“How would you like me, Mr. Maxwell?”
His dick throbbed and strained against his zipper. And then something else happened in his pants. His motherfucking phone buzzed. Dean was struck by the impulse to pitch the thing into the ocean. He slipped it out of his pocked and tossed it in the same direction Fate’s dress had gone.
“Should you get that?” Judging from the impish expression on her face, she was teasing him.
“The next person or thing that interrupts us is getting thrown into the ocean.” He wasn’t kidding.
“Feels like the universe might be against us,” she said softly when his phone began buzzing incessantly on the couch where it had landed.
“Fuck the universe. Come.” Dean held out a hand, his heart speeding noticeably when she took it. He led her into his bedroom, where the balcony doors were still open. “This isn’t how it was supposed to go.”
“You had a plan, did you?”
“Maybe.” He sure as hell did. One he’d been formulating since she’d disappeared on him in June.
“Wanna tell me about it?”
“I’d rather show you.” Dropping to his knees at the foot of the bed, Dean pulled her to him and placed a wet, open mouthed kiss on her stomach.
“Dean,” she breathed as she ran her fingers through his hair. “You’re still in your suit.”
“I need to taste you. Need to make you come on my tongue. Can you do that for me, baby?”
Her body trembled against him.
“Y-yes. Yes, I can.”
He kissed her hipbone once more, roughly lashing his tongue against her skin. “Nothing else is going to get in our way this weekend, Fate. I am going to fuck you every way imaginable.