Page 183 of Worthy

And then I can face him.

I will.

We will talk about this like fucking adults.

***

Dean left the goddamn house shortly after the sexiest blow job of my life. I heard his motorcycle roar away, and I stepped out into the empty house, feeling suddenly despondent.

He liked it, I know he did. He touched me like he craved me…and then he left me.

I stand there for a moment before moving to the fridge and grabbing some cheese and grapes, making myself a poor man’s charcuterie board. I set everything straight on the kitchen table and eat it like the heathen I am. There’s no wine, so I pop open a beer and guzzle some of it, gagging slightly at the taste of it. Not a fan, but then again, it reminds me of Dean. So, I drink the whole goddamn thing. It’s a communion of sorts—just doing it in remembrance of him.

And that’s how Dean finds me—three beers in, stuffed full of cheese and grapes, feeling slightly tipsy. Well, more than a little tipsy. The room is spinning slightly, and I swear to god, I feel like I’m floating.

“Ran away, huh?” I say, setting the beer bottle on the table and glaring at him as best I can.

His eyes move to my exposed legs and he swallows.

“Just needed to clear my head,” he mutters and I nod, standing up and stumbling slightly.

Well, I am a lightweight apparently. I need to fix this immediately. I will begin drinking nightly to build up a tolerance.

“Well, I’ll just get out of your way then,” I say, waving my hand around my face and then settling it on my hip. Dean’s eyes follow the movement and he swallows roughly again.

Oh god. I can’t bear it…can’t stand him looking at me, so damn confused. I’m not in the right headspace. I can’t fucking think straight.

I move to walk past him but before I can, he grabs on to my bicep and holds me in place.

“How much have you had to drink?” he asks, and I roll my eyes, trying not to groan at the feeling of his skin against mine—those rough, thick fingers against my arm. I want them around my dick. Again.

I want him around me. Always.

But he left. He regrets it, regrets what we did. Why else would he leave?

“Do you regret me? Is it because I’m a man?” I ask, the alcohol making my tongue loose.

His exhale is loud, and I can feel his grip tighten around me and then I’m in his arms. His hands slide to my ass and he lifts and shoves me up against the wall. My legs wrap around his waist, and I lose the ability to breathe.

Yes, this right here.This.Right.Here.

“It has nothing to do with that. Nothing,” he murmurs, his breath skirting across my cheek as he presses up against me.

And I cannot fucking speak. My hands move to his hair, sliding through the short strands as his nose brushes up across my temple, his lips at my ear. Oh god, I shouldn’t have had anything to drink. I don’t want my senses dulled. I want to feeleverything.

“I regret nothing,” he says softly, and I feel an ache between my legs. I want to go again—need to go again. I want him desperately.

But before I can beg, he sets me down and takes a step back, leaving my entire body to tremble with repressed need.

“But you’re drunk…”

“I am not,” I manage to say, even though the room spins slightly and I hiccup.

His lips twitch, and he smiles at me softly. “Come on…let’s go to bed.”

I eye him, not wanting this to end. I don’t want to go back to bed alone. Not afterthat. But Dean grabs my hand and pulls me down the hallway. He pulls me right past my room and into his. My mouth falls open as he starts to shuck his clothes down to his boxers and then slips beneath the covers. He pulls the sheets back, holding them open for me.

“You gonna stand there all night?” he asks, and I move so fast, I trip over my own feet trying to get to him. Well, sex would have been great, but this is even better.

When I slip in beside him and those big hands pull me up against him, face to face, I feel myself relax for the first time all night. My fingers slide up across his chest, through the light dusting of hair and I love it. I want to feel it grazing my skin as he sinks into me.

“You’re so beautiful,” he mutters softly, his lips pressing against the top of my head, his hand running up my neck and through my loose, messy strands. “Dunno what this means, but I want to explore it…with you. If you want.”

“I want,” I say, and he lets out a long exhale.

“Okay. Get some sleep, Avery. I hope you remember this in the morning.”

Like hell I’ll forget. I’d never.

I am going to remember this for all eternity.

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