Page 9 of Dean

I bet it’s Nick, wanting to be a dickhole. He told me he wasn’t through with me when I left. I don’t know what that means, but he was obviously very offended by my choice of clothing and lipstick.

It could just be a spam call, I think as I delete it.

I won’t let it get to me, not until I’m certain it’s him. Then I’ll have other things to worry about.

“Smells good,” Dean says, reaching into the fridge to grab a beer. He pops the top and the cap flicks onto the counter.

“Yes, well, I’m an amazing chef. Just so you know. I didn’t have it on my resumé, so you’d never have known.”

He eyes me curiously. I changed out of my overalls and am now wearing low-slung joggers and a purple crop top. Hmm, I probably should have put on something a bit less revealing. Although, he doesn’t seem bothered by my new attire, more curious than anything, so I just let it go.

Dean’s son is gay, for fuck’s sake. It’s not like he doesn’t have experience being around gay men, though Ben isn’t quite as out as I am.

“You settle in okay?” he asks, and I nod, holding out a spoon of marinara sauce for him to try.

His lips wrap around the utensil, and I nearly groan from how hot he looks sucking the sauce off of it.

Jesus, this man could make porn. I don’t even care that he’s like way older than me. I’d watch him bathe in spaghetti noodles, slathered in sauce.

Gimme. I want it all.

“Mmm,” he says, his eyes sparkling. “So fucking good, Avery.”

The way he says my name makes my dick harden and my nipples pebble. Oh, Lord have mercy on my privates. I cannot with this man.

“So glad you approve,” I say, shifting my hips a little, trying to hide how he’s affected me. The crop top is one thing, him seeing my boner is another. That’s crossing one too many lines.

“Now, go take a shower. You’re filthy,” I say, waving him away with my spoon.

Dean glances down at himself and his eyebrows rise.

“Am I?”

I nod, needing some space. God, he smells good. I can imagine myself bent over the counter, his dirty hands all over me, smearing me with grease. He’d fuck me raw too, just grunting, filthy, and sweaty.

I’d so let him do that. I so would. Then I’d lick the sweat right off him afterward.

“All right, if you say so,” he murmurs, taking his beer and disappearing into the bathroom. I bet he drinks that while standing under the warm water. I bet he strokes his cock while he sips on it.

I want to watch that one day. Just a redneck jerk-off session, drinking a cold one in the shower.

Ten minutes later, he appears back in the kitchen, sans shirt, in only low-riding sweatpants.

Huge mistake. Now my dick is aching. Mayday! Mayday! Get me out of here.

This is worse than grease stain fantasies. This is like straight-up gay porn.

“Go sit down,” I demand, and I know I’m being abrupt, but really, if I smell his soap I may just prematurely ejaculate. I’mthis closeto coming my eyeballs out. And I need those so I canseethis man.

“So fucking bossy,” he mutters, and I sigh.

“You love it. It’s why you hired me and moved me in. You need a boss, Dean. You need someone to boss your ass around.”

He doesn’t know how much I’d boss him around.

Take off your clothes, Dean. Stick your big dick in me, Dean. Harder, Dean.

Bossy bitch. That’s me.

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