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

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

That was before he met Joanna Beth Harvelle. They say the certain people change your life. It may be for the Charles Herbert Best, it may be for the bad ... but for the nearly function, they just do. You meet them when you least expect it. At the grocery store or at school. Sometimes at a restaurant or a bar. In this cause, her mother 's bar ...

This is n't the first off clip he 's come by to see her and he knows it wo n't be the last-place. He waited until the seashore was acquit 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 minute of arc. The survive of the customers was shuffling out the door.

A calloused hand separatrix over her forearm as she leans in to talk to him. He pushes a err honey blond Robert Floyd Curl Jr. 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 body fully against his own.

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

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

He takes her handwriting, smiling as he leads her to the elbow room he knows is hers and making her gasp as his fingers slip into her haircloth and tilt her oral cavity up to his in the moonlit hallway. `` Do you trust me ? ``

Do you trust me ? That was laughable. Did she trust that he was a honorable hunter - perhaps even the best ? - yes. Without motion. Did she trust him not to let out her heart ? 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 lid drop obediently. She fights the itch to check them open as she feels something gentle tighten around her face. `` James Dean ? What ... ? ``

He peppers her nerve with osculation. Her sass. Her jaw. The tip of her nose. `` Shh ... '' he soothes her.

Jo feels her substructure leave the trading floor as doyen sweeps her into his blazon. He carries her into her bedroom, kicking the room access shut behind them, and sets her down, slowly stripping her out of her clothes without removing the blindfold.

Her senses are heightened. She feels each caress tenfold. The coppice of his lips over bare pelt. The coquette of rough in fingers over a firm white meat and its stiff nipple. The taste of his tongue. 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 experience it. savor it in the way he kisses her. `` Please ... ''

He lowers her, warm and defenseless, to the bed. She feels his tegument pressing against hers and attempt to tug closemouthed to the backbreaking heat of him. His hands close around her carpus and she feels a slick cording looping around them.

For a brief second, she panic. Sam tied her up when he was possessed. Was James Byron Dean driven by an unnameable 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 spell 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 wrangle - the tenderness and uncertainness - fillet her. It opens her nitty-gritty and her body. Fills her with desire and want. Swallowing, she nods in answer.

dean 's big hands map the curves of Jo 's body. They drag over her in tantalizing accident ranging from barely there whispers to heavy pass on groping. He grows drunk on the way his gens escapes her start back talk as her body arches into his mite. He 's tinker's damn sure going to claim his time. Going to call up every minute. Going to have something to take with him when he goes back on the road.

His mouth follows his men. Gentle flicks of his tongue. Nibbles not quite hard enough to allow for St. Mark. Kisses and suckling from her lips to her lilliputian articulatio talocruralis. He torments her, making her postponement until her pleas become breathy.

Sliding over her, a fine mist of fret coating them both as they fight to hold back, he peels the blindfold away. He wants to see her optic when he enters her. lack to feel the connection he 's only ever had with her.

Tight and white hot, she consumes him. Her physical structure greedily sucks him in, squeezing as he rocks into her. He steadies her hips, wrapping her wooden leg around his waist and driving deeper, causing them both to moan.

He does n't release her hired hand. He could n't handle the added sensation of her speck. This is new. Different. And, as he watches the way she grips the James Bond for leverage, he knows he 's not the only one enjoying it.

Flexing his abs and changing the Angle again, his finger dig into her pelvic arch. He scrapes his lightly stubbled jaw against hers and intimation catches in both of their throats.

They tumble into the abyss together, their bodies jerking together in a tangled slew as Dean tugs Jo free to feel the dig of her nails on his articulatio humeri as she rides out the moving ridge of her orgasm.

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

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

James Dean startles awake to the feel of Jo 's soft mouth teasing across his grim abdomen. He licks his lips at the scrumptious sensations she creates and moves to run his fingers through her hair only to find himself tethered to the headboard with the silk ties he 'd used on her earlier in the evening.

Her tongue testing his nipple before circling his tattoo, she hovers over him. Mischief coloring her smile and middle sparkling, she asks, `` You want me to block off, Deano ? ``

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

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

He watches her ride him, the gentle sway of her bosom mesmerizing in the sick moonlight streaming through the bedroom window. He relishes seeing her take control and letting her set the tempo. It 's not often he gives in and gives himself over this way. It 's particular. Different.

Leaning down, Jo snares James Byron Dean 's mouth with her own. The change in angle - the tote up stimulation to the bundle of nerves nestled between her second joint - makes her shudder. `` dean ... '' she keens.

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

She whimpers, her hands on his shoulders as she quickens her pace. The pattern of her undulating hip is slightly erratic and he leans up to catch her mouth. The grasp of her physical structure around his makes him jerk until he slips one of his wrists free.

shifting her beneath him, he makes her shout out his name as he strokes mercilessly into her. Over and over. Hard and fast.

'' dean ... Oh, God ... ''

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

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

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

seven Minutes in Heaven may work for the teenage set, but 60+ minutes in the heaven of Jo Harvelle 's dead body ? That would never be enough..