Page 8 of Dean

But I just roll my lips between my teeth and whimper.

“Come on. Let’s get you some ice,” he says, his breath skirting across my forehead, and I just go limp. I need smelling salts if I’m gonna live here and he’s gonna be touching me.

He catches me in those thick arms, and his eyebrows meet.

“Fuck, did you hit your head that hard? Are you dizzy?”

Nope, Dean. Just high on you.

“I’m fine. I don’t need ice. I’m an adult, not a toddler.”

His rough fingers scrape gently across my skin, and my eyes roll back in my head. But then he slowly pulls away.

“All right then, if you’re sure. I should head out,” he says, his voice a little lower, and I swallow roughly. Oh my god, I was just leaning into him and his hands were all over me.

For fuck’s sake. I’m definitely hallucinating. I need to get some sleep tonight and wake up in my right mind, or else living with Dean is going to be the death of me.

CHAPTER TWO

AVERY

Dean leaves to go back to work shortly after giving me a sexual awakening, insisting that I stay and settle in.

I settled right in on his bed and rolled around a little like the creep I am. I tried to resist, to talk myself out of it, but my legs carried me there all on their own. And while lying there, I started rubbing one out while holding one of his shirts against my face, inhaling the scent of him. I imagined him above me, those shoulders bunching, his pupils blown out.

Who owns you, Avery? Who is going to make you come?

My imagination ran wild, conjuring up visions of his hand wrapping around my dick, his tongue sliding up my neck. Biting, sucking, marking.

Oh, fucking mark me.

I came with a shout, his name on my lips. The windows rattled a little, and I felt myself shudder in complete shock.

My new roommate would be absolutely horrified if he knew what I was doing while he was at work, I’m sure. Because Dean is not gay. Not at all.

But I am. I’m so fucking into dudes and dicks…and Dean.

Mainly Dean and all his bits.

“Avery?” the man of my dreams calls out, and I feel my cheeks flush because I feel guilty and horny all over again. I should have behaved with some decorum—definitely should not have rolled around on his bed like a heathen. What if he smells my cum in there? What if he finds out what I did?

He’d probably…well, I don’t know what he’d do, but it wouldn’t end with him inviting me into bed with him.

That wouldneverhappen.

If he found out, he’d probably throw me right out. Just like my parents did. Just like my roommates did. It’s what I’ve come to expect, honestly. I never stay in one place long.

“In here,” I say from the kitchen. I’ve already organized my stuff in the guest room—it didn’t take me long at all—and then moved on to the kitchen cabinets. They were abhorrent and unorganized. I had to do my due diligence and sort them.

And I did. I sorted them so nicely. Dean will never be able to find a thing. If I stay here longer, I may tackle some of the closets I peeked into and even the garage.

But now I’m making dinner.

I have to make myself useful now that I’m living here for the time being, and maybe, sort of sell the fact that I would make an excellent lover. Or husband.

I could go either way.

My phone buzzes and I stare down at it. A missed call from an unknown number. It’s the second one today but they haven’t left a message.

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