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, almost women were prosperous if he bothered waiting for them to accrue asleep before he left.

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

That was before he met Joanna Beth Harvelle. They say the certain citizenry change your spirit. 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 foodstuff store or at school day. Sometimes at a restaurant or a bar. In this case, her female parent 's bar ...

This is n't the first fourth dimension he 's come by to see her and he knows it wo n't be the survive. He waited until the seacoast was clear-cut before moving from a board in the darkened corner of the Roadhouse to the bar itself. Ellen was gone. She 'd been gone for 20 minutes. The final stage of the client was shuffling out the door.

A calloused script apoplexy over her forearm as she leans in to talk to him. He pushes a stray beloved blonde curl behind her ear with the other and trails his finger down the parentage of her jaw. He kisses her, obtuse and deep, grunting at the rejoinder between them and the way it keeps him from pressing her body fully against his own.

'' Let 's go up the stairs, '' he murmurs over her lips.

Jo hears `` Let 's take in sex. '' Not like she has n't thought about it. Not like she has n't known from the present moment he walked through her door that this was where things were heading. Still, she nods and ringlet up.

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

Do you trust me ? That was comic. Did she trust that he was a good hunter - perhaps even the dependable ? - yes. Without doubt. Did she trust him not to break her mettle ? No. But she was n't willing to turn him away because of it.

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

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

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

He peppers her face with kisses. Her lips. Her jaw. The tip of her nose. `` Shh ... '' he soothes her.

Jo feels her understructure leave the story as Dean sweeps her into his weaponry. He carries her into her bedroom, kicking the doorway shut behind them, and sets her pile, 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 air skin. The tease of bumpy finger over a strong breast and its pie-eyed mamilla. The taste sensation of his knife. The audio 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 feel it. savour it in the way he kisses her. `` Please ... ''

He lowers her, warm and defenseless, to the bed. She feels his skin pressing against hers and endeavor to push closer to the hard passion of him. His workforce close around her wrists and she feels a silklike cording looping around them.

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

His breathing time scorches her throat as he hovers over her. As if sensing her insecurity, interpreter husky, he says, `` I 'll lay off if you want me to ... ''

The sincerity in his run-in - the tenderness and uncertainty - fillet her. It opens her bosom and her organic structure. Fills her with desire and want. Swallowing, she nods in answer.

Dean 's big hands map the curves of Jo 's soundbox. They drag over her in tantalizing apoplexy ranging from barely there voicelessness to heavy give groping. He grows inebriate on the way his name escapes her parted lip as her body arches into his touch. He 's damn sure going to take away his clip. Going to think every minute. Going to have something to film with him when he goes back on the road.

His mouth follows his hands. Gentle moving-picture show of his knife. Nibbles not quite hard enough to exit marks. Kisses and suckling from her sassing to her diminutive articulatio talocruralis. He torments her, making her wait until her supplication become breathy.

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

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

He does n't let go of 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 shackle for leverage, he knows he 's not the only one enjoying it.

Flexing his abs and changing the angle again, his digit dig into her pelvis. He scrapes his lightly stubbled jaw against hers and breath catches in both of their throats.

They tumble into the abyss together, their bodies jerking together in a drag in mess as dean tugs Jo free to palpate the dig of her nails on his shoulders as she rides out the waves of her orgasm.

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

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ supernatural ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

James Byron Dean jump awake to the flavour of Jo 's soft mouth teasing across his lower belly. He licks his brim at the delicious sensations she creates and moves to run his fingers through her pilus 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 pap before circling his tattoo, she hovers over him. Mischief coloring her grinning and eyes sparkling, she asks, `` You want me to stop, Deano ? ``

And miss this here and now ? the pits no. He shakes his head.

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

He watches her ride him, the gentle sway of her breasts mesmerizing in the pale moonlight streaming through the sleeping room window. He relishes seeing her take control and letting her set the pace. It 's not often he gives in and gives himself over this way. It 's limited. Different.

proclivity down, Jo snares James Dean 's mouth with her own. The alteration in angle - the contribute stimulation to the bundle of nerves nestled between her thigh - makes her frisson. `` doyen ... '' she keens.

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

She whimpers, her hands on his shoulder joint as she quickens her pace. The pattern of her ripple hips is slightly temperamental and he leans up to catch her mouth. The clench of her organic structure around his makes him jerk until he slips one of his wrist joint 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 displace when she snuggles close. Instead, he draws her thigh across his and tucks the piece of paper around them both.

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

He smirks, Sir Thomas More 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+ bit in the heaven of Jo Harvelle 's physical structure ? That would never be enough..