Word Count: 295
Summary: He asks her if she's close, if she can stay quiet.
Author's Notes: Written for kashmir1 in this post.
She bites down on the soft part of his hand, even with the light calluses, his hands are too soft, in the light, it's dim, but she can see him, moon-glare glinting in his eyes. Whichever one of them decided to have a mirror as part of the headboard made a good choice, how bright he stares at her, shallow thrusts, humid night making things stickier than usual.
He whispers it gentle, tongue almost tracing along the shell of her ear, she shudders at that, don't blame her, asks her if she's close, if she can stay quiet.
Can't answer him, bites down on his hand and she has to keep herself from flying apart, just from the intake-shudder of breath, Dean losing the plot, pushes into her too hard, that one squeaky mattress spring almost giving them away. Has to still him, wraps her legs around him tight, better, more sensation on her clit.
He's twisting her nipple, just the way she likes it, breasts are still sore and heavy, getting used to it, and she wants his tongue there but she'll scream, she knows it, and he knows it too, sucks on a point of her neck that she almost wishes he didn't know about, happens, tight constriction, pussy around cock but better, tight feeling in her heart, the ache flying loose, coming, clamping fierce, mere luck that she doesn't draw blood.
Lets her legs slacken, sweat beading and rolling down, he's still inside her, not moving, as if, by not moving, he can stop himself, but there's no way.
Says to her, hoarse whisper, You're gonna wake the baby up.
She disagrees, pushes herself up on her elbows, tongue flicking to trace his lips then she says, No, it's gonna be you.
Oh, I have ideas for this character and a kind of interesting storyline too. Hai, Maria, one day I swear I'll post witchy women of the west and people understand what the hell's going on.