Page 7 of Dean

Dean takes a bite of his hamburger, that strong jaw working back and forth.

“You tell me if you want me to set them straight.”

“Honestly,” I say, popping a french fry into my mouth and chewing. “I just want to forget we ever met. I’ll be a happier man that way.”

He wipes at his mouth, his dark eyes meeting mine. “You ever gonna tell me what happened? Why you got in a fight?”

I shove a huge bite of burger into my mouth, nearly choking, because I’m not sure I want to divulge that. It’s too embarrassing.

So, I just chew my way sloppily through the meal, not giving myself a chance to speak. Dean’s eyes watch me, twinkling at my antics.

Yes, well, laugh it up, buddy. I’d rather choke than tell you about what I like. I’m not sure you’d accept it and that scares me more than Nick coming after me with his fists.

When I’m finally done swallowing down my food, my stomach rolls a little. I’m stuffed full and I feel kind of nauseous.

“Did you even breathe?” he asks, still working on his food. God, he eats slow.

“It’s better to just inhale,” I reply, taking a sip of my lemonade. “And since when do you eat like a gentleman?”

“I always eat like a gentleman,” he replies, and I raise my eyebrows at him.

“You do not.”

He scoffs, leaning back in his chair, his large thighs stretched out before him.

“Yeah, I fucking do.”

Well, now I just want to crawl onto his lap and straddle him. If he knew the nasty thoughts I have about him, he’d surely kick me out. So I clamp my mouth shut. I’m keeping those to myself.

“Well, what do we do now?” I ask when Dean leans forward and takes another small bite of his food.

“I’ll finish up and then we can head back to work. Unless you want to stay here?”

I chew on my bottom lip, Dean’s eyes catching on the movement.

“I can do whatever. I still have payroll to do…”

“It can wait.”

I eye him and then nod. “Well, if I stay here, can I wash my clothes?” I ask because I feel like someone trampled all over them and I need to wash the violation away. I’ll feel better once that happens.

“Of course.”

He stands up and leads me to where the washer and dryer are tucked away. I gather and throw my clothes in, making sure to secretly sniff his detergent before adding it. It smells like him. God, I’m going to smell like him now. I’m going to be wearing his scent.

I’m going to have issues when my door is closed at night. I’m going to turn over in my sheets, press my nose against the fabric, and rub one out.

I feel nervous and excited and naughty just thinking about it. The things I will do to that bed in the middle of the night. I will violate the fuck out of it.

I need a priest and a good strong drink.

“You good?” Dean asks from behind me, and I turn, knocking my head on the side of the door.

“Oh fuck,” I hiss, and he’s right there, his hands on my face, tilting my chin up and sliding his fingers through my hair.

“Shit, Avery. Where does it hurt?” he asks.

My dick. That’s where it hurts, Dean.

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