It's about to get a little smutty in here.
Dean feels no need to waste time here, but he has always been one to savour the moment. Do it now, but do it right. With a hand on her back to guide her steps, he moves Roxanne until her back is against the wall beside her hurriedly closed door. She's shorter than he, but not tiny, and that makes this much easier. He can reach her mouth without bending in half, he can touch her body without leaving her mouth. Moving his hands down her sides, he feels every tremble and flutter along her skin. Her shirt has risen a couple of inches, and he takes advantage of the opportunity being presented. Running his calloused fingertips in lazy circles up to her ribs then back down to her hips, he mirrors the languid pace with his tongue.
Feeling a sharp intake of breath against his lips, Dean knows he's on the right track with her. She's not going to push him away to offer him a beer, she's not going to try to get to know anything about him beyond his name. She's not going to stop him. This chick brought him home to get laid, and Dean is in total support of that plan.
He takes hold of the bottom of her thin band tee as his hands follow back down the path he set. He pushes the soft, black material up her body, his hands nearly encircling her slim but not skinny frame. He thinks of how the tee shirt caught his eye even before her looks. Tee shirt and jeans, not trying too hard. A good band, Pearl Jam, not exactly his favorite, but showing her good taste. And then he stops thinking about her good taste to enjoy the fact that she tastes good. Don't think, just do; that's why he's here.
The shirt hits the floor after sliding over that red hair, and he has to run his hands through it, closing his fist around a handful, testing her limit. She bites his chin and tells him in a husky voice that she will let him know when it's too much. Encouraged by the tone of her voice as much as the words she said, Dean decides he can move this into a higher gear. Hands on her hips, he pulls her tight against him. He knows she can feel his excitement at her willingness to play; it's hard against her stomach.
Her body catlike as she arches into him, Roxanne runs her searching hands across his chest. She pulls at the hair at the nape of his neck and licks behind his ears. It's the bite on his earlobe that flips his switch, though, and he bangs her back into the wall. This time he doesn't check himself; she said she'd let him know if he got too rough,and he believes her. Showing off some of the speed for which he is well known in his world, a world this woman has no idea even exists, he grabs both wrists and holds them firmly in place against the wall above her head.
She widens her soft green eyes, the same color but such a different shade from his own, and looks up at him. Widened, yes, but not in fear. Dean knows the look of fear in all its forms. This is excitement, and he's pretty damn sure he's wearing much the same expression. She's more than ready for this game, and she's letting him make the rules.
Hell, yes.
Whackadoo and I have a little SPN fanfic group on Facebook. This story is from there. The group, It's Funnier In Enochian, is 18 and up. Hmmm, wonder why...