CHAPTER ONE
The Impala ripped through the Indiana countryside. The sun had set and as darkness over took the landscape it seemed to swallow the car. If not for the occasional glint of chrome caught by the moon or the sounds of Metallica which served as the sound track of the night, the Winchesters may not have been there at all.
"Want to talk about it?" Sam asked.
"No." Dean didn't take his eyes off the road.
"Why did you tell her you were leaving?"
"She didn't care why, as long as I was going."
"I'm sorry, I thought you'd be happy."
He didn't reply.
"What did she say?"
"GOODBYE, Sam – She said Goodbye."
He caught the hurt look on Sam's face in the glow from the dash.
"Look. I'm sorry! I tried it your way. I tried the apple pie life. It didn't work out."
He had tried. Not for him, not for her. Not even for Ben. He had made a promise to Sam. He just never could settle into a 'normal' life. He didn't even know what that was.
His days were spent wandering aimlessly through the house. He'd fixed every leaky faucet, squeaky door, and loose knob he could find. He'd rebuilt the Impala's motor and rotated the tires twice. He'd changed every fluid, filter and belt Lisa's Camary had. He had done everything but literally climb the walls, and there were days when he thought of trying that.
He had tried to be happy, but no matter what he did, there was an emptiness he couldn't fill. The Horseman Famine had told him he was dead inside. Was that the problem? Was there a hole inside him so big it couldn't be filled, not even by the love of a good woman like Lisa, or a great kid like Ben?
Ben. He was great. Dean loved spending time with him. Somebody had to teach him the important stuff – how to fish, how to pick up girls, how to fight. Lisa, of course, had put an end to that. Or so she thought. The two or three hours they spent alone in the afternoon occasionally found them outside practicing defensive moves. At least the kid could take care of himself now.
Dean was also good about sneaking in the movies Lisa would never allow. He'd started with the Porky's series. Monty Python was a must. Then, every Friday the 13th – Jason was such a pussy, he'd thought. That Leprechaun was a bitch, though. The last one he brought home had some chick climbing out of a well. It had reminded him of the time he almost lost Sam to Bloody Mary when she climbed out of the mirror. He decided Ben didn't need to see him cry about shit like that.
And Lisa, other than a few arguments over Ben, they were great together. She tried hard to make a life for them. Dinner at 7:00 p.m., Ben in bed by 9:00, then the two of them would sit and talk about the day, or the news – never the past, she couldn't handle that and neither could he. Weekends were spent at the farmer's market or cookouts with friends. The kind of existence he had smirked at when watching Brady Bunch re-runs.
But lately he had become restless. She knew it and the tension between them had become unbearable at times.
"I just feel like I'm dragging you back into this, and I don't want to do that."
"Look, Bobby's the one who called. He's the one worried about whatever it is going on down there." He shook his head. "This job just gave me an out."
"I'm just saying, you didn't have to leave."
"Well, I couldn't stay."
It had been hard to go on without him. Sam had been all he'd ever had since their mother's death. True, John had been there, more of a drill sergeant that a father. When they were small, he often left them with different people while he was off on a hunt. As they got older, Dean took over the role of father for Sam, living in cheap motels for weeks at a time; cooking for him, washing his clothes, and helping with homework. So much of him had fallen in that pit with Sam.
More than anything, he had tried to keep him safe, to shield him from all the evil out there. But in the end, it was him who had pulled his brother back into harm's way. Dean could never shake that guilt.
In his absence, he'd worried, no idea what Sam was going through. He'd been to hell – was the cage worse? There he was, battling Lucifer on the inside. Was he having to fight Michael/Adam on the outside?
Sometimes, late at night he'd go out back and call for Castile. Hoping he could at least give him some answers. But Cas was busy with his own problems.
And then, there he was. Standing on Lisa's door step.
'I'm not sure what happened.' He'd told him. 'I was falling, and then – nothing.' Dean understood the reluctance to talk about it. He'd gone through the same thing when he returned from hell.
He looked over at Sam, sleeping against the door. 'That boy's head should be permanently dented' he thought. He looked so much older now, grown-up. He knew Sam didn't need him now, not like he did when he was a kid. He'd beat an addiction Dean couldn't imagine. He'd fought the most evil being known - and he'd won. After twenty-eight years, he no longer had to take care of his little brother.
He had been to heaven and hell - literally. Now where did he go?
As if to answer him, his phone rang.
"Bobby?"
"Dean. Where you at?"
"Getting ready to cross over into Kentucky."
"How'd Lisa take you going out on a job for a few days?"
"We agreed I might ought to go back to work full time."
There was a long silence on the other end of the phone. Finally, Bobby spoke, his voice soft.
"I'm really sorry. I didn't know things were that bad."
"You know how it is. My life gave her nightmares and hers just scared the shit out of me."
Bobby chuckled slightly at this. He had never been able to picture Dean behind a white picket fence, but he admired him for trying.
"Where's Sam?"
"Right beside me, sleeping like a freakishly large baby?"
"He fill you in on everything going on over there?"
"Yeah, most of it."
"Well, I just got a call. There's been another disappearance. A 16 year old kid."
"Any ideas?"
"No, and my friend down there is getting pretty worried. Give me a call when you get there, okay?"
"Sure thing."
Sam was sitting at the dinner adjacent to the motel. The newspaper in front of him proclaimed "Local Teen Missing in Swap" A sub-title went on 'Fourth disappearance in three weeks'. Below the headlines, a picture of 17 year old James Carson smiled up at Sam. His eyes glistened with hope for the future. Sam felt a pain in his stomach. He knew that gleam - years ago, he had the same look.
Bobby had called earlier and told them to just sit tight. He had a friend, which usually meant another hunter, over in Tennessee who was already looking into the case. They were suppose to wait on a call, but Sam wanted to get to it. He felt for this kid, and if there was any hope he was still out there alive, he wanted to find him.
Dean slid into the booth across from him, interrupting his thoughts.
"This town isn't a total waste." He said, sliding a flyer across the table.
WEDNESDAY NIGHT ONLY
JIM'S BAR AND ROADKILL GRILL
.38 SPECIAL
FEATURING Don Barnes and Donnie Van Zant
Sam looked up. "Yeah, so?"
"Can you believe it? .38 Special!" Sam just stared. "Dude, Hold on Loosely, Rocking into the Night?
"Rocking you in-to the night. . ." he sang. Frustrated at Sam's lack of enthusiasm, he sat up straight. "Man, you are such a girl."
"We're on a job, Dean."
"We're not even sure there is a job." Dean was still smiling, "We've just broke out of hell… well, you more than me, but I say – Let's rock the house tonight." Sam shot him a wary look, so he lowered his voice. "Besides, we're not suppose to do anything until we hear from Bobby's friend."
Dean's fervor was contagious. Sam smiled, "Okay, sure, why not. But I'm not eating at anyplace called the 'Roadkill Grill'".
"Right"
Joe's Bar and Roadkill Grill sat on 10 acres, more or less, 6 miles south of town. The building itself took up a good acre of the land and the parking lot took up the rest. The sun was going down and traffic into the lot had been bumper to bumper for a good mile. Parking was being directed by guys in white T-shirts waving flashlights like they were landing airplanes.
As soon as they climbed out of the car, Dean could smell the Bar-B-Q from the open pit in the back. They both realized that grabbing a couple of burgers on their way out had been a mistake.
Inside, the building was divided in two by a huge open rectangular shaped bar. To the left was the restaurant area. The pair noted several tables were full of people eating. To the right, the tables were the high pub style with stools around them. A second bar was located against the furthest right wall. A stage stood in front of the dance floor against the back wall.
"Are you all here to eat?" a hostess carrying a stack of menus appeared in front of them suddenly.
"Uh, No." Sam stammered. "We're just here to see the band."
"Oh." She seemed to look a little disappointed. "Then just grab you a table anywhere you can find one over there." She pointed to the area they had already pegged the 'bar' part of the "Bar and Grill" which was getting pretty full. As then began she grabbed Sam's arm. "If your big fans, you'll want to get over there." She pointed to an area between the smaller bar and the dance floor. "They'll be coming in through that door."
"Thank you" Sam had no intention of repeating her comment and began towards the center bar, but looking up he saw Dean making a b-line to the area she had pointed to. 'Damn' he thought as he followed his brother.
From the bar Dean watched the table full of women near the door. He smiled, watching one attempt to bounce a quarter into the empty shot glass in the middle of them. He occasionally caught the buxom brunette facing him looking his way. She'd advert her eyes when he made contact.
"Dude." Sam sat on the stool beside him. "This is not .38 Special" he nodded to the band on the stage.
"No." he shook his head. "This is the house band. They're coming on in a couple of hours. I guess Barnes and Van Zant have to get pretty liquored up before they play in front of thiscrowd."
Glancing over, Dean noticed the brunette was now alone. Her friends were on the dance floor.
"Excuse me, Sammy." He stood up.
"Where are you going?"
"You have to attack while they're separated from the heard." He grinned, heading around the bar. He noticed this time she didn't look away.
"You don't dance?" He asked, motioning towards her friends.
"I don't guess the right cowboy's asked." She grinned up at him.
Dean tipped his imaginary hat and attempted a Texas drawl. "In that case, mame, would you care to do a little two step around the dance floor?"
She seemed to think it over before standing. "Well, let's see if you can keep up."
About half an hour later Dean escorted her over to the bar where he and Sam had been sitting.
"What are you drinking?"
"Beer's fine."
He held up 2 fingers to the bartender and started looking around. As he paid for the drinks, he leaned forward and asked, "Did you see my brother?"
"Left."
"Left?"
"Yeah, said something about life being too short. Not really a party guy, is he?" Sliding the change over.
"Well, he's more of a Donna Summer fan, you know?" Dean joked. The bartender just nodded, making him wonder if he had a few disco tapes in his truck.
"Your friends are staring." He bent in to tell her.
"They're trying to decide if you're a serial killer or not."
"Oh." He raised his beer to them and smiled. "Think I've got them fooled?"
"I'm pretty sure they've got your number." She set her beer down, taking his hand and leading him back to the dance floor as the band started playing Black Magic Woman. She slid into his arms, pressing her body tightly against his.
"Where'd your friend go?"
"Er, well, he had to go and get supplies, you know. . . duct tape, saw blades, plastic wrap. Stuff like that." She laughed with him.
"So I'm guessing if I went back to the hotel with you, we wouldn't be alone."
Dean stopped on the floor. "You want to go now?"
"No. Not now. .38 Special's coming on in a few minutes, dumbass." She grinned at him. "After the show. I mean, if you play your cards right, and work on that two-step." She twirled away from him, then headed back to the bar as the song ended.
"I don't care where you go." Dean was screaming in the cell phone, trying to be heard over the music which was still loud, even in the far corner of the bathroom.
"Well, take your computer and your geek squad shit somewhere else, Sammy! I'm telling you, this chick is H-O-T!" He was becoming aware of the other men staring at him. He grinned, pointed at the phone and shrugged to the room. "Brothers." Then went back to the call. "C'mon, at least act like you're a guy."
Finally satisfied, he hung up and started to walk across the room. At the door, his path was blocked by a man a head taller than him wearing jeans and a half buttoned flannel shirt. His ball cap promised "Free Mustache Rides".
"You've been with Amy Bryant all-night, ain't you, boy?" The man asked over crossed arms.
Dean swallowed. "Yeah."
"Word of advice." He began, unfolding his arms and putting one around Dean's shoulder. "You might want that brother of yours to stand by. You know, for back-up."
Laughter filled the room as he patted Dean's back and walked off.
She felt Dean erupt inside her. As he raised his hips to go deeper, she leaned back, taking in all of him, tightening her muscles to extend his pleasure – she loved the way his face tensed at climax, then suddenly relaxed. His smile almost brought her to orgasm again.
She rolled off him, never breaking her hold of his wrist until she was securely under his arm with her head on his chest She could feel his heartbeat.
"Do you need a break?"
"Hell, I need a cigarette." He chuckled.
She rolled onto her back.
"I've actually got a ½ pack in the pocket of my purse."
He thought for a moment, did he really want to move? Hell, he really needed a break, a glass of water. After almost two hours, his bodily fluids were spent. He reluctantly began to roll over and sit up on the edge of the bed, unsure if he was going to be able to stand up. She had ridden him hard from the moment they walked through the door. Truth was she had driven him crazy on the dance floor with moves he'd never seen. To hell with the job, this was better therapy than fighting any monster. He thought back to the time they'd spent at the bar.
"I didn't know you smoked."
"I confiscated them from my son earlier today and haven't thrown them away yet."
He stopped, half standing beside the bed. "You've got a son?"
"Not something I tell most guys I pick up in a bar." She laughed, "Not very sexy." She swung those long legs off the bed and stood up. Dean watched her cross the motel room to the bathroom where she turned on the light. 'Man, what a body', he thought, 'they didn't make mothers like that when I was growing up'
"What is he, 4? 5?" he asked, trying to gage her age.
"He's 13" she called back over the running water in the sink. He watched in the mirror as she began to rinse her face, neck and chest.
'What the hell', he thought, 'that's breakfast conversation.' With that he allowed his feet to move to where her purse lay just inside the door where she'd dropped it, along with most of their clothes, when they bound into the room, already locked in passion. He raised the purse to the chair and started to reach for the pack of Marlboro's that were poking out of the side. Suddenly he stopped. Something was wrong. He lifted the purse again, only a few inches, then turned to the bathroom. The door was shut now.
He unzipped the bag – the splinter of light from the parking lot caught the flash of steel. 'What's a mother doing with this shit?', Dean thought – staring down at the gun. He franticly rummaged further, past a billfold, brush, make-up case. Was this handcuffs? The bathroom door was opening. He grabbed the gun and leveled it at her.
"What the hell. . ." she froze, the gun pointed between her eyes.
Dean stared at the silhouette of the woman he'd just made love to, outlined by the light from the doorway behind her.
"Okay Lady, who are you and what do you want?"
"Please, put the gun down." She said hands raised.
"I asked you a question." He snapped back. "Who are you?"
"I told you." Her voice started shaking now. "I'm a single mom who was just out with some girlfriends trying to have a good time. Now, please, put the gun down." She shifted her weight nervously.
"Uh uh." He said, empting the contents of her purse on the floor between them. "And I guess all this shit is just party favors." He kicked at the handcuffs to emphasize his point.
"Is that what this is all about? " She squared her shoulders, the fear was gone and replaced with anger. "YOU go through MY purse and decide I'm some kind of PSYCO."
Furious, she stomped across the room, past the barrel of the gun, past Dean, and past the pile of clothes. He was too shocked to respond. She flipped the light switch on the wall behind him. The dingy motel room was bathed in light.
Dean turned slowly keeping the gun pointed at her, but with less enthusiasm.
"Okay, Sherlock," she yelled, knelling to the floor to collect her belongings, "While you were snooping around in there, did you happen to even look at this?" She thrust something towards him.
Dean stared down at the badge. "You're a cop?"
She snapped the badge case closed and threw it in the bag.
"You're a COP?" he asked, louder.
She continued to ignore him, gathering her possessions from the floor where they had scattered.
"You're a cop." This was a statement. He knelt down to help her, laying the gun aside. Their hands met on the handle of her brush and they both looked up. She was crying. Oh shit, why was she crying? Cops didn't cry.
"Look…" Dean began, "I'm sorry. It's just . . ." What did he say? 'I thought you were a demon? He reached to her face with both hands and gently began to wipe the tears away. "You. . . you didn't tell me you were a cop."
She tried to laugh through the tears. "Something else I don't usually tell guys I pick up in a bar." She pulled her face away and looked back down at the floor. "Look, this was a bad idea." Still gathering items from the floor, "It's just" She glanced at him for a moment, then reluctantly went on. "Jason's dad's been dead 5 years now and . . . and I don't date. . . and…" She stopped and sat up, leaning back against the bed, resigned to tell her story, "And my friends dragged me out tonight to hear the band, you know." She sniffled, "a few drinks, maybe a dance or two. . .", Dean crawled towards her, "and then, there you were" He stopped as she suddenly stared into his eyes, accusingly.
He felt a warmth rush over him. He wanted her more than ever. But not the rough, frantic sex they'd had the last two hours. No, he wanted to hold her, to caress her, to kiss her. To make her alright.
He sat next to her, putting his arm around her shoulder. With his other hand, he turned her face to his. He began kissing the dried tears from her check. Then she was in his arms, kissing him back. And their lips found each other. Her lips brushed his like a feather. Once. . .twice. . . her tongue slowly outlined the opening of his mouth.
Dean suddenly realized how aroused he had become and pulled her closer – gently lowering her to the floor. She allowed him to mount her, wrapping her arms and legs around his hard, sensual body.
He wanted inside her. Not just her body – her mind, her heart, her soul. His hips rose and lowered smoothly to the rhythm of her heartbeat. Her body moved, rising up to meet him, pulling away . . . as if she were moving to his heartbeat and the world was in tune to them both.
His forearms rested on either side of her head and he'd pushed himself up to look down into her eyes. He'd stop occasionally to brush his lips against hers.
As his pulse increased, so did his movements, and suddenly there was no more time between beats. He braced himself as he exploded inside her.
He lay there. He wouldn't let go. He didn't move because moving might mean sliding out of her, and he couldn't.
She kissed his ear and he rose; only slightly, to kiss her back and to look into those eyes – he wanted to swim in those eyes. Their lips were together again. He had never been so aware of his own body. The tingling from her kiss, the warmth and safety of her arms wrapped tightly on his shoulders, the silky heat of her abyss surrounding him.
He felt himself become engorged inside her.
"You're a cop." Was all he could say as they began to rock to the rhythm of the world, again.
Reluctant but exhausted, Dean rolled off her. His arm still around her neck, he pulled her close. She didn't resist.
Breathless, she lay there, her hand absently rubbing his chest sent a wave of ecstasy washing over him.
"What's this?" she asked, rubbing the anti-possession symbol he had tattooed just below his collar bone.
He held his breath. Had she found him out? He wanted her to. He wanted to tell her – tell her everything. His whole life – on the road with John; hunting with Sam; the demons; the apocalypse; even his time in hell, – all of it. He exhaled.
"Nothing, just a band I was in when I was a teenager." The lie stung.
"Really?" She propped herself up and looked down at him. "You must not have been very good."
"Why would you say that?" Weird, he thought.
She let her finger rise up to the scar from a bullet shot. He tried to laugh it off.
"Nothing to do with the music," She kept looking down at him and he hated the skepticism in her eyes. "What can I say?" He chuckled, "misguided youth."
He pulled her to him and started kissing her. He didn't want to do this. He didn't want to lie to her.
She pulled away. "No, No, No." There was a teasing tone to her voice. "You know my secret; at least tell me something real about you."
His heart stopped. Dean pulled himself to a sitting position. What was real anymore? Twenty-four hours ago he was driving down a highway, angry that he couldn't make a real life with Lisa. They'd had their own form of 'don't ask-don't tell'. She didn't want to know the details of all that he had done and seen. She'd gone through a scare when Ben had been taken by a changling. She'd let him know right off the bat that was more information than she needed about his life. And he hadn't wanted to tell her. At the time, he thought he just didn't want to scare her. He didn't want to corrupt her with the truth – what was out there. But now, here with Amy, he was having his doubts. Here he was in a cheap hotel room with a woman he'd just met and he wanted to tell her everything. He opened his mouth to start, and suddenly an image of Cassie popped into his head. He closed his mouth. The only woman he ever loved had thrown him out when he told her the truth.
Noting the pause, she added, "I want the truth."
"Okay." He sighed deeply, "The truth is, I think you're the most beautiful thing I've ever seen."
"Well, shit" she slapped his hand away. The warmth and softness was leaving her.
"What?"
"I asked for something real, Dean." She snapped, pulling away.
"That was real." He responded, confused.
She was on her feet, pulling a sheet off the bed and wrapping it around her body. She was Eve, just realizing she was naked.
He pulled the purple and green flowered cover off the bed and covered himself – Adam had bitten the apple too.
"I'm not some brainless 20 year old kid who's just going to fall for the first cheesy line you throw out."
He was painfully aware of the nightstand handles digging into his back as he tried to retreat from her anger, but then she was suddenly calm again, sitting beside him.
"I'm sorry. It's just . . . I've never done this – I mean, never. It was just meant to be a night out with the girls – you know – fun. And there you were. . ., and you were. . .you were "
"Were what?'
"You were safe."
Dean smiled. "Safe?" He didn't expect that.
"Yes." She struggled to find the words to explain. "This is a small town." He agreed, "As best I can tell, you're just passing through." Another nod of agreement. "To you I'm not somebody's mother or widow or a cop. To you, I was just. . ."
"Just what?"
"Just a woman." She looked at him with a sorrow he knew all too well. "Do you know how long it's been since I could be just a woman?" Looking away, she went on. "But then. . ." she chuckled, motioning toward her bag and the gun still laying there. "Hey, I'm not asking for your life story, but I would appreciate some honesty."
It was his turn. Dean felt the tears in his throat before they reached his eyes. He tried to blink them back, but finally broke contact and hung his head. Had she seen?
"I'm sorry." He muttered. "It's just. . . my life is. . . complicated." And then she was there, in his lap, arms around him, holding him, comforting him, rocking him. She kissed the top of his head while his tears ran down her shoulders.
When they stopped, she raised his face to hers and kissed him, gently at first, but then harder. She bit his lower lip, holding it in her teeth as she pulled away. He kissed her back – hard, angry – and she returned his passion. He grabbed her – half lifting, half throwing her on the bed. She didn't resist, instead she ripped off the sheet and pulled him on top of her.
Dean thrust himself into her. She screamed, then pulled him down again. He thrust harder and this time she rose up to meet him.
"Yes" she whispered in his ear, "This is the honesty I want."
He continued, harder and faster – her screams of pleasure louder and louder as her nails clawed at his flesh. With each thrust he drew deeper – not only in her, but in him – the anger, the fear, the hurt, the shame – all those things he had buried were suddenly being thrust into her – and she was taking it all from him. Gladly. Begging for it, "More, Dean, more."
Did she know? "Yes, yes. " And then he felt it. With the power of a bullet he shot into her.
He heard someone scream – it was him. Then, he was washed in sweat and peace. Dean Winchester had just ejaculated a lifetime of pain into this woman.
Her touch was gentle again as she wiped the sweat from his forehead, running her fingers on up to his hair.
"Better?"
He kissed her – forehead, nose, lips. "Much."
Spent, they lay side by side. The mattress was now half off the bed and the edge of the springs underneath began to push into his back.
"I never did get that cigarette." He said with a smile.
Amy began to laugh. "After that, I may need one, too." She kissed him lightly on the check and rolled off the bed. He followed, watching her walk across the room – she really was the most beautiful thing he had ever seen. She turned the water on in the sink, then turned back to him and grinned.
Sheet in tow, Dean walked over to the desk in the corner. Every motel room had the standard 'office' area, but he pitied the poor bastard whose job landed him in this sleazy place. The red shag carpet was bad, but the pictures of the rocket ships launching just put it over the edge.
He lit the cigarette and drew in. Dean only smoked about five times a year – usually after great sex or great tequila. He'd had a lot more of the tequila the past few years. He was smiling, shaking his head in disbelief.
The sound of the shower brought him back to Kentucky.
The door to the bathroom was still open. He walked slowly toward it, watching the room fill up with steam. "Feeling dirty?" he asked her from the doorway.
She pulled back the shower curtain to reveal her body covered in soap suds, her wet hair slicked back. "Funny," she smiled seductively, "I was about to ask you the same thing."
Dean dropped the sheet in the floor and the cigarette in the sink. He didn't need to be asked twice. Behind the curtain, he was enveloped with the warmth of the water and Amy.
The shower hit his back as he faced her. She wet his hair, leaning his head back to let the water cascade down his face. With soft, circular motions, she began washing his body, starting at his neck, then his shoulders and his arms. She reached behind him and cleansed his back, pressing her breast to his. She eased her hands down, massaging the soap into his lower back. Her body slid down as her arms worked their magic behind him. She was kissing his chest, moving down as she lowered herself in front of him.
She found herself amazed at the muscular build of this man before her. She couldn't stop touching him, wanting him. She kissed down the line of abs, stopping at his navel to playfully tongue the area. She felt him suck in his breath, and laughed to herself. There was no need to pull in his stomach, she was already impressed. She felt his rod rubbing against her neck as it rose to attention. When her hands reached his buttocks, she leaned back, looked up at him smiling. He smiled back.
Slowly, softly she began to lick around the head of his scepter, her warm breath sending a shiver up him. She teasingly licked off the fluid that had seeped out. Looking up at him, she licked her lips.
He stared at the ceiling, trying to think of something, anything – baseball, cars, puppies. NOT YET! She shot to the base of his cock, and licked all the way up. BASEBALL.
Dean grabbed the shower curtain to steady himself. She did it again. CARS.
She knew exactly what she was doing to him. He could feel her eyes looking up at him, and he knew if he looked back he wouldn't be able to control himself. She took him into her mouth. Her hands pushing him in from behind. Back and forth she rocked – pulling him in and out of her wet, warm mouth. Her tongue would playfully flick the head as she pulled him out.
He couldn't stop it. He burst in her mouth like a geyser and she eagerly swallowed, then licked every drop – consuming him. When she was through, he fell to his knees in front of her, bringing the shower curtain with him. The water rained down on them. He didn't care. He grabbed her face and kissed her – her eyes, her checks, her lips. He wanted to devour her.
She reached behind him and turned off the water.
11