dean Winchester was a womanizing asshat. For years, he perfected the art of getting into and out of women 's beds quickly. He does n't do sleepovers or breakfast. Hell, most charwoman were favourable if he bothered waiting for them to strike asleep before he left.

For a while, he was all about lovin'and leavin''em. There was a clock time when he just got on with the show. Foreplay ? What was that ? And falling asleep ? Forget it !

That was before he met Joanna Beth Harvelle. They say the certain citizenry change your life. It may be for the best, it may be for the worst ... but for the most part, they just do. You meet them when you least expect it. At the grocery entrepot or at school. Sometimes at a restaurant or a bar. In this case, her mother 's bar ...

This is n't the first clock time he 's come by to see her and he knows it wo n't be the finally. He waited until the coast was crystallize before moving from a table in the darkened corner of the Roadhouse to the bar itself. Ellen was gone. She 'd been gone for 20 minutes. The end of the customer was shuffling out the door.

A calloused hand cam stroke over her forearm as she leans in to talk to him. He pushes a divagate honey blonde ringlet behind her ear with the former and trails his fingers down the line of her jaw. He kisses her, slow and deep, grunting at the parry between them and the way it keeps him from pressing her consistency fully against his own.

'' Let 's go upstairs, '' he murmurs over her lips.

Jo hears `` Let 's hold sex. '' Not like she has n't thought about it. Not like she has n't known from the moment he walked through her doorway that this was where matter were heading. Still, she nods and whorl up.

He takes her hand, smiling as he leads her to the elbow room he knows is hers and making her pant as his digit slip into her whisker and cant her oral cavity up to his in the moonlit hallway. `` Do you trust me ? ``

Do you believe me ? That was comic. Did she trust that he was a good Hunter - perhaps even the best ? - yes. Without interrogative sentence. Did she trust him not to break her nitty-gritty ? No. But she was n't will to turn him away because of it.

She nods and kisses him quickly before she can switch her mind.

'' Close your eyes, '' he says softly.

Jo 's lids fall obediently. She fights the urge to crack up them open as she feels something soft tighten around her typeface. `` Dean ? What ... ? ``

He peppers her aspect with kisses. Her lips. Her jaw. The tip of her olfactory organ. `` Shh ... '' he soothes her.

Jo feels her ft leave the trading floor as Dean sweeps her into his arm. He carries her into her sleeping accommodation, kicking the door shut behind them, and sets her down, slowly stripping her out of her apparel without removing the blindfold.

Her senses are heightened. She feels each caress tenfold. The encounter of his lips over stripped hide. The tease of rough finger's breadth over a stiff white meat and its stiff nipple. The taste of his glossa. The sound of his breathing.

'' Dean ... '' she whimpers, reaching for him and longing to see the desire in his eyes. She knows it 's there. She can find it. try it in the way he kisses her. `` Please ... ''

He lowers her, affectionate and nude, to the bed. She feels his skin pressing against hers and tries to crowd nigh to the hard rut of him. His hands close around her wrist joint and she feels a silklike cording looping around them.

For a brief second, she panics. Sam tied her up when he was possessed. Was James Byron Dean driven by an unspeakable force ? She struggles slightly, biting her lip and trying not to cry out. She 's too proud to beg. Too scared to ask what 's going on.

His breathing space scorches her throat as he hovers over her. As if sensing her insecurity, voice husky, he says, `` I 'll stop if you want me to ... ''

The sincerity in his words - the tenderness and uncertainty - fillet her. It opens her philia and her trunk. Fills her with desire and want. Swallowing, she nods in answer.

Dean 's big work force map the breaking ball of Jo 's soundbox. They drag over her in tantalizing apoplexy ranging from barely there whispers to heavy handed groping. He grows drunk on the way his name escapes her parted lip as her trunk arches into his tinge. He 's damn sure going to withdraw his metre. Going to recall every moment. Going to have something to learn with him when he goes back on the road.

His mouth follows his helping hand. Gentle picture show of his spit. nybble not quite hard enough to forget scratch. osculation and suckling from her back talk to her tiny ankle joint. He torments her, making her delay until her pleas become breathy.

Sliding over her, a all right mist of sweat coating them both as they fight to hold back, he peels the blindfold away. He wants to see her middle when he enters her. Wants to find the connection he 's only ever had with her.

Tight and whiten hot, she consumes him. Her body covetously sucks him in, squeezing as he rocks into her. He steadies her articulatio coxae, wrapping her legs around his waist and driving deeper, causing them both to moan.

He does n't release her hands. He could n't plow the added sensory faculty of her soupcon. This is new. Different. And, as he watches the way she grips the adherence for leveraging, he knows he 's not the only one enjoying it.

Flexing his abs and changing the Angle again, his fingers dig into her pelvis. He scrapes his lightly stubbled jaw against hers and breathing place apprehension in both of their throats.

They tumble into the abyss together, their bodies jerking together in a tangled kettle of fish as James Byron Dean tugs Jo gratis to experience the dig of her nails on his shoulders as she rides out the waves of her orgasm.

snuggling her shoulder, he crumbles, `` Jo. God, Jo ... ''

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ Supernatural ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Dean jump awake to the feel of Jo 's indulgent mouth teasing across his depleted abdomen. He licks his sass at the delectable superstar she creates and moves to run his finger through her hair only to find out himself tethered to the headboard with the silk ties he 'd used on her earliest in the evening.

Her spit testing his nipple before circling his tattoo, she hovers over him. maleficence coloring her grinning and eyes sparkling, she asks, `` You want me to stop, Deano ? ``

And miss this moment ? Hell no. He shakes his head.

Delicate digit wrap around his shaft and she tugs gently, earning a moan. She pumps him slowly and deliberately before straddling his hips and sinking onto him.

He watches her drive him, the aristocratic tilt of her breasts mesmerizing in the pale moonlight streaming through the chamber window. He relishes seeing her takings control condition and letting her set the yard. It 's not often he gives in and gives himself over this way. It 's special. Different.

proclivity down, Jo snares doyen 's rima oris with her own. The change in slant - the added stimulation to the parcel of nerves nestled between her thigh - makes her shiver. `` James Dean ... '' she keens.

'' Mmm, '' he hums encouragingly. `` That 's it, baby, '' he tells her. `` Take what you need. ``

She whimpers, her hands on his shoulder as she quickens her pace. The pattern of her undulating rosehip is slightly quicksilver and he leans up to catch her mouth. The clench of her body around his makes him yank until he slips one of his articulatio radiocarpea free.

Shifting her beneath him, he makes her squall his name as he strokes mercilessly into her. Over and over. Hard and fast.

'' Dean ... Oh, God ... ''

They collapse together. affection pounding and breathing labored. For a alteration, he does n't act when she snuggles close. Instead, he draws her thigh across his and tucks the bed sheet around them both.

'' That was ... '' she starts.

He smirks, more than fulfil and wondering how long he can keep Jo from getting out of bed. `` Oh, yeah ... ''

Seven Minutes in Heaven may turn for the teenage set, but 60+ minutes in the Heaven of Jo Harvelle 's consistency ? That would never be enough..