Emma
Dean was moving so fast that Emma had to half run to keep up with him.
“Wait up,” she called out, but he didn’t respond. She put on an extra burst of speed and caught his arm. She didn’t really think she’d be able to physically stop him — she had a quick mental image of being dragged along like a little kid in a cartoon, puffs of dust squirting up from her shoes — but she hoped that the touch of her hand on his arm would snap him back into the real world.
She didn’t expect him to spin so fast, and she let out a little scream. He pressed into her space, pushing her back against the wall, pinning her there with his arms on either side of her shoulders.
“Why are you following me?” he snarled, his face twisted into an emotion she didn’t recognize. Not on him.
“Dean, I—”
His lips crashed down on hers with more force than was entirely comfortable, but the twist of pain lit something deep inside of her that she had buried for years. A little cry slipped past her lips, and she locked her arms around his neck, pulling herself up onto her tiptoes to deepen the contact between them. His tongue slipped past her lips, teasing into her mouth, and she met him stroke for stroke. One hand came off the wall to crush her breast in his hand as he tore his mouth free for a moment.
“Why are you still here?” he asked again. “Why haven’t you given up on me yet?”
There weren’t any words. None that would’ve worked anyway. They were all empty lines from movies or romance novels, nothing that was true and real and existing between them in the moment. She could’ve told him about how she loved that little girl too, or how there was something between them now, and no matter how it had started, she wanted to see what it turned into. She could’ve told him that he was a good man, and she’d seen evidence of that, and she wanted to see more. She could’ve said any number of things, and she was quite sure he would’ve heard them, nodded, and walked away.
Emma didn’t say any of those things. She took his hand from her breast and led it down, under her skirt and inside her panties, where she was slick and wet for him, just as she’d been since she first saw him, before her life was turned upside down. She spread her legs wide, watching his eyes as he reacted to the intensity of her arousal. His fingers, more tender now than they’d ever been before, were exploring her as if they hadn’t touched each other ever before. His eyes were wide with something not unlike wonder. He flickered tenderly over her clit, making her gasp. He played farther back, teasing at the opening of her, making her hips arch towards him, begging for more contact. He laughed then, soft, not giving her what she needed.
“Right here?” he asked. “Anyone could come along.”
She caught his gaze and held it, her arms tight around him, and hooked her leg around the back of his thigh, giving him plenty of space to play. “I don’t care.”
Heat rose in him then, and he choked back a sound that had wanted to be a growl. “It’s not going to be my fingers you take. You know that.”
“Fuck me, Dean. Please.”
“Jesus Christ,” he murmured, opening his jeans and pulling out his cock. He was hard, so hard, and Emma heard a little humming sound in her throat of anticipation. He was going to split her wide open. As wet as she was she still wasn’t ready for him, and she didn’t care. She didn’t care who saw, she didn’t care if she got arrested. She just wanted to show him that this meant something. It meant something important.
He teased her with the head of his cock for a moment, finding her opening, lining her up, adjusting her hips. He kept his thumb on her clit, setting up a light tapping rhythm that made her bite her lip and twist her head from side to side. He hiked her leg up just a little bit higher, giving himself a little more room, and starting the slightest burn on her thigh from the stretch and the strength necessary to hold her leg in that position. She thanked whoever wanted to listen for the dance classes she’d gone to over the years and let him shift her and move her until she was exactly where he wanted her to be.
He entered her in a smooth motion, hitting half of his depth in that first stroke. She hissed with the intensity of it, not the pain, but the desire that was contained in his pressure and motion. He had to pull back, making space, before he could slide forward again, fully seating himself inside of her. They groaned in unison, and his hands came to her ass, lifting her up just a little bit higher. Her toes weren’t entirely on the ground anymore, and her heart beat a little faster at the loss of control. The shaking need that boiled through her frightened her, and drove her forward, doing her best to wriggle her hips and pinion herself on his cock as he began to thrust into her.
“God, so dirty,” he muttered, leaning forward and nipping at her chin, her neck, any bit of her skin that he could reach without losing the angle and depth of the coupling. “Not going to last,” he grunted. Already, his thrusts were ragged, his thighs and arms shaking.
“I don’t care,” she replied, but he pulled free from her, setting her down and laying his cock along the soft flesh of her cleft. His fingers at his base, he thrust down along her; her clit dragged over his shaft, and the sheer wanton need of him left her even more desperate.
He came hard, vicious, grunting. She could feel his cock twitching against her thigh as he spent, felt the hot splash of liquid on the inside of her thigh. Some part of her was disappointed, maybe even frustrated. She wanted more of him than this, but the sagging relief in his body was worthwhile.
He fell to his knees, and she thought he’d just lost his balance, but his hands nudged her thighs open wider.
“Would have come right inside,” he murmured, “but licking up my own cum is not a kink of mine.” And then his tongue was on her pussy, and her hands were in his hair, and Jesus God in Heaven this man knew how to devour her.
There was something different. Him fucking her up against a wall was just garden-variety dirty, but she’d had her face well hidden in his neck, and if someone walked by, it was him that would’ve been caught with his ass quite literally hanging out of his pants. Now, his tongue lapping furiously at her, she felt infinitely more exposed. There was nowhere to hide, nowhere to turn away. She was the wanton girl in the hallway, someone who couldn’t take another twenty steps to fuck in the car.
She expected the shame and nerves to shut down her reactions, but instead, she spiraled higher. Her fingers tightened in Dean’s hair, and it seemed to drive him to greater heights. He jammed two, then three, fingers into her cunt and fucked her, pressing at the inner spot that made her vision darken as he took her clit between his teeth and tugged at it. She thought she’d hate it, she’d always thought the sensation would make her scream and want to hit the guy who took such liberties. She was sure no nice girl would like what he was doing to her body right now. But she wasn’t a nice girl because she could feel the orgasm coming for her like a truck barreling down an icy road, and she had no intention of getting out of the way.
She thought she’d scream when she came, but there wasn’t any air left in her lungs as her entire body spasmed. She ground down onto his face, and he responded, moaning up into her and pulsing his fingers and nursing her into the highest possible level of pleasure. When the wave broke around her, she cried out, shivering and shaking as he pressed the flat of his tongue against her, savoring the last of her release as she pulsed down around him.
He stood up quickly, helping her balance as her knees slowly regained the ability to support her. He tugged her leggings back into place under her skirt. She could feel the cum on her thigh, drying and sticking the jersey fabric to her skin, and it was an awful feeling, but she also found herself luxuriating in it. She’d feel him there, touching her, until she got home to change. And the way this day had gone, it might be a hell of a long time.
He hovered over her, his forehead touching hers, his hand on her cheek. “Are you okay?” His voice shook just a tiny bit. It almost made her laugh, it was so quiet and delicate. Nothing at all like the big strong man who’d lifted her off her feet just moments ago to fuck her rotten, and who trembled at what she’d just given him.
“Yeah, I’m okay,” she said. “You?”
“God, Emma,” he replied and kissed her again. His tongue brushed her lips again, but it was a delicate caress this time, instead of a demand for entrance. She gave herself over to the sensation in just the same way, however. He felt good and deep and careful and so wonderful.
“What are we doing, Dean? You and me?” It wasn’t really the question she wanted to ask, but she didn’t know what else to say.
“I don’t know,” he replied. “Do we have to be doing anything?”
“It seems like we are, whether we want to or not.” She didn’t want to need something from him. He didn’t seem like the sort of man someone needed things from. He didn’t seem like the guy who would work out well, in the long run, for her. But she needed him, all the same. She needed to know if she was allowed to care. If she needed to keep her heart safe. “I think—Dean, I could—”
He put a finger to her lips, and she had to bite back the words. It hurt so much, made her throat close up, made her sick to her stomach.
“I can’t talk about it yet,” he said. “I’m sorry. I can’t. I have to get my little girl back. I have to be able to protect the people I have before I can start promising to take more. Do you understand?”
No, Emma thought. No, I don’t fucking understand any of it. But she nodded. She made herself nod, and she made herself stand still and strong as Dean pressed another kiss to her forehead and then walked away, leaving her behind.
Again.