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I do, lying down with my head on his thigh, and Dean runs his fingers through my hair.
"Go to sleep," he whispers.
"Okay."
"Goodnight, Delia."
"G'night."
My eyes flutter closed, and even though I'm exhausted, it takes a while for me to drift off. Because I can't help thinking, even as I fall asleep, how much better this is than my bed at home. How much better Dean is than Brody.
I wake up sometime in the middle of the night, my body cold. I don't know where I am at first, and panic seizes me. I sit up, and my arm flops to the floor, waking up my brain.
"Shh, princess," Dean murmurs. "You're okay."
"I fell asleep," I mumble, and his fingers stroke the back of my neck.
"I'm aware."
I turn and see him sitting on the floor, leaning against the couch. "What are you doing?"
"Making sure you were comfortable. Don't worry about me."
Consciousness bleeds in slowly, and now I'm all too aware of how close his face is to mine like this. So close I could bump my nose against his if I wanted. I wonder what he'd do.
"I'm not worried," I say.
"You're awake now, right? We should get to bed." He tucks a lock of hair behind my ear. “There are still a few hours before dawn.”
He's not wrong, but I don't want to let go of this moment. Whatever is between us, it feels so fragile, and I don't want to shatter it.
"I don't want to go."
"Neither do I."
Dean's voice is low and rumbly, and it does things to my body that make my nipples pebble under my shirt. "Dean..."
He groans, then moves until our noses touch. “You’re going to have to stop saying my name or you’re going to drive me insane.”
"Maybe," I whisper. "But it feels so good, doesn’t it?”
Dean growls, his hand sliding under my chin and holding my head in place as he leans closer. "Be very, very sure this is the path you want to walk down, princess.”
"I'm sure."
He kisses me, and the world turns inside out.
His tongue slides across the seam of my lips, and I open for him, letting him devour me. Our tongues meet, and Dean's fingers tighten on my chin, tilting my head to the angle he wants it at.
He's demanding and aggressive. Every time his teeth graze my lip or his tongue tangles with mine, a little whimper escapes me. It's so fucking good.
"Fuck," he groans, pulling back. "Fuck."
"Why did you stop?" I ask, breathless.
"Because I'm not a saint. Because I want to carry you into my bedroom and bury myself inside you, and that is not a good idea. Not tonight."
"It sounds like a good idea to me,” I say the words before I can stop myself, and I’m shocked at my own audacity. Holy shit, Delia! You’re still a virgin, remember?
