Page 57 of Dean

“What do you like?” he asks, and I sigh, closing my eyes.

“I like…well, you probably already know, but I like feminine things. Skirts, dresses, high heels, lipstick…”

I peek one eyelid open and Dean’s still staring at me.

“I do know that. Is that why your roommate punched you?” he asks, his voice low like he’s growing angry over it.

“Um, well, he didn’t understand when he saw me all dressed up…he got nervous and upset. I…” I wet my lips. “I kind of understand…it was a shock to him. I hadn’t given them any indication of it before. I kept it private for a long time. I mean, even I was afraid to accept myself for so many years…”

Dean reaches up and clasps my jaw gently, forcing my gaze to his. “Why don’t you wear any of that to work? I’ve never seen you wear this stuff. You’ve talked about it, but only since you moved in.” His voice grows gruff and he lets out a shaky breath, looking distraught. “Are you afraid of us?”

A loud laugh escapes me, but when I realize he’s not being funny, I bite my bottom lip.

“I honestly didn’t know what kind of people you were when I first started. I mean, look at you.”

Dean huffs, and I continue, “I get that it’s not…conventional. And that a lot of people wouldn’t understand it. I don’t want to drive away business. The men and women who come to you for work…they may not like it.”

His grip tightens a little, not hurting, but making my chest pinch all the same.

“You wear whatever the fuck you want, Avery. If that’s skirts and high heels and lipstick, then so fucking be it. My customers can deal or they can fuck right off.”

Oh god, I could kiss him. Why does the most perfect man have to be straight? I’d straight-up marry his ass. Literally, I’d make do with just one of his body parts. I’d take it straight to the alter.

“I don’t know, Dean. I don’t want to make anyone feel weird…”

He presses his forehead against mine, those lips so impossibly close.

“You be you, Avery. Don’t let those fuckers tell you to change.”

Oh, sweet Jesus. My entire body is trembling, and I lean forward, wanting to close the gap between us, press my lips to his, and hold him against me. I want to taste him, devour him.

I want every part of him. I always have and I always will.

But he moves away before I can. He sets me on the couch cushionnext to him and then stands up. He runs a hand through his hair and my eyes travel down his heaving chest to his straining cock.

Oh god. Is he…is he hard?

“I’m gonna…” He nods toward the hallway and then he’s gone. That fine ass disappears from view, and I’m left sitting here, my heart hammering against my chest and my own cock rigid.

What was that? What the fuck was that?

He held me. He touched me. I sat on his lap.

He got hard. He left.

What’s he doing in that bedroom? I want to go in there and interrupt. I want to beg him to let me join in. But I don’t. I don’t know what to do with myself. But I’m surely gonna pick apart everything that happened over the last ten minutes. Straight men don’t just pick up other men and cradle them, do they? I don’t fucking know.

I stare down at my bare thighs and bite at my bottom lip.

“You wear whatever the fuck you want.”

Oh god. He’s too perfect. He’s just the man for me. He always will be, even if he never chooses to be with me.

With wobbly legs, I make my way to my room, shutting and locking the door. I flop down on the bed and stare up at the ceiling, my mind already reeling with what it all means, the possibilities.

Maybe tomorrow, if I feel confident, I’ll wear a modest skirt to work. Just to see if Dean really means what he says.

Maybe it’s time to start being me out in the open.

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