Page 56 of Dean

It’s in a perpetual state of arousal.

He really should stop saying these sexy things to me. He has no idea what they do to me.

“Thank you,” I say and then set my water glass on the counter. “Uh, why are you up?”

“Never really sleep well,” he replies and then takes a step closer to me, his phone set down on the counter. “Why are you awake?”

“Bad dream,” I mutter, and he reaches out and touches my chin. He’s killing me slowly with these gestures. He doesn’t know what he does to me when he touches me like that.

“Wanna talk about it?” he asks, and yes, hell yes, I do. I want to throw myself into his arms and let him hold me for the rest of the night, but instead, I just shrug. Because clinging to him is no way to win this man over.

I think it would just scare him away.

But then again, he did let me sleep in his bed, and I woke up plastered next to him. I’m so damn confused. It’s too early in the morning for this. My mind can’t comprehend it.

“Come here,” he says and pulls me into that strong chest.

I don’t even resist, just flop onto him, like a dead fish. Very unsexy, but I can’t help it.

“I think I’ve lost the ability to move. I’m just completely petrified.”

“You need assistance to a couch?”

“Please.”

He lets out a chuckle and then hefts me up into his arms and walks me to the couch. I gasp and cling to him like a koala, trying to ignore the fact that I’m naked under this jersey, and just go with it. He doesn’t seem to mind his hands on my ass. And they are. They’re cradling it like a baby.

I’d so let him baby it.

Oh god, don’t think that. Do. Not. Think. That.

He sits down on the couch with me straddling him. This is one hundred percent inappropriate, but I’m doing it anyway. I deserve it after the week I’ve had. I really do.

And honestly, I just love how he smells. I love how he feels against me, so big and strong and capable.

I never want to leave. I want to feel safe forever. I want him to make all the bad dreams and bad people disappear.

“Go on. Tell me about this bad dream,” he says, his hand rubbing up and down my back, soothing me.

“Nothing too crazy, just reliving the punch to my face, I think. I haven’t really dealt with those emotions yet.”

He’s silent a moment and then says, “You never did tell me what happened that night.”

“Not much to tell,” I say and then sigh. “Fine, fine. I’ll tell you, but I don’t want you to overreact. You murmuring about murdering people is making me nervous and this isn’t the first time I’ve been punched or bullied.”

When he doesn’t say anything, I lean back and meet his gaze in the shadows. “Promise me, Dean. You won’t do anything if I tell you what happened?”

He stares carefully at me and then inclines his chin. “Fine.”

I narrow my eyes at him and then decide that he must be telling the truth. And really, I’ll feel better if I talk about it. I want to tell him, to let him comfort me.

“So after college, I moved in with those assholes because the rent was cheap and they seemed…fine. Mostly. And they minded their own business, left me alone, and I did my own thing, and it was fine. But then that night Nick saw something he didn’t like and he freaked out. It’s…I cannot believe this is even an issue these days.”

“What issue?” Dean asks.

His brows are pinched in concern, and I glance away. “Well, it took me a long time to come to terms with what I like…that it isn’t wrong…even when my parents never liked it. Hated it even…”

Sneaking a look at him, his brow furrows even deeper. Oh damn, he’s so cute.

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