lengthy legs. The tops of her creamy white breasts pressed up out of the white eyelet corset, a black velvet choker encircled her elegant neck.

His green eyes intent on her, she stopped just in front of him. A hint of perfume crept upwards reminding him of an exotic night flower. Her hair was up, pinned loosely with whisps falling down around her long, white neck. The night breeze played with them. Dean reached out to brush them from her neck. She did not move away from his touch.

Gently he pulled her to him never breaking his gaze from hers. Feeling her soft breath on his lips, her clear blue eyes grew heavy lidded with desire. Instinctively licking her lips, in doing so the tip of her pink tongue grazed his upper lip. Sparks showered through his mind as he claimed her mouth with his.

She was compliant, opening her mouth fully to him. Dean shuddered involuntarily as their tongues collided pulling her tighter to him. Her hands travelled down his t-shirt tracing the bumps of his abs until her fingertips reached the top of his jeans. Pressing her palm against the front of his jeans she could feel his hard thickness. Apprehension and excitement made her back arc. Pressing herself hard against him, her head fell back as Dean trailed kisses along her throat. Giving herself fully over to him, he kissed her softly at her most vulnerable spot, the little hollow at the base of her throat while his hands ran beneath her coat reaching under her short skirt, grasping her lace-covered buttocks. His fingers dug into her flesh as he pulled her against him roughly, pressing himself against her he was rewarded with a soft moan in his ear. The sound exquisite; he repimanded himself to take it slow or it would be over as soon as it began.

Grasping her hips he turned and placed her on the tomb. Her back rested nicely against the curve of the angel's wing. As the wing turned outward at the bottom it made her hips tilt forward, Dean standing on the base of the tomb stepped between her long legs. He could feel her hot, moistness even through the denim of his jeans. Kissing her deeply his fingers nimbly found the tiny hooks on the front of her corset.

Drawing back he admired her full white mounds tipped with delicate pink. He bent to capture one with his mouth eliciting a gasp from Lyra. Grasping the fly of his jeans she undid them, sliding her hand into the top of his Jockeys. She felt him groan against her breast as she took hold of him gripping his width and stroking him slowly.

Pulling out of her grasp he spread kisses down her silky stomach. He felt the cool night air on his hardness and hoped it would help keep him under control. Kneeling before her he pulled the black lace panties from her, spreading her velvety thighs wide. Gasping for air, she felt his warm lips and inquisitive tongue on her. Her head fell back against the angel's wing, as her breathing became ragged. She could see the stars overhead blinking through the leaves of the tree as they swayed in the nightime breeze. Closing her eyes, sparks shot across her lids. Her mind ignited with the desire to feel Dean pressed within her. She could hear herself moaning his name. His devotion to her was relentless. He would not resign until she found release. Crying out, her hips spasmed as her mind exploded, all sensibility falling away.

Dean stood looking down at her; dark hair cascaded against the white stone of the angel's wing. Her eyes darkened and unfocussed in her delirium, lips parted and redder than usual. She looked breathtaking. Dean stepped between her legs spreading them wider with his. Slowly he slid into her as she gasped his name against his lips. Kissing her deeply he gently pushed himself into her fully. They were one. He felt enveloped in molten nectar. Her heat was incredible. All conscious thought left Lyra, she was only aware of Dean within her.

Holding her to him and whispering her name he began his slow strokes. She felt a coiling tension rising up her spine, she no longer knew if she was calling his name or just moaning incoherently. His strokes gained momentum, fingers digging into her buttocks. Her hips met his as the hot explosion rocketed up her spine shattering her mind into a thousand pieces. Muffling her scream by biting into his neck, her climax driving her hard against him. Dean knew only the gourgeous writhing creature beneath him as he lost all control and found his release within her depths. A strangled cry into her soft hair as he cradled her head with his hand shielding it from the hard stone of the angel. His knees felt weak as his mind flew skyward. He was only aware of their chests pressed together heaving with exhaustion gasping the cool night air. The leaves overhead rustled and the crickets continued their nightime symphony as Dean lay still against her, unwilling to draw apart just yet.