His teeth sinking into her shoulder as his fingers work her over, Dean knows that she can't hold on to whatever small bit of control she has left. The shout that tears through her is almost shocking, as is the speed with which she comes. By the look on her face, he feels confident in assuming no man has ever been able to get her there so fast. Nice to know he can do something that feels good, something right. He knows he's always been damn good at this.
Pausing a moment to consider his next move, Roxanne makes the decision for him. She pushes his ever-present flannel shirt off his shoulders and catches his eyes. Her look clearly conveys the message that he is too clothed. Lowering her to the floor, Dean backs up just enough to pull his t-shirt over his head. When he reaches toward his belt, she shakes her head. She tells him that it's her turn, and Dean is more than happy to let her have it.
Directing him to move, she has him trade places with her, his back now to the wall. She doesn't tease him, or make a big production out of the act of undressing him. She knows what she wants. She knows how to get it. Simple as that. He kicks out of his boots much less gracefully than she did just a few minutes ago. This draws a smile from her. It's sexy with that hint of sweet that he has decided he really likes about her. Shirts, jeans, boots now gone, Roxanne removes his boxer briefs. Dean has only a moment to think about how she has now regained the upper hand, since he is completely naked and she isn't, before she robs him of those ridiculous thoughts.
Instead, Dean thinks about how there are very, very few things he enjoys more in this world than the feeling of a hot mouth, wet tongue, and full lips around his dick. Dropping his head back with a quiet thud, Dean sends a silent thank you to the first glass of whiskey he drank tonight - that was the one that brought him to the bar. Damn, is he happy he needed that whiskey. He relaxes for the first time in what seems like months. He focuses on the feel of her mouth, the tickle of her hair on his thighs, the scratch of her nails on his ass. The sounds, holy fuck. She hums, she breathes deeply through her nose; the wet sound of her moving up and down his cock is hypnotic.
She's good at this, he thinks. She enjoys it, or, at least, she's really good at pretending she does. The way her hand follows her mouth when she pulls back and gives a little twist at the head, the way she does not even hint at a gag when he hits the back of her throat as she pulls him back in - just exactly what he needs. He's so relaxed, so calm, that when she uses her teeth, just barely glides them over the sensitive skin, he doesn't have it in him to stop the complete and total release it brings him.
Once he comes down from the high of orgasm, he curses in frustration. It's only when she informs him that now he'll last longer when they get into the bedroom that he is able to wear a small smile. She really does know what she's doing.