My gaze trails over him and I feel safe again. He’s only wearing sweatpants, no shirt, and his hair is tousled from sleep. His eyes, his eyes, they are beautifully blue like a summer sky, and his hands are perfect and soft and reaching for me. “Dean…” I whisper, and I’m not sure what it’s supposed to mean. Relief? Longing? Sadness?

Love?

Those hands graze up and down my upper arms, the worry in his face etched tight. “Are you hurt?”

I shake my head as my eyes fix on his bare torso, well-muscled and lean. Smooth to the touch, yet rough and powerful when he’s holding me, moving with me, our bodies intertwined. I glance back up to him and note the flash of desire that flickers across his face when he catches my unabashed perusal.

It’s all I need.

I place my palms against his chest, pushing him back gently until we’re both walking inside his townhouse. I kick the door shut with my heel, and then I’m all over him. Dean intakes a gasp of surprise when my hands clasp his face, pulling him to me, and my mouth collides with his. I kiss him hard, furious, full of need and want and everything inside me I’m able to give. When our tongues meet, it’s like I’m home.

Dean pulls back slightly, one hand cradling the back of my head, his fingers threading through my hair, and the other grasping my upper arm. “What are you doing?” he asks through a stunned breath.

My palms skim up the expanse of his chest, curling over his shoulders. Our eyes lock and I respond, “Being selfish.”

I don’t miss the subtle frown, the hint of perplexity, but I capture his mouth again before he can reply. I keep walking him backwards through the living room, my hands in his hair, tugging and pulling, my tongue going to war with his. His groans only make me want him more. I remove my hands from his skin to discard my coat and my shoes, then unbutton my pants, sliding my jeans and underwear down my hips and kicking them off as we continue our trek to the nearest piece of furniture.

We find the couch first.

I give him a small shove until he collapses back onto the cushions, then I crawl on top of him, straddling his thighs with my knees. My fingers hook inside his waistband and he raises his hips on instinct, allowing me to yank the sweatpants down. His erection springs free, and I take him in my hand, drowning in the sounds he makes when I stroke him up and down, swirling my thumb along the wet tip. I kiss him hard as I pump my hand.

“Fuck, Cora...” We pull back to breathe, but our lips stay connected, our teeth pressed together as his hands slide up and down my back, long fingers dipping beneath my blouse. “I missed you so much.”

“I missed you,” I reply, the words escaping like a rogue whimper. I lift up and position him at my core, squeaking out a moan when he grazes my entrance. I need this. I need him. He’s the only calm to my madness, the only light to my dark, the only sweet to my bitter remains.