Chapter Eighteen

He thought about going after her. It would be easy to get her out of that dress and into the bed. After all their playful teasing throughout dinner, it would take little to no effort to get her to submit to him. She'd be under him and screaming in no time flat if he touched her in just the right way.

But intrigue kept him from doing so.

What was she up to? He had a pretty good idea. She had roused his interest when she'd refused to let him get a hand under her skirt in the cab. Hell, she'd roused his interest when they'd left the store and she hadn't told him what she'd bought. She'd surprised him when she had all but dragged him across the hotel room. He'd half-expected her to mount him then and there, but to his shock she hadn't.

Your present has decided it wants to unwrap itself for you.

His Lizzie was going to strip for him. When he'd realized that, he would have agreed to pretty much anything else she'd told him to do.

He had a feeling she needed to do whatever it was she was planning to do. He doubted she'd ever stripped for him. And he would have bet all his money that she had never so much as thought of being the one in control before. So, because she needed this, and because he needed her, he resolved to behave.

"Down boy," he muttered as he adjusted the bulge in his pants. He took off his shoes and socks, instinctively reaching to remove the tie. No. He had to leave it on.

No sounds were coming from the bathroom and he imagined her, his wary little Lizzie, giving herself a silent pep talk in front of the mirror.

The TV came to life and he quickly switched from the weather forecast, mindlessly going from channel to channel as he rose to his feet. Music. She wanted music. He paused in his channel surfing so he could get the chair from the desk in the corner. Dragging it out so he could sit, he reached to loosen his tie. Then, thinking better of it, he moved the chair to the middle of the room, eyes on the bathroom door as he resumed his search for music.

Just as he settled on a channel that boasted a constant stream of music, the bathroom doorknob rattled. He perked up, adjusted the TV's volume, and threw the remote onto the dresser. His heart began to thump excitedly in his chest. Settling in the chair, he leaned forward in anticipation. Then he sat back, adopting a nonchalant posture. Finally he settled on sitting upright, one leg stretched out, hands clasped behind his head. Then, as the door began to open, he remembered the tie and hastily tightened it, leaving it askew because there was no time to fix it properly.

She came out, still in her dress. Her hair was still up and – he bit his lip – the stockings were still on. There was no noticeable difference in her appearance but he detected quite a bit more pride in her walk than usual. Drinking in the sight of her, he noted that her lips were damp. From a sip of water or a fresh application of lipstick he wasn't sure. Not that it mattered, he decided, hands falling to his sides when she approached.

"You've mussed your tie," she murmured. Stepping between his legs, she leaned in close.

"Yeah." All he could smell was her. That wonderful, curious mixture of shampoo, perfume, laundry soap, and…and… Her. He would never be able to describe the other, fainter scent that always arrested his senses when she was close to him. Maybe it was her deodorant. Or something she used on her clothes. All he knew was that it was a part of her and it never failed to slightly excite him. "Sorry 'bout that."

"Liar," she whispered, lips close to but not touching his ear. Her hands were swift and diligent at his throat, then smoothed down almost to his navel. Just when he was about to kiss that little spot under her ear she pulled back. "Much better."

He opened his mouth to ask a simple question. But she rested one knee on the edge of the chair. Right between his thighs. So close to his crotch that his cock twitched with excitement. And he lost all memory of whatever he'd been about to say. Reaching for her, he yelped in surprise when she swatted his hands away. "Lizzie—"

"No touching." Her eyes were imploring. It took him a few seconds, but finally he nodded in understanding and let his hands drop. A faint, whispered word of thanks passed her lips. Then, squaring her shoulders and breathing in deeply, she grasped her left sleeve with her right hand and tugged.

Giddy, but determined to be calm, he raised his brows, watching as she pulled her arm out of one sleeve then the other. One bare arm crossed over her chest to hold the dress to it and he thought of how those arms felt when they held him close. Sighing in appreciation, he reached to adjust the bulge in his pants again. The other arm reached up, arcing over her head, and he stared, fascinated, as her hair loosened then cascaded from its neat twist. She leaned close again, tossed something that clinked onto the dresser, but he paid no attention, too focused on the fact that her knee was rubbing against his dick and her breath was on his cheek.

Too soon she pulled away, so swiftly that cool air swirled between their bodies. Her knee gave a tantalizing rub then it was gone too, and she turned her back to him. He was tormented when her hands rested at her hips, for that meant that her breasts were uncovered and not letting him see the reveal was just pure cruel.

"Fuck," he groaned when her hands slid up her body. He couldn't see, but he could imagine them gliding over her breasts. Her head fell back briefly and he pictured her toying with her nipples, getting them so hard they—

She moaned.

It was brief, it was soft, but he heard it over the music. From what he could see her hands were barely moving, and his mind flooded with ideas of what she was doing to herself. His dick twitched again, the tip forced almost painfully against the zipper, and his mouth went dry. It wasn't fucking fair.

"Oh," she sighed. One hand reappeared, reaching behind her, and her thumb hooked in what was left of her dress. The other hand took its place on the other hip. She wriggled slowly, in time with the sultry tune playing.

Blue. The same color as the tie she'd picked out. The color he loved seeing on her. Blue satin and lace hugged half of her ass, curved over her hips, and presumably concealed the front as well. The dress fell, revealing the garter straps and the stockings he'd gotten to know during dinner. Her body shifted and he fully appreciated the way her ass jiggled with the movements, then she bent down, giving him a peek at her satin-covered crotch as she picked up her dress and tossed it aside. Once upright again, she looked over her shoulder at him.

"Did I get the right color?"

His dick was straining against his pants and she was worried about color? He had to bite his tongue from spouting sarcastic words, instead answering with a vigorous nod. Clearing his throat, he shifted in the chair. "Th-that's the one," he said, a bit faster than normal. He cleared his throat again. "It's great on you, Lizzie. But… It'll look even greater on the floor."

"In due time." Her tone was playful.

He grinned when she stepped back. Seeming to anticipate her intentions, he brought his legs together. The air left his lungs in a rush when she straddled his thighs. His hands ached, longing to grab her hips and yank her down, but he fisted them, wanting to be good for her. Her ass settled against his cock and he moaned. Closing his eyes briefly, he held his breath as she bounced gently, able to feel the muscles of her thighs work against his. "Christ…"

Her hips began to roll, once again in time to the music, and he cursed himself for choosing a channel that played slow R&B. He no longer cared that he couldn't see her tits, too focused on how good she felt rubbing against him.

"You're fuckin' killing me," he ground out. He lifted his hands to her waist and started to roll his hips beneath her, grunting in frustration when she once again swatted his hands away. She went still, her ass pressed tightly to his crotch, and he growled. "Damnit—"

"That's strike two, Dean."

He reared back slightly. "Strike—Th'fuck?"

"Strike three and I'll make sure you can't touch me at all."

He had never heard her voice sound so authoritative. Half tempted to touch her again just to see what she would do, he gripped the edges of the chair. "Why can't I touch you?"

Elizabeth stood up. He whined, fearing she was going to put an end to the delicious torture, only to moan with approval when she turned to face him. Eyes on her nipples, which were hard and proud and peeking out between locks of her hair, he licked his lips as they drew closer. Her hands framed his face and he looked up, fingers clenching when she offered a gentle kiss. "Because," she whispered, fingers sliding down to caress his throat before grasping at his tie, "I said you can't. And tonight, what I say goes."

"Yes, ma'am," he answered dutifully, indulging in a quick suck of her bottom lip when she began to pull away. Seeing the pleased gleam in her eyes, he released her lip. "I have one more strike, right? Then you're going to make sure I can't touch you at all?"

"Right." Hands on his shoulders, she tossed her hair back. Straddling him again, she resumed the rhythmic rolls and bounces.

This time, though, he could feel the heat of her pussy. And he could see her tits. They bounced and swayed. He was pretty sure her nipples were begging him to play with them. He longed to do so, to the point that his palms were itching. Groaning, he glanced down to watch the blue satin slide over his crotch. And, seeing that her panties had a damp spot, he felt a shiver go down his spine. Smirking, he lifted his hips a fraction of an inch. "You're wet," he whispered, dragging his gaze up to her face.

"I'm thinking about how good you're going to feel inside me." She leaned against him, nipples pressing against his chest. Lips caressing his earlobe, she gave a tiny little whine, her hips beginning to move faster. "Balls-deep, right? That's what you like, isn't it?"

"Yes," he hissed, lifting his hips again. He would swear he could feel the wet through his pants. She'd shifted, so her pussy was rubbing along his dick. When she leaned back he looked down again, moaning sharply at the sight. The damp spot was bigger. She lifted off him and he saw the satin clinging to her. Unable to resist, and a little curious to see how she'd make sure he couldn't touch her again, he reached between them. First he adjusted his dick, then quickly turned his hand to cup her. Hot and wet and it would be so easy to unzip his pants and slide her down his dick. He palmed her, felt her shiver as the wet satin slid over her clit.

"Oh fuck," she cried out, clawing at his shoulders as she began to tremble. And for a brief moment he was sure her need for control had flown out the window.

He leaned forward, tracing one puckered nipple with his tongue before sucking it into his mouth. Continuing to rub her, he reached with his other hand to unbuckle his belt. He flicked open the button, fueled on by her breathy little moans, and had just found the zipper pull when she wrenched away from him. "Lizzie—"

"You really don't know how to follow the rules, do you?" she asked.

"But you—And—I—" He gestured from her body to his and back again, finally groaning when she merely raised one eyebrow. "You know I don't follow the rules. I never have. If I did, we wouldn't be here right now."

"You are so lucky you're cute," she muttered. She straddled his thighs again, but this time kept her crotch away from his. Instead she took advantage of his unbuttoned pants and began tugging his shirt free. "Did I tell you yet how good you looked tonight?"

"It may have been mentioned when you were grinding on me in the cab," he murmured, solely focused on where her fingers touched his body.

"Well, you looked—" Her hands stilled, inches from the fly of his pants. "I didn't grind on you."

"Didn't you?" he challenged, sucking in a breath as she began unbuttoning the shirt from the bottom. Each time a button was freed she pushed the shirt apart and stroked his skin.

"No, I didn't. I had to sit on you to keep you from getting away from me while I put your tie on." She flicked the tie out of the way, hands slipping beneath his shirt to slide up to his chest.

"Sitting on me, grinding, whatever you want to call it." Since she was occupied, he took another chance at touching her. His hands cupped her knees then slid up, tracing the straps of the garter belt before gently grasping her hips.

The tie loosened, then was pulled away. He felt it land in his lap. Her fingers were at his throat, fumbling, and seconds later she started pushing the shirt off of him. He was forced to release her. Just as the shirt dropped to the floor she was on her feet again. Her eyes glinting with excitement, she draped the tie around her neck. A smirk played at her lips, and she nodded to the bed. "Lie down."

He stood, indicating his pants with one hand. "On or off?"

She said nothing, merely staring at him for what felt like half an hour. One corner of her mouth tilted upwards and, stepping forward, she placed a kiss to the center of his chest. She unzipped the pants with ease, tips of her fingers dancing over his cock. The pants pooled at his ankles but he remained still, holding his breath. She hummed, kissing down his torso.

Dean gasped, anticipating, only to make a questioning sound when she ceased kissing him at the waistband of his boxer briefs. Her fingers stopped their dancing, and she kissed her way back up.

Where had this tease come from? He almost asked. Thinking better of it, though, he merely stepped over to the bed and did as she requested.

No, she'd ordered him.

She didn't join him right away. Seemingly oblivious to the fact that he would die from lack of release, she moved around the room, putting the chair away and laying their clothes over it neatly. Humming along to the song playing, she then went around turning off the lamps and overhead light. With just the dark gray glow from the TV to guide her, she finally came over to the bed. She was a silhouette in front of the TV, swaying her hips and touching herself. It wasn't until he saw something in her hand that he realized she'd removed her panties.

They fell to the floor and she crawled up to join him, slowly coming into focus, the ends of the tie around her neck tickling his thighs then his abdomen. Dipping her head, she brushed her lips along the length of his cock. Her breath seared him through the thin cotton. She pulled back when he reached for her, grabbing his hands with hers and holding them above his head.

He didn't mind. The positioning of their bodies brought her mouthwatering nipples into his range. She didn't object when he nuzzled between her breasts. Feeling her stocking-clad knees on either side of him he sighed in delight before drawing a nipple into his mouth. He flicked it rapidly with his tongue then gave it as hard a suck as he possibly could. It wasn't until she cried out and sat back, nails dragging down his chest that he realized his hands were bound together.

He lifted his arms, squinting, and saw she'd used the tie on his wrists. Groaning, he looked to her.

"I said no touching."

"You know I can get out of this in two seconds, right?" he asked. He wouldn't, because obviously she wanted him at her mercy, but the point had to be made.

"I know." Her lips met his in a tender kiss. "But you won't."

Annoyed that her hair kept getting in her way, Elizabeth leaned to retrieve a hairband from the bedside table. She felt an overwhelming sense of power when Dean remained outwardly docile. Almost giddy, she sat back up, watching him in the soft glow. His arms were flopped over the pile of pillows, fingers twined as he watched her. She scraped her hair back and secured it with the band, then slid back along his legs. No words passed between them as she peeled off his boxer briefs. Just ragged moans and sighs from him.

She licked at his cock, enjoying the tang of precum on her tongue as she took him into her mouth. Recalling that he liked it hard and fast, she kept her movements slow, taking her time pleasuring him. He writhed, cursed under his breath. She felt him shudder and raised her head, making a point of slowly licking her lips.

"Killing me," he panted, wriggling beneath her.

"Don't die now. You'll ruin all the fun," she teased.

"Untie me."

"Not yet."

She was glad he didn't ask when. Or why. She was glad that he accepted the reply, and touched that he was playing along. They both knew he could overpower her, even with both hands tied. The fact that he didn't spoke volumes to her.

Other thoughts tried to creep in but she banished them, knowing that it wasn't the time or place to examine emotions.

Leaning forward, she caught his lips in a fervent kiss. He swallowed the gasp that escaped her when he shifted, the tip of his cock gliding along her slit.

"You're so goddamn wet," he growled. Unable to use his hands, he seemed content using his tongue and teeth on her lips to drive her to distraction. "

"Just for you," she whimpered, bracing her hands on his chest and pushing herself upright. The erotic sliding did little to quench her thirst; if anything, it only added to it. Closing her eyes, she focused on the sensation of his rigid flesh against her. She rocked her hips back and forth, increasing the friction, stilling when she felt the very tip at her entrance.

She wanted to further the teasing until both of them were about to shatter.

But her longing to have him inside her, to feel the completion that only he could give her, won over. Fingers clutching at his perspiring skin, she sat up straighter. She didn't bother even attempting to muffle her soft cry as he pushed his hips off the bed, entering her so swiftly that her toes curled inside her high heels. Her body tightened, and she clutched at his sides.

Encouraged by his steady stream of curses, she tightened around him, holding firm until he slumped down on the mattress again. She opened her eyes, gaze drawn to his bound hands, which were curled into white-knuckled fists. Her tongue darted out to wet her dry lips and, when his chest began to rise and fall rapidly, she started to move.

He moved with her, their mutual moans and panting nearly drowning out the music from the TV. She forced herself to move slowly. She wanted to enjoy every nuance of pleasure. But when he urged her to go faster she caved. Hands moving behind her, she held onto his thighs, giving him control over their speed. He growled, pressing his head back as he initiated a brisk pumping of his hips.

"Fuck," he gasped. He was staring at her again. "Touch yourself."

She faltered. She'd never done that with him. She'd never had to do that with him. Yes, she'd teased her own nipples earlier, but that had been more to provoke him than for her.

"I can't do it," he explained, the muscles of his arms straining as he clenched his fists again. "Do it for me…"

She brought one hand forward and, no longer attempting coyness, slipped her fingers over her clit. It coaxed a whimper out of her, and a ragged moan out of him, so she continued. Slightly disappointed that it didn't feel as earth-shatteringly good as when he did it for her, she nonetheless kept up the slow back and forth, head tipping back when she felt the first tremor roll down her spine. "Dean," she whined, resolve slipping like the fingers on her clit.

"Lizzie," he replied in the same tone. "Please—"

"Yes."

She saw the tie loosen, then he was sitting up. One arm went around her waist, and his hand clutched the back of her head, lips slamming to hers. "You're fucking magnificent," he murmured between kisses, squeezing her waist as she grabbed his biceps. "You've been a fucking cock tease, but you're magnificent."

"You loved every minute of it," she shot back, raking her nails upwards until she clutched his shoulders. "Now fuck me."

He leaned back, eyes wide. "Lizzie," he breathed, as though shocked. "What's gotten into you?"

She smirked, wriggling her hips. "Your dick." Arching when his hand dragged down to hold onto her hip, she started to lie back before he could guide her. He stayed inside her, pushing and pulling until he had her situated like he wanted her. "Dean… Please…"

"Hmm?" Kneeling between her spread legs, he was rubbing his hands over her stockings. "Did I mention that I fucking love these?"

She shook her head and rolled her hips slightly, groaning in frustration when he slipped the high heeled pumps from her feet and tossed them to the floor.

"And the shoes. Seriously, I want you to surprise me with them again." He wrapped his hands around her ankles for a brief squeeze then dragged his palms back up to her thighs, giving a slow, lazy stroke as though that would satisfy her. His thumbs hooked into the front straps of her garter and pulled.

"Dean!" she shrieked when the straps snapped against her flesh. The resulting sting had her arching off the bed.

Grinning, he leaned over her, hands on either side of her head. "Problems, Lizzie?"

"You've got your dick in – excuse me for being vain – some prime pussy and you're pulling stunts? Is this payback for me being a fucking cock tease?" Tucking one leg around his waist, she trembled with forestalled passion. "Please, baby?"

"Well…" His lips pursed. "I don't know…"

"Dean!"

"What?"

"Fucking fuck me, alright?"

He chuckled, lowering his head to press his face to her neck. "Yes, ma'am," he whispered, hands trailing down to grasp her hips.

Her head tipped back as he lifted her slightly. His lips danced over her throat, the stubble on his face scraping her skin, then he raised his head. Lips parted to beg him yet again, she gasped instead when he began slow, measured thrusts. Her pulse pounded in her ears, drowning out everything but his shallow breaths. His soft moans and occasional whines.

"Oh," he groaned, baring his teeth in a grimace of delight. His hands slipped on her hips, then groped, cupping the backs of her thighs. When she pulled her legs up he squeezed. "Liz—"

"Do it," she managed. Holding her breath as he pushed her knees toward her chest, she cried out when he started moving faster. She angled her hips up, growled as his cock stroked the spot only he knew how to find. Faintly, she recalled his fevered whispers in the taxi, when he'd confessed that she drove him wild every time she made herself tighter for him. She did it now, attempting to control it so she tightened each time he withdrew.

He slammed into her, so forcefully that she shrieked. "Again," he whispered, fingers digging into her thighs when she did so. Again. Again and again until he trembled. Arms shaking, he pulled out, then dragged his cock along her slit. He then focused on rubbing the slick tip against her clit, expertly following her movements when she began to squirm. Reaching down with one hand, he replaced his dick with his thumb.

She threw her hips upwards, using his shoulders for leverage. His thumb was already working in the faint flutters that she loved. Craving more, she pushed against him, a ragged cry ripping from her throat when he pushed his cock into her. Just as ecstasy danced within reach he was pulling out again. "Motherfuck—" She cut off, squealing when he dragged her hips up further, until her legs dangled down his back. Supported only by him, she scrambled to hold onto something, finally grabbing hold of the twisted sheets beneath them.

Warm breath. A whisper of a kiss to her inner thigh. Then his tongue, slurping because she was so wet already. There was not even a shred of order to his movements. He licked up, then down, avoiding her clit entirely. The hands on her hips kept her from moving so she was at his mercy. His tongue moved like wildfire, dipping into her and stroking before resuming its haphazard licking. Her cries and squeals seemed like fuel to him, and when she pressed her heels into his back he moaned.

Pleasure gave way to intensity, and by the time his tongue began to circle her clit she was in tears. Gasping, straining, she jerked as he dragged his tongue over her clit. Her body went rigid, ankles locking and thighs squeezing when he started to suck at the throbbing flesh. Eyes rolling back, she lost sense of everything but the euphoria, releasing a sharp scream as she came.

Breathless, body starting to ache, she realized he was still sucking and licking. Her body gave a series of tremors, causing her to shout his name. She tried her best to relax, heels digging into his back as she attempted to squirm away. He followed her movements, though, not easing up, tongue flickering nonstop even as she dragged herself away with weak arms.

"Dean," she whined, giving up her futile attempts at escape. "I c-can't…"

By way of reply, he dipped his tongue into her, thrusting much like he did when he fucked her. An unintelligible sound rumbled from her throat and, plunging her fingers into his hair, she held on, the sound ending in a high-pitched squeal. One hand shifted and his fingers joined in, rolling and pinching and squeezing her clit. Screaming and growling at the same time, she sat up, his name a throaty cry when he pushed her back to the wall above the bed.

Supported only by him, powerless to get away, and not really wanting to, she could only sob as he continued his exquisite form of torture. His name, over and over, was the only thing she could utter. Fingers twisting in his hair, she arched, yelling incoherently when ecstasy seized her again.

His kiss, as soft as cotton candy and twice as sweet, along her thigh and to her hip. His hands, gently cradling her and guiding her down. His voice, a hoarse whisper, soothing in her ear. His arms, at once gentle and unyielding, holding her close as she continued to tremble.

She brought her hands up to his face when he loomed over her. And even though in the back of her mind it sounded beyond ridiculous, there was a dreamlike quality to everything. A pleasant little haze had settled over them, enclosed them. The earlier wildness was gone now, a thought that was cemented when he gently joined their bodies. Overheated, sticky with sweat and almost fatigued from so many instances of unexpected pleasure, she could only try her best to breathe. Her body reacted though, pulse increasing again as he worked his hips steadily.

His lips were against her ear, his breath unsteady as hers. His deep moans only fueled the reactions of her body, and trembling fingers slipped over his sweaty skin, trying so hard to hold onto him. Fingers grabbed at her hair, and she heard his breath hitch. She closed her eyes, whispering his name. She didn't dare dream that she would have another orgasm, so when his other hand trailed down and slipped between them she whined. There was no way she could—

The faintest of touches. One finger stroked her, lighter than a feather. He hissed her name. His body gave an odd lurch. He made pleading noises, the feather-soft strokes increasing in speed until it was a soft, almost steady, vibration. His name was drawn from deep within, bringing with it a sweet, sweet release that took her by surprise.

A series of joyous shouts, fading into low growls as his body tightened to the consistency of marble. Still heady, still dreamlike, she was keenly aware of him pulsing deep inside her. She clenched around him, wanting to draw out his pleasure as he slowly withdrew, a low hum rumbling in her chest.

"I love you." His growled words vibrated her ear and she felt his cum, thick and blazing hot, oozing along her slit. Reaching down, she squeezed his hip then gently grasped him as their lips met. His kiss was tender, as were the lazy strokes she gave his length to make sure he released every drop. He moaned, raggedly, and pressed his face into her hair.

Content, she moved her hand to his hip again, letting her legs slide over his in a tangle. She relaxed, fully prepared to curl into him for sleep once he moved. But he remained over her, still tense. Wriggling, she wet her lips, mind scrambling to recall if she'd done something wrong. No, nothing she could remember. Three – or had it been four? – orgasms, which was the norm now. Her lips parted in a silly grin. He seemed hell-bent on getting her caught up on all her missed orgasms over the years. He'd had an orgasm as well. The evidence of that was still dribbling down her slit. He always came a lot. She'd realized that in the shower, when she'd thought her mouth would overflow.

What, then, was the matter?

I love you.

The words leapt at her. Growled in her ear. Or had she growled them?

Gently rubbing his shoulder, she cleared her throat. "Dean—"

He was rolling off her, hissing as his still-hard cock slid against her slit. "Bathroom," he muttered, dragging a hand over his face. He didn't touch her. He practically leaped off the bed, as though she had scalded him. Not looking at her, he snatched his boxer briefs off the floor and went into the bathroom. Her lips parted to call to him, but the door snapped shut, followed by the thump of what had to be his head against the sturdy wood.

Sighing, she sat up, nose wrinkling at the stickiness between her legs. She knew better than to go to the bathroom. Judging by his sudden attitude, he had probably locked the door. So, even though it made her gag slightly, she cleaned herself as best she could with the top sheet. Easing off the bed and onto unsteady legs, she made sure to pull the sheet off the bed as well, rolling it up and dropping it next to the bathroom door.

She was so used to him holding her after sex. In fact, she was so used to it that she was chilled now. The complimentary bathrobe was in the bathroom. Rubbing her arms, she spied his discarded dress shirt. It would need laundering anyway. And maybe the scent of him would give her the comfort that he couldn't give her at the moment. She pulled it on, breathing in the scent of Drakkar, and buttoned it. Then, at a loss and needing to use the bathroom, she turned off the TV and sat on the edge of the bed to wait.

An eternity passed before she heard the toilet flush and then the water in the sink. She thought she heard him muttering but couldn't be sure. When the door opened she stood, stilling at the sight of him.

His expression was one of torment. Not the good kind, either. It was quickly masked behind his usual don't-give-a-fuck façade, but still she fretted, wondering what she'd done. Should she ask him? After all, no matter who had said the words, they were spoken at the height of passion. In the heat of the moment, anything could come out. Fingers lightly stroking her jaw, she dropped her gaze, thinking of other words she'd blurted at the wrong time. They'd been a lot worse than 'I love you.' And the price she'd paid for them.

"I… Just need to…" She motioned behind him, for he still blocked her way.

"Right. Sorry," he muttered, stepping to the side. Just as she reached the door, he gently called to her. "You, uh… Want me to stay here tonight? I don't have to be at Headquarters 'til after lunch. Then we're flying out tomorrow night, so—"

"I'm flying out too," she reminded him. He made a sound in his throat and gave a nod, obviously having forgotten that she was going on the house show rounds for the weekend. "Dean?"

"Yeah?"

"Please stay."

A/N: :)