Page 44 of When love and Hate Collide

Our eyes interlock from across the room, and I quickly shift mine away and turn to sit on the edge of the bed to take my boots off. Dean walks over to the table with the mirror and sets the key to the room, his wallet and phone on it.

Wincing I tug my boots off and rub my aching toes. Dean clears his throat and walks further into the room before speaking, “I was going to take a shower, but if you wanna take one first?” He offers, and I look up at him and shake my head.

“You go ahead, I don’t think I can stand on my feet just yet,” I reply dimly and fall back on the bed with an exhausted sigh. Dean nods and walks in the direction of the bathroom. My eyes follow him, watching as he reaches over and pulls his t-shirt off from the back of his collar and draping it over the chair.

I’m not sure I fully understand it but the way he just pulled his shirt off sends my lady bits into a frenzy. God damn, how am I supposed to sleep in the bed with all that lying next to me?

The erotic manner his muscles flex and stretch with every movement has my entire body tensing with nerves.

The bathroom door closes behind him and I squeeze my eyes shut tightly. While Dean showers, I wander around the room fanning myself with an old magazine I find in one of the drawers. Attempting to talk some sense and maybe get some control over my urges and my body which is betraying me in every way possible. I’m tingling from head to fucking toe, like every nerve in my body is on hyper drive and I can’t fathom for the life of me what is happening.

Five minutes later I’m sitting on the bed flicking through the magazine about super cars when I hear the bathroom door open. My eyes lift over the magazine and my breath hitches in my throat. There he stands, all six-foot of him in nothing but a red towel hanging low on his narrow hips.

Oh mama.

My brain short circuits when I see the abdominal V and the vertical line of hair that runs just below his navel and disappears down to his…

I swallow thickly, a short lustful breath secretes past my lips at the delicious sight of him.

Dean of course, notices me staring at him like some lustful sappy div and his lips quirk. “I can take it off baby girl, all you have to do is ask.” I blink, snapping out whatever stupid spell I’m under and slap the magazine shut. My face ablaze with mortification.

“I’ll pass.” I utter dryly and clamber off the bed with as much decorum as I could muster. Dean chuckles, drying his hair with a smaller towel. “Uh,” I look around, raking my fingers through my hair. “I don’t have anything to wear to bed.”

Dean looks me over and licks his lips, “You're wearing underwear, aren’t you?” he questions cocking his head to the side and regards me closely. “Or are they soaked?”

“W-what?” I stammer, eyes wide and unblinking.

Dean bites his lip and moves over to me, meanwhile my instincts are screaming at me to retreat but I stand still, unable to move an inch. “The way I see it, you don’t have many choices. You either shower and put your used underwear back on—which I know for a fact you will never do, or you shower and put your little dress back on, and lastly you don’t shower and sleep as you are.”

I shake my head, not liking the sound of any of those options. “Or I can give you my boxers and I’ll sleep naked.”

My hands fist by my sides and I heave a slow breath to calm the erratic racing of my pulse.

“No one is sleeping naked, and I sure as shit will not wear your dirty boxers.” Dean shrugs, turns his back to me and casually drops the towel. I gape at his shapely behind and quickly avert my eyes. “Damn it Dean, can you cover yourself up?”

“Why?” Dean questions coolly as he pulls his black boxers on. “Not like you haven’t seen it all before, right? I’m still wearing the scratches you left on my back from earlier.” My eyes travel up his back and sure enough there are very prominent scratch marks along his shoulders.

I sigh, I’m way too tired and on edge for this. “I’m going to choose to ignore you and go shower.” I spin around and head for the bathroom when I hear him call for me.

“JJ?” I turn and look at him and he throws his t-shirt at me. “Put that on.” I catch it and stare down at the black t-shirt, frowning. “Don’t say I’ve never done anything nice for you.”

“Are you having a stroke?” I ask warily and Dean looks at me blankly. “You’re willingly giving me your shirt to wear?”

“Do you want the shirt or not?” I observe him closely for a beat before signing. Oh, what the hell. I can wear his shirt and still hate him.

I stroll into the bathroom, close the door behind me and locked it. What a bloody night. Standing under the spray feels like absolute heaven. I figure having a cold shower will help ease off whatever tension I’ve got coursing through my body.

You know that feeling you get where just want to reach between your legs and stroke yourself just to ease off some of that aching pressure. I’ve been having that urge since Dean and I got stranded in his car and it’s only getting worse.

Even after the shower my pussy is soaking wet, I’m talking trickling down my fucking thighs. Maybe if I orgasm, I’ll relax and stop lusting after Dean like some nymphomaniac.

I jump when I hear a knock at the door. “JJ?” Dean’s voice filters through the door and I chew on my lip. “You’ve been in there for half an hour. Are you dead?”

Damn him and that deep sexy voice of his. Is it bad that I want to hear him moaning my name over and over while he empties himself inside me?

What do I do? Do I go out there and tell him that for some bizarre reason I’m a randy mess or do I just keep my mouth shut and wait it out till morning. No, no you are not under any circumstance fucking him. Think about Ash, she will never forgive you. Once is a mistake, twice is just asking for trouble.

It’s what, three in the morning? I can hold off for a few more hours. Hell, I managed this long.

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