Chapter Two

They had a table, tucked in the back.

Their younger sister, Chris, had somehow managed to hold it for them on a Friday night, a feat that was either miraculous or scary, Jensen hadn’t decided yet.

Brooding over a pint of Angry Orchard, she stared at the table and tried to figure out if she wanted to wait for her brother to show or just go home and fall asleep.

The sooner today ended, the sooner tomorrow could start … and end.

Then the next day, and the one after that.

She only had six more days to get through and then it was behind her, for another year.

That really wasn’t much time at all.

Six days could pass in a blink.

Or they could take forever.

She knew that for a fact. Days could crawl by endlessly, especially when you waited.

“Hey.”

She looked up and wasn’t terribly surprised to see Tate standing there with his arm around Ali. Surprised, no. But it did add to the ache inside.

“Ali.” She nodded at one of the empty seats. “You here to help us get our brood on?”

The brood-a-thons weren’t a planned thing, exactly.

But somehow they found themselves here. Each and every year, as the days drew closer and closer. It was like a countdown, one that passed easier when they weren’t alone.

Ali settled down in the seat between Tate and Jensen, a smile on her pretty, sweet face. “Are you okay?”

“Oh, I’m just peachy.” She lifted her glass, tipped it toward them. “Six more days.”

Ali reached out, touched her shoulder.

The tears that she usually managed to keep in check tried to rise up, but she pushed them back.

Wood scraped again, and she turned her head, watched as Guy Miller settled into his customary spot. Although not technically part of the family, he might as well be. One of Tate’s best friends, he’d grown up not too far from them and their house had been more of a home to him than his own. He’d been there with them as the days turned into weeks, and the weeks into years.

Now he waited with them, too.

“Do I need to catch up?” he asked, nodding to Jensen’s drink.

“Nope.” She lifted it to her lips. “I just got started. I have vague plans of getting plastered. Celebrating.”

His lip curled. “Yeah. You got a reason to celebrate. What did he get, two years?”

Ali looked confused. “Cop talk,” Tate said, brushing a thumb down her cheek.

Jensen slumped in the seat, staring upward. “Two fucking years. Don’t you just love the wheels of justice?”

“Here you go, Guy.” Chris Bell, the youngest of the family, appeared out of the crowd, putting two beers down in front of Tate and Guy, looking at Ali with a cocked brow. “I don’t know what you see in that man, Ali. Need a drink so you can stomach him all night?”

Ali laughed. “Sure. When do you get off?”

Chris checked her watch, a silver Tinker Bell one that should have looked out of place with the black tee she wore tied tightly at her back, revealing a tightly toned abdomen marked with tats. The tats were echoed on her arms, climbing to twine halfway up her neck, where the blooms of flowers and roses stopped. “Thirty minutes. Don’t drink yourselves under the table before I get back—you want your normal?”

Ali nodded and as Chris was swallowed by the crowd, they lapsed into silence.

A moment later, Tate broke it, leaning forward and raising his voice to be heard over the laughter of the table next to them. “I told Dad we’d be here. Asked him … well. Said he could join us.”

Jensen sighed. “Dad doesn’t go out. Barely leaves the house.”

She knew that—Chris knew that. Tate was just now mending a broken relationship so she wasn’t surprised he didn’t know.

He shrugged. “Yeah. I kinda figured. But it’s not good for him to sit around brooding all the time.”

“He doesn’t brood.” She traced the rim of her glass, looking away. “He’s just tired. Lonely. Leaving the house isn’t going to change that.”

She went to take a drink and then froze as a familiar figure appeared in the corner of her eye.

“Nine o’clock,” Guy said helpfully, tipping his bottle toward.

She closed her eyes.

When she opened them, her wish hadn’t come true. She hadn’t miraculously found herself at home. Alone. Where she wouldn’t have to see him. Son of a bitch.

“Hey.”

Sighing, she took a deep, long gulp of the cider in her glass and then tipped her head back and found herself staring up at the almost too sexy face of DA Dean West.

*   *   *

The sight of her sitting with Guy Miller, one of the deputies with county, had him wanting to chew nails. Dean kept an easy smile on his face as he nodded at everybody, noting that Guy sat next to Ali, leaving a vacant spot between him and Jensen.

Maybe they weren’t there together.

Didn’t keep him from wanting to do something stupid, like put his hand on her shoulder, beat his chest, anything to make it clear he had an interest here.

Not that it was returned.

Jensen’s eyes, caught between brown and green and glinting with a sharp edge in that moment, met his and she lifted a brow. “Hello, Dean.”

The chill in her eyes would have sent a smart man running. But Dean supposed if he was smart, he wouldn’t still be chasing after her, hoping against hope that something inside her would soften, that he’d get an opening—that the interest he’d seen spark in her eyes once or twice would flare. Just a chance. That was all he needed.

The slightest opening.

So instead of making small talk for a minute—easy for a lawyer to do with two cops—he nodded at one of the vacant chairs and said, “Mind if I have a seat?”

There was an awkward, stilted silence. He had that moment again, asking himself just why he was doing this. It wasn’t Jensen that broke the silence, but the brunette sitting next to her brother.

“Go ahead,” she said, nodding at the seat open next to Jensen. “We’re waiting on one more, but she won’t be here for a while yet.”

Ali, he thought. Ran the pizza place—a den of sin if he’d ever come across one. One trip there had him spending an extra hour a week pounding the pavement. Sliding into the seat next to Jensen, he flashed Ali a smile. “They let you out of the restaurant? How do they manage that place without you?”

She smirked. “Badly. But they’ll get by.”

“I hear Pruitt sang like a birdy about some local connections.” Guy lifted his beer, studied Dean over the top of the bottle. “Two years, though. Not much. It was a decent bust. He should have gotten more.”

Dean sighed. Fuck, yeah. He should have taken his sorry ass home. “Two years is a decent stretch for a first-time drug offense. He’ll bring in the bigger fish. I want them, Miller. Those are the problems, the ones getting crystal meth into the hands of the kids at school. I want them.”

“You always get what you want, I bet.” Jensen’s voice, low and soft, just barely reached his ears.

Cutting his gaze over to her, he clenched his jaw. He really was just wasting his time. Completely and utterly wasting his time. “Sure, Jensen. Nothing but a charmed, blessed life. Something I guess you probably know all about. Sorry about taking the cherry off your sundae, but like I said, I had a bigger goal in mind. Have fun sulking about it.”

He shoved back and stood up.

Tate did the same, his eyes firing at him. “You stupid son of a bitch. You don’t have a fucking clue.”

“Yeah?” Dean skimmed a look around the table. “I’ll just take my clueless self on off. You folks have a nice night.”

“I don’t think so.” Tate slammed his bottle down.

“Tate.” Jensen passed a hand in front of her eyes. “Just let it go. He doesn’t—”

“Here we go.”

A black-haired young woman, her eyes strikingly similar to Jensen’s appeared, carried a bucket of beer. She placed it on the table with a thunk. “Make sure you save me one, Guy. I’m going to need it after…” She paused, her gaze landing on Dean. “Hello. I don’t think we’ve met. I’m Chris.”

“Dean West. I’m leaving.”

Her eyes widened. “Oooh-kay. You’re welcome to—”

“No.” Tate cut in, his voice harsh. “He’s not. He’s got this idea in his head that Jensen is sitting here drinking and pissed over a case.”

Chris’s eyes chilled.

The friendliness on her face faded. “Well. Aren’t you the asshole.”

She turned on her heel and disappeared into the crowd.

Okay. Just what is—

“You were leaving,” Tate said.

He looked back, his gaze tripping on Jensen’s downcast head before catching the look in Tate’s eyes, the grim set of Guy’s.

“What am I missing here?”

“None of your fu—”

“Oh, shut up,” Jensen said tiredly, flicking her brother a look. She drained her glass, leaned forward, and snagged a bottle from the bucket, looking at it with acute dislike. Then she shifted her gaze to Dean. The look in them chilled his blood, turned it straight to ice. “Sit down, why don’t you, Dean? Let me tell you about my charmed, blessed life.”

*   *   *

The story didn’t want to come.

She started, stopped twice.

In the end, she decided to give it like a report.

“There was a domestic dispute,” she said, settling on that word. “Loud fighting, ugly words. Kids were in the house, but they moved to another room so they didn’t have to see it. The wife ended up leaving—it’s thought that she felt the fighting would stop if she wasn’t on the premises, but there’s no way of knowing.”

She glanced over at her brother. Tate had his hands fisted, head lowered. Every so often, a ragged breath would escape him, his shoulders stretching the faded material of his shirt. Ali rested a hand on the back of his neck, rubbed it in slow, soothing circles.

I’m glad he found you, she thought. So glad.

“Shortly after, the husband left. Police reports indicate he went to go looking for her. Without success. Come morning, she had yet to return. Her car is missing, but there is no indication that she left. No money is taken from the bank, she didn’t take any clothes. There is no activity from the bank accounts, and yes, the cops did watch. Days go by. Weeks.”

At that moment, Chris sank down next to Guy, her head resting against his arm, her gaze on the table.

“Eventually, suspicion settled on the father and he was duly investigated. Nothing came of it. But the children were taken into foster care for almost three years. Nobody wanted all three children, so the two girls went to one home, the boy to another. After a period of time, the state decided to return custody to the father. The son, at this time, wouldn’t go back. The girls did. And still, there’s no evidence of the mother.”

A ragged burst, almost a sob, but not quite, escaped Chris. Guy hooked his arm around her neck and turned his head, murmured against her temple. Chris reached up, closed one hand around his as tears started to fall.

Silence lapsed. For a long, long moment, nobody spoke. Then she reached for the bottle of Sam Adams on the table and tilted it back, hating the taste of it, but needing something to wet her throat. She wanted whiskey, wanted it bad. Turning her head, she found Dean was still watching her.

“She disappeared fifteen years ago this summer—almost fifteen years ago exactly.”

“Six days,” Tate said, lifting his head, staring across the table at her.

“Six days,” she echoed.

“And we’re still waiting.” Chris’s voice was thick, almost choking on the tears.

“Still waiting.” Some part of Jensen wanted to believe there would be an answer, something. Somewhere. But the cop knew better. After fifteen years, what sort of answer would they get?

None. That’s what.

She tipped her bottle to Dean and smiled. “So, as you can probably understand, counselor, as much as it burns my ass, and it does, to see a cockroach like Pruitt get a slap on the hand, I’ve got other things on my mind tonight.”

*   *   *

Unable to think of a single thing to say, Dean just sat there for what felt like hours.

In reality, he realized it was just minutes. Slowly, he pushed back from the table, taking a minute to look from one face to the next, lingering on the Bell siblings.

“I’m sorry.” He knew there was more he should say, more that he should do, but he’d intruded on what he realized wasn’t just a private thing, but a painful one.

And he’d done it with his own selfish motives in mind. Yeah, he had a thing for her, but maybe if he’d taken a minute, looked around, he might have seen it.

Silence met him and he just lingered, feeling awkward and uncertain of what to say or do. So he just nodded and turned, moving through the crowd and making his way to the bar.

The beer he’d grabbed on his way in was no longer going to touch it. He needed something stronger and he needed it now.

Wedging himself into a space at the bar, he caught the gaze of the bartender, Adam Brascum. Adam lifted a brow and nodded to the bottle, raising his voice over the music that was slowly gaining in volume as the night grew later. “Another?”

“No. Something stronger. What kind of whiskey you got?”

A faint grin lit the man’s face. “One of those nights, huh?”

Dean nodded. “Fuck, yeah, man.”

Without saying anything else, Adam turned and looked at the counter behind him. “Folks around here keep it simple—and local—for the whiskey. Jack Daniel’s and Wild Turkey for the most part. I have some Maker’s, too.”

“Maker’s. Straight.”

He brooded while he waited for the drink and then as Adam pushed it in front of him, before he could disappear, he caught his eye one more time and jerked his head behind him. “Chris Bell—she work here?”

“Yep. Not at the minute, though. I let her kick off early.” Adam tossed a towel over his shoulder and leaned his hands on the bar. “There a problem?”

“No.” At least not on her part. Blowing out a breath, he said, “I…”

Adam looked up as somebody started calling out orders. He pulled a couple of beers, mixed up a cocktail, all without breaking stride. “When did you move here?” he asked. “Two years ago? Lexington, right?”

Dean wasn’t too surprised by the question. He might have lived in Lexington his whole life, but he knew how the small-town grapevine worked. His mother’s people came from places ever smaller than Madision. Bracing an elbow on the bar, he waited until Adam pushed the drinks toward the server and then started on the next set. “About that. Why?”

“I saw … well.” Adam shrugged. “I won’t lie and say not much gets Tate Bell stirred up. He’s got a temper. But you had Guy on edge, too. Takes a lot to get him steamed. Then there was Chris, storming back up here, half torn between crying and screaming. Only one thing will do that to her.” Adam paused, looked down. “There’s been trouble around here before. You didn’t know about Nichole, their mom. Jensen will understand, once she gets through the next few weeks.”

Dean opened his mouth to say it wasn’t just Jensen, but Adam was already gone.

And really, although he hated to give anybody unneeded grief, when he wasn’t able to sleep that night, it was Jensen’s face he’d see.

Lifting his glass, he stared down into it.

Yeah, he sure as hell should have just taken his ass on home.

*   *   *

Eyes gritty, Jensen stood on the sidewalk, watching as Guy all but carried Chris down the street.

Tate and Ali paced along next to her.

“Think Chris is ever going to figure it out?” she asked.

Tate hunched his shoulders and busied himself studying the sidewalk. “Come on. Let’s get you home.”

She rolled her eyes. “I’m right around the corner. I’m okay to walk.”

“Yeah, and we walk the same direction, so let’s go.” Stubbornness written all over his face, he jammed his hands into his pockets and stood there.

She snickered. “I bet Guy goes home and sits on his couch, composing sonnets about his beloved Tink.”

Tinker Bell, the nickname they’d given Chris back when she’d just been a kid, had stuck with her throughout her teenage years, thanks to the woman’s love for the mischievous little fairy. It fit, too. Chris and Jensen both had large, slightly tilted eyes, and their features were best suited to pixie-like haircuts. But while Tink worked for Chris, it didn’t work so well for Jensen and they all knew it.

Tate cut her a dark look and growled, “Just shut it, Jensen.”

She blew him a kiss. “Guy and Chrissie, sitting in a tree…”

Ali laughed.

Hooking her arm with the other woman’s, Jensen started to walk. “Tate sees it, too. He just pretends otherwise. He can’t stand the idea that his best friend has the hots for his baby sister.”

“I’m not hearing this,” Tate said, falling into step next to them. “I’m not. I’m just not.”

Chatting with Ali, ignoring her brother, she let some of the tension, some of the pain of the day fall away.

Maybe that was why she didn’t see him sitting there until she was almost on top of him.

Or maybe, just maybe, she’d been waiting to see him.

Tate’s grumble came from deep in his chest and she stopped, shot him a look. “Cut back on the testosterone, bub. I didn’t like it in high school and I don’t like it now.”

“I—”

“Come on, baby. I think Jensen is big enough to handle herself.” Ali slid her arm around his waist as the man sitting on the porch of the big old house across the street lifted his head, all but lost in the shadows.

Nothing could hide his eyes, though. Jensen felt his gaze, all the way down to her toes, and she wasn’t sure she liked it.

Every inch of her seemed to sizzle, seemed to burn.

As Tate continued to hover, she looked over at him. “Go on,” she said softly. “I’m fine.”

Then she stepped off the curb, feeling her heart start to hammer against her chest.

There hadn’t been a single time outside of the job when she’d sought Dean West out.

She’d thought about him.

She’d thought about him a lot.

But she’d never looked him up. Crossing the street to talk to him made her feel nervous, almost as nervous as she’d been in high school when she went to go ask Tony Castillo if he wanted to go to the prom with her.

That hadn’t gone so well. He’d been convinced prom meant sex. She’d disabused him of that notion, with no small amount of physical force and she’d had to hide her bruised, torn knuckles from her dad for the next few days.

She hadn’t been able to hide them from Tate, though, and he’d dragged Tony out of his car when he’d been sitting in the parking lot behind McDonald’s a few days later. Tony had paled whenever he saw her for the rest of the school year and his pretty face had taken more than a few weeks to heal up.

While she knew this wasn’t going to go over like that, she was still dragging her feet.

His dark eyes, the color of melted milk chocolate, cut toward her and then he focused on the glass he held.

Whiskey splashed into it as he refilled his glass.

“Brascum needs to expand the kind of liquor he carries in there,” he said without looking away from his glass. “Nothing against Maker’s or Jack, but they aren’t the end-all, be-all of when it comes to whiskey.”“I’m more for rum.” She eyed the glass he held. “Although it’s been a day. Mind?”

He passed the glass without saying a word and she tossed it back, felt the burn of it, sighed as it hit her belly. She passed it back and he took the glass but instead of refilling it, he just held it. After a moment, he put it down and lifted his hands, clasped together like he was praying. “I got words I need to say to you, but I’m not sure where to start.”

“Don’t.” Staring out at the dark street, she thought back to how often she had to hear the very words he probably felt he had to say. “I’ve heard them all before, Dean. They change nothing, you know. I’m raw right now, but the wounds are old. You didn’t know. It’s cool.”

“No.” He shook his head and said, “It’s not cool. Maybe these are old wounds, but I was taking digs at you over a personal thing and that just makes it more of a problem for me.”

She slanted him a look and felt her heart freeze in her chest, for one long, long moment.

There was something she’d meant to say. The words died, right there on the tip of her tongue as he took a deep, slow breath that seemed to shudder through him.

She felt it echo through her as well, her skin drawing tight while heat buffeted her.

No … no … no. Helplessly, she tried to gather up the strength to get up and walk away. This was no good. She couldn’t do this—

“You got that look in your eyes,” he said, a faint smirk twisting his mouth. He had the damnedest mouth. She’d had dreams about that mouth. Dreams about capturing his face in her hands, pressing her lips to his, feeling his body against hers as she learned how he felt, how he tasted.

Not good. Not good at all.

“It would be easier, you know.” He stared out over the street, that deep, rich voice of his level and smooth, rolling over her like liquid gold. She felt something melt deep inside her and she had to bite back a groan. “If I didn’t look at you and sometimes see the same damn thing I feel. Because I know you feel it. But you ignore it. Ignore me. That’s what pushed me. I was a fucking asshole, and I know it. That’s why it’s not cool. So I’m sorry.”

Licking her lips, she nodded. Get up, she told herself. Her legs didn’t want to cooperate and even once she managed to get vertical, her thighs were all trembling and weak. Swiping her palms down the outside of her jeans, she darted a quick look at him. “Don’t…” The words tangled on her tongue as their gazes connected. “Don’t let the thing about my mom get to you. You didn’t know. It’s okay.”

“There you go,” he murmured, turning his head, dipping it down just a little. The heavy fall of dreadlocks obscured his face and she had the insane urge to reach down, fist her hand in his hair so she could see him, see his face. Proud, arched cheekbones, that fucking sexy mouth, and those intense eyes.

She had no business wanting him. A want like this scared her.

Because it was so deep, so strong, she made herself take another step back.

Dean just nodded. “It’s okay, Jensen. I get it. You and me, we’re not going there. So I’ll…” He blew out a breath. “I’ll just stop.”

The words ripped out of her. “Stop what?”

He didn’t answer. Long fingers wrapped around the neck of the bottle of Woodford Reserve he had next to him and he rose. “I hope you can get some rest this weekend. Find some peace.”

“You didn’t answer me.”

He paused halfway up the steps. “I can’t stop myself from thinking about you. But I haven’t made much of an attempt to hide the fact that I’m interested. I can do better, so I will. You don’t want to see it, so I’ll keep it to myself. Sooner or later, it will fade.”

Will it?

She stared at the strong line of his back as he crossed the porch, her heart slamming away in her chest.

A knot formed in her throat.

This … this intensity she felt every time she looked at him. That could fade?

It was the most real thing she’d felt since …

She didn’t even realize she was moving until he’d turned to look at her.

Then she was doing the very thing she’d dreamed about.

His skin was warm against hers, the light stubble scraping against her palms. Because that light touch wasn’t enough, she kept one palm on his face and then drove the other hand into his hair, tangled it in his dreads. The texture was coarse against her hand and she shuddered at the thought of feeling him, all of him.

“I don’t want it to fade,” she whispered as she rose onto her toes and pressed her mouth to his.

*   *   *

He’d had two drinks.

He thought.

That wasn’t going to make him hallucinate.

Right?

And even if it did …

Dean groaned as her tongue danced across his lips and then pushed inside, without even waiting to see how he’d react.

Fuck, there was no question of reaction.

He’d only been waiting half a lifetime, it seemed.

Maybe his entire life.

Sliding one hand down to her hip, he yanked her against him. The feel of her, all slight angles and delicate curves, was every bit as perfect as he’d imagined.

She jumped up and he caught her, the bottle of whiskey, the glass falling to the porch.

Feeling like the top of his head was about to come straight off, he turned and pressed her against the wall. She arched against him and through the barrier of their clothes, he felt the warmth of her—it was a seductive, sweet heat.

This was devastation, and he thought he was going to die if he didn’t get his hands on her.

Tearing his mouth from hers, he lifted his head and looked down at the upturned oval of her face. Her breath came in harsh, labored pants. His breathing was just as ragged and against his chest, he could feel the slight swell of her breasts, rising, falling. Sliding a hand over the curve of her hip, slipping his fingers under the hem of her shirt, he said softly, “When a man’s been dying for a taste of something for as long as I have, it’s hard to think straight, especially in a moment like this. I think maybe we should–”

She pressed a finger to his lips.

“I think we should stop thinking. I’m tired of it.”

“Jensen—”

*   *   *

The sound of her name on his lips, his normally smooth, rich voice shaking and gruff, made her nipples draw tight and her knees wanted to just give out.

Fisting her hands in his shirt, Jensen leaned in and pressed her mouth to his neck. The heavy weight of his hair blocked her and she pushed it back, taking her time, fisting her hands in the dreads, learning the feel, the texture. His chest rose and fell against hers, his breathing almost as ragged as her own and his body was shockingly hot.

The warmth of him seeped into her and she shuddered, reveling in it. She wanted to fall into him, drown in that warmth, surround herself in it.

“I spend most of my life thinking. Watching. Remembering. Waiting. I hardly ever feel. I hardly ever do.” She turned her face to his and caught his gaze.

Then, without so much as blinking, she leaned in and caught his mouth.

His mouth opened under hers. His hand came up, tangled in her hair.

“Are you sure?” he growled against her mouth.

She slid a hand down, under his shirt, dragged her nails across taut skin. “What do you think?”

*   *   *

“I think you want to see me break,” he muttered, dragging his head from hers.

Control melted away, like it had never existed but he possessed enough sense of self to know two very important things.

They were on the porch.

And there was enough light around that anybody who happened by could see them. Keeping his arm banded around her, he kept her tucked against him as he fumbled the door open.

Inside, he didn’t turn on the lights, didn’t do anything but flip the locks on the door and then flip her around, putting her back up against the door before he bent his head and caught her mouth with his.

Hot.

She was hot and sweaty and she shoved her hands into his hair, tugging him down to meet her with a greedy, demanding hunger that just about took his head off.

Working one arm under her hips, he boosted her up and tucked her between him and the door. That, he thought, was just about perfect. He angled his hips against her and swore, his eyes all but crossing as she wrapped her legs around his waist. She arched back, sending jolts of electricity sparking through him as she started to rock and ride against him.

He caught her hip in one hand. “You keep that up, I’m going to come before I even put my dick inside you.”

“We can’t have that.” She grinned against his mouth, her eyes bright in the darkness. “You’ll just have to control yourself, Dean. I’m having…” A hot little whimper rose in her throat before she managed to say, “Fun.”

“Fun.”

He leaned back and caught the hem of her shirt. “If this is fun, let’s see what else I can do to entertain.”

*   *   *

Jensen thought he’d take her to the bedroom.

She’d expected a slow, lazy seduction.

Something sweet and easy and maybe she could have a chance to catch her breath.

What she got was heat.

Everything inside her seemed to melt as his hands raced over her. Long, agile fingers grabbed the hem of her shirt and before she had a chance to steady herself, he stripped it off. Two seconds later, her bra followed. She blinked, dazed, and looked down just in time to see him trailing his fingers down the midline of her torso.

“So damn pretty,” he mused, his voice low and dark and smooth. It sent shivers down her spine and she found herself mesmerized by the sight of his hands on her. His hands, beautiful and so dark against her flesh, slid up and cupped her breasts.

She could feel a blush rising up to stain her cheeks red. She’d never been terribly self-conscious but in that moment, she was. Her body was what it was—strong, capable, not overly female.

“Look at me.”

Slowly, she lifted her head and found herself staring into his eyes.

“I think I’ve imagined seeing you naked about a thousand times now,” he said. “I didn’t even come close.”

She didn’t know how to respond to that. Fortunately, she didn’t have to. He dipped his head. She curled her arm around his head, gasping as his mouth closed over her nipple, hot and hungry. The rough texture of dreadlocks against her arm, the silk of his mouth, the heat of his body. Everything else in the world spiraled away and she lost herself to just the sensations and the pleasure.

Her feet hit the ground and she snarled as he let her go.

But all he did was reach for the waistband of her jeans. “You’re overdressed.”

Falling back against the door, she stared at him in drugged, hungry fog. A few seconds later, cool air kissed her flesh as he came back over her, his elbows rising to bracket her in against the wood at her back. “There aren’t enough hours in the night for what I want to do to you,” he murmured, pressing a kiss to her neck, her shoulder. “But that’s not going to stop me from trying.”

She hummed under her breath as he moved lower, pressing a line of kisses down her torso, along her belly. The muscles there quivered and she hissed a little. He smiled and flicked her a decidedly devilish smile. “Ticklish, baby?”

“No.” She probably put more force behind that than she should have.

He laughed and trailed his fingers across her abdomen, watching as she jumped.

“Don’t!”

He chuckled. “Don’t worry. I got other things on my mind. For now.”

A second later, she groaned and fisted her hands against the door. Her knees threatened to give out underneath her.

His mouth pressed against her core and the blistering heat threatened to drive her insane.

His tongue parted her flesh and the pleasure was a whip against her senses. Her knees tried to give out and then his hands were there, bracing her at her hips while the pleasure ripped through her. She caught his shoulders, stared down at his head, pressed so intimately against her.

This was …

It was too …

She bit her lip, trying to resist the urge to close her thighs as he—

Oh …

She tensed and tried to pull away.

Dean caught one thigh, steadied her. “No. I don’t think so, Jensen. I just got here.” He nuzzled at her entrance and she clapped a hand over her mouth to keep from shrieking.

He shot her a look. “Now why you have to do that? I want to hear what I’m doing to you.”

She bit the fleshy pad of her palm and despite the awful, amazing intimacy of the situation, when he slid his tongue across her, over her, inside her, she couldn’t help but roll her hips against him, like she was desperate for more.

And she was . Oh, how she was.

That felt so good …

Barely aware she’d moved her hand, she reached down, tangling her fingers in his dreads and arching closer.

“That’s it … yeah, come on, baby,” he muttered against her, the words muffled and raw and thick. He flicked his tongue against her clit and that felt so good, she heard herself shriek again.

Then she groaned and tensed, because he slid two fingers inside her.

He slid them inside and pressed, right there—

*   *   *

She climaxed against his mouth. Right like that.

Braced between him and his front door, Jensen Bell climaxed, and it was even hotter than he’d hoped it would be.

And Dean was determined to watch it happen again.

Again. And again. Next time, though he planned on being inside her.

Savage hunger tore through him, tearing greedy bites out of his sanity and he shot to his feet, slanting his mouth over hers and kissing her hungrily. She went to reach for him and he jerked away. “Stay there,” he ordered.

He had to get a rubber.

There was a box in the bathroom. He thought.

There had better be or he was going to die.

Just curl up in a miserable ball, and die.

Fortunately, death wasn’t going to happen today. There, tucked in a drawer in the back, he found the box, one he’d picked up who knows how long ago—a quick check at the date on the side assured him they were still good. He tore it open and grabbed one condom out, tossing the rest of the box onto his bed as he passed by his room.

If he was lucky, they’d make it there on the next go.

If not … well. They’d have to be lucky, because he wanted to see Jensen in his bed.

His heart did one hard bang when he first walked into the living room, because he didn’t see her—

Then, as he cleared the couch, he breathed again.

She had slid down to the floor, curled up bonelessly, and as he stepped to her, she popped one eye open to stare at him.

He went to his knees between her thighs and drew her to him.

“I said stay,” he murmured, dipping his head and pressing his mouth to hers.

She blushed as he lifted his head, his tongue coming out to lick her lips.

“I…”

She glanced around, her gaze landing on the condom he held.

He reached for her hands and drew them to his shirt. “Take it off,” he suggested.

She looked up at him and then, still holding his eyes, she stripped the shirt away.

After she tossed it to the floor, she scraped her short, neat nails down his chest, paused to trace his nipples and he hissed at the sensation. He hooked his fingers in his shorts and boxers, shoved them down. But when he reached for the condom, Jensen already had it.

The sound of the foil tearing seemed louder than it should. Blood roared in his ears as she pulled it out of the packet and he had to curl his hands into fists to keep from grabbing her when she started to unroll it over him.

His cock jerked and he could all but feel the blood pulsing, boiling in his veins as she smoothed it down over him, her fingers unsteady. He smoothed his hands up her thighs as she went back to her elbows, staring at him with turbulent eyes. “One thing,” he murmured, reaching down and wrapping his hand around his cock, biting back a swear as he bumped against the slick wet heat between her legs.

Her lashes fluttered down, pink staining her cheeks.

“Jensen.”

Heavy lids lifted, stared at him.

“I’m not settling for just one night.” He pressed a kiss to the corner of her mouth, bracing his weight on one hand just above her shoulder. “Get the feeling that you don’t let people in, and I get that. But you’re not allowed to take off running when this is done. You feel it, too. You can’t say otherwise. We figure out what this is. Just don’t run from me.”

Her lashes swept low. But she nodded.

It wasn’t enough, but he’d take it for now. With an easy roll, he tucked her underneath him. Thin light filtered in through the blinds and he looked down and watched, rocking against her. She shivered and he smiled, rubbing the head of his cock against her slippery, slick sex. Her hands came up, her nails biting into his muscles. The swollen pink flesh of her pussy felt hot, scalding him through the shield of the condom and he wanted, so bad, to feel her without it, but this was pretty damn good, too, and he grunted as she arched up, trying to draw him in.

“Quit teasing.” She all but threw the words at him, wrapping her legs around his waist.

He slid one hand up the back of her thigh, watching her face. “So impatient. I don’t want this over so soon. I’ve only been dreaming about it for more than a year, baby.”

“Then hurry up already. We can always do it again.” She twisted her hips and then gasped as the head of his cock stroked over her clit.

“You like that.”

She whimpered as he shifted around and repeated the movement. The flush on her cheeks deepened. He did it again, and again and kept right on doing it until he felt her body start to tighten against his. “Now.”

*   *   *

The hot, raw silk of his voice scraped over her at the same time he started to push inside and Jensen lost it.

Eyes locked on his face, breath trapped in her throat, she sank her nails into the taut muscles of his arms and just … fell.

The most explosive climax of her life ripped through her and he’d barely penetrated her, the thick, blunt head of his cock pulsing against her sensitive flesh, stretching her so very sweetly. Her skin felt two sizes two small, flames licking her up from the inside and she arched, trying to ride the thick pillar of flesh, taking him deeper, but he stayed her with a hand at her hip.

“Easy,” he murmured. “Easy, baby…”

Easy?

Her mind went blank and the climax just kept rolling through her.

There was nothing easy about this. It was devastating and amazing.

Then he sank deeper inside her and it started all over again.

By the time he’d buried his length within her, she was shaking, all but sobbing and desperate. Reaching up, she wound her hands in the thick, dense locks of his hair and pulled his mouth down to meet hers. Deep inside her, she felt the hungry pulse of his cock and she flexed around him in response, crying out against his mouth.

“Stop,” he muttered. “I can’t…”

He pressed down with his hips and she shuddered as it ground him against her clit, but worse, his cock jerked again and she broke around him, drawing her legs up to clutch him closer.

She couldn’t stop it. It was like everything inside her had been waiting for just this moment. Just this. Just him.

“Aw, hell…” Above her, Dean tensed and then the hand on her hip tightened. The other slid behind her head, fingers twisting her hair. “Fuck, Jensen.”

She had no time to breathe, no time to think before his mouth came down on hers and even as her climax started to ebb, another built as he started to ride her, his movements harsh, hungry, all attempt at control gone.

Her name was a ragged snarl on his lips as he came, but she barely noticed.

She was already falling, for the third time.

And his arms were there, locked around her and he plummeted with her.