Page 14 of Dean

Dean cocks his head, his hand running across his jaw. “I figured you were more of a romance kind of guy,” he says.

“I like those too, but I’m in the mood for a little murder right now.”

I really don’t need anything romantic right now. I might end up swooning.

Dean’s hand falls from his face and he steps back. “All right, meet me out here when you’re done. I’ll make some popcorn.”

I take that opportunity to walk away, lest I crawl up that delicious body and scare the daylights out of him. I’m mostly sure that this man would not appreciate me coming on to him.

Although, the way he looks at me sometimes…

Nope. It’s just the punch to the face. My brain is still rattled. Should probably get the doctor to check my brain out.

I grab my phone and stare down at it, seeing the continued missed calls. I feel my cheeks heat and my heart rate accelerate.

Without thinking too hard on it, I send a message.

Me:

Nick, if this is you, you better stop. Or I’ll call the police for harassment.

I don’t look at it again. Just turn my phone off and head to the bathroom. If it is Nick who is blowing up my phone then he can wait. I won’t let him interfere with my mini-date with Dean.

After showering—and jacking off for good measure, Dean’s name on my lips as I exploded all over the wall—I meet the man of my dreams in the living room. I’m back in my favorite joggers and a tight crop top, green this time.

I just like the way he looks at me when I wear this, like he’s not quite sure what to do about me. He’s probably never in his life seen a man dress like this. His son sure as fuck doesn’t. Well, I can’t wait to see what he thinks about me in a skirt.

God, his head will explode. And hopefully his cock.

All over me, of course.

I’d like that very much, please and thank you.

No, nope. Not thinking dirty things. Not tonight. Tomorrow maybe. But tonight, I will behave. I will be the Queen of England. Proper and uptight. With a stick, not a dildo, up my ass.

As I walk to the couch, I brush out my long hair, trying to get the tangles out. Infernal hair. It didn’t stay inside my shirt like I planned, and the ride whipped it this way and that.

I may never recover from this.

“How long have you been growing out your hair?” he asks.

“Hmm, maybe like five years or so?”

“It’s real pretty. Want me to braid it?” he asks. I’m so shocked by his compliment and his question that the brush tumbles from my hand and falls to the floor.

“Excuse me?” I ask, meeting his stare.

He clears his throat and then asks again, “Want me to braid your hair? I’m a little rusty, but I can. Used to do this for Elaine before rides. Should have offered earlier.”

My mouth just hangs open, and I can’t quite find the words.

“I’m sorry, you braid hair?”

“I said what I said.”

A laugh escapes me, and I shrug. “Fine, Dean, show me your skills. Impress me.”

He spreads his thick thighs, and I settle on the floor between them, handing him my brush and hair tie. My hair is one of the things I’m most proud of. It’s thick, long and lush. I know men like grabbing it when they fuck into me.

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