Dean takes a moment to appreciate all that is being offered to him at this moment. This beautiful woman, deferring to him, under his control, his for the taking. And take, he will. With every heaving and excited breath, her pale, full breasts spill over the top of her black lacy bra. This makes him want to see if the panties match. He thinks they will; Roxanne was looking for the same thing he was tonight, after all.
Without a word, just a raised eyebrow as he searches her eyes, he cups a lace-covered swell before he drags his right hand down the front of her. Left hand still grasping her wrists, he can feel the tension increasing in her muscles. Pressed up against her as close as his roaming hand allows, he can feel her breathing become more shallow. Kissing her teasingly, he can feel her lips quiver. He can feel, he can feel, he can feel. And that's all he wants.
Reaching her jeans, Dean runs his finger inside the band, back and forth, letting her know this is going to a new place. Going to a new place where he very much wants to be. A tug at a belt loop is the only permission he seeks before popping the button. Slowly moving the zipper down, tooth by tooth, he kisses her down the length of her white-skinned neck, pausing to nip at the racing pulse he finds there. He licks the indentation in the well of her throat then feathers his tongue along her collarbone. The bite on her breast brings a moan from so deep within her that he can feel the vibration.
Further down her body as he bends his knees, breathing in the scent of her skin, he leaves light kisses, tiny licks, little bites. The bites are her favorite, he thinks, judging by the shiver that rolls through her every time he does it. So he does it one more time, then steadily pulls down her tight, faded jeans. Steady, not hurried, no amateur yanking down her legs. He peels them, revealing her inch by inch, heightening the excitement for them both. He smiles to himself when he sees that he was right. Of course, he was. Black lace.
Roxanne kicks off the little black ankle boots she was wearing as he reaches her knees. She's done that before, he surmises, from the way she did it without pushing him away. She drops by a few inches, and Dean realizes she is smaller than he thought. Not a problem he can't work around. Jeans discarded, he raises up quickly, arms under her legs as he goes. He holds her against the wall. leans in as close as he can get, pressing her, feeling her. Her legs wrapped around his waist is the feeling he's been waiting for all night.
His body holding her in place, he leans on his forearms on either side of her head. He sees and feels so much of her, so much of her skin, and he likes it. He likes how exposed she is, how uncovered, and revels in his dominance. He lowers an arm, and with nimble fingers that can shoot with sniper accuracy, can throw a knife to shave off the wing of a butterfly, can curl on themselves and beat anyone and anything into submission, Dean delicately finds the one part of her than is wetter and hotter and more inviting than her mouth. Pushing aside the matching panties, he takes teasing possession of what she brought him here to give. At the soft moan she looses, he gives one smirk, lowers his head to shoulder, and bites,giving her what he knows she likes.
Don't own SPN. *sigh*