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From Delaware With Love

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“Sweet smiles. Nothing but trouble.”

Dean mumbled, ankle deep in water in a rather large run off pipe. Someone had thought it a good idea to cut this pipe lengthwise and level with the ground. His boots filled with water. The chilly, dark October night was only going to make this experience more unpleasant for Dean. 

He’d slipped into the drainage system seconds prior, missing his foothold. But had managed to remain upright. His arms had flailed about to keep balance. The flashlight, held tight in his hand, scattered its white beam about as if Dean was in a nightclub; instead of preparing to hop a fence into a graveyard.

“Shit.” The sheathed machete dangled and rocked back and forth from one of his belt loops. His heart raced at the adrenaline surge of the miraculous feat of his feet and the soggy state of his socks. The bottom fabric of his jeans darkened and soaked up liquid of a questionable nature.

He huffed, made sure his foot placement was on solid ground, then hiked out the water pipe. The eight foot high chain link fence met him on the other side. The top appeared safe enough. No barb wire. The climb though. He sighed.

“Should have brought some wire cutters.” He grumbled, testing the bottom of the fence to try and pry some of the fence back to shimmie under. “Shit.” An owl hooted somewhere off in the not too far distance. Fallen leaves crunched under and stuck to his wet soles.

His plan of attack was getting worked out when his phone vibrated in his pocket. Can’t let it go to voicemail again. I won’t get a sexy greeting when I get home. Dean clicked the accept button. “Hey, Jules. What’s up?”

“Hey, I’ve been calling you. Everything okay?”

“Yeah. You called?” He weighed his options at playing dumb.

A pause. “Yeah, Dean. Like three times. Where are you?”

“Sorry, sweetheart. I’m looking into that thing your mom mentioned to me this afternoon.”

“What thing?”

“She didn’t tell you?”

“Nooo.” Julie dragged out the one syllable. Dean wasn’t sure who was going to get read the riot act worse, him or Brigida.

“Well, maybe I shouldn’t tell you then.”

“Dean…” She sighed.

He cased the surrounding park area with his eyes, turning a full three sixty. The last thing he needed was for something supernatural to sneak up on him while he was being sidetracked by his lady. Not the way Dean Winchester goes out. He gripped the fence with one hand and gave her his best low rumble, leaning into the chainlink. “You gonna say my name like that when I have you under me tonight?”

She sighed again. “Not if you don’t tell me what’s going on. And, it’s already eight o’clock. What could you possibly be looking into this late for mom?”

A story he’d worked out after the second missed call poured from his mouth. Not a lot of details. Vague. Just enough. The Winchester Way. “Got a call into the night nurse manager at that assisted living home. I’m on my way there now to ask a couple questions. Using one of my bounty hunter covers.” Not a full out lie.

“Oh my God. She roped you into investigating that stuff Gloria told her about today?”

“It’s fine, baby. Really. I should only be another hour. Two at the most. Wait up for me?” That slight hint of a beg would get her to cave. He was sure of it.

Julie groaned. “I’ve got an early meeting tomorrow.”

Dean whined, soft.

Another pause. “Use your key. Wake me up when you get in.”

He grinned. “Sweetheart, if you don’t wake up when I get in , I’m not doin’ it right.”

She laughed at his cheesiness. He focused on that sound, used it to counter the impending dread of the current situation. “Just take some of the nonsense my mother hears from her friends with a grain, no, a ton of salt next time.” Julie added. “You don’t always have to swoop in and save the day, okay?”

“Okay.”

“And, come home!” She ordered.

He chuckled. “Yes, ma’am.”

*

Turned out none of that had been nonsense. Brigida had seen Dean that Wednesday right around one o’clock. She’d come back after visiting her friend Gloria and decided to drop off a tray of baked ziti at his front door. The pasta should have been his clue. Unassuming little witch with her gluten spells.

Rattling on about the visit with Gloria, she made herself at home in Dean’s kitchen. The huge serving of sauce and cheese and carbs placed in front of him was enough for three people. Brigida sprinkled in the conversation over Dean’s feast along with her freshly grated parmesan cheese. Gloria lived in Golden Rays Assisted Living Senior Center. The poor woman had been all upset that afternoon, couldn’t enjoy her visit or lunch. That made Brigida upset by association.

The day before, Gloria had heard a pair of family members of an elderly resident that had recently passed. Gloria listened in on every word all the way from her favorite spot in the commons area. Which, Brigida added, was amazing since Gloria was deaf in one ear. The family was screaming in the hallway at someone in charge, threatening to sue. An insistence continued as they were escorted out. Something foul had been done to their father’s body before it could be removed from the premises. 

Dean had sounded deeply apologetic about the situation in between mouthfuls of food. Nodding and chewing. Damn, I would have been such a chubster if Brigida had been my mom. He stopped chewing when Brigida mentioned what Gloria had heard from another resident. The gossip was someone had chewed on the dead body and sliced some flesh from the thigh.

“But, that wasn’t the only time it’s happened, Dean-ah.” Brigida shook her head. “Gloria says some nurses were going on about weird stuff with a body a month ago. The woman had died in her sleep and they didn’t get around to check on her until the morning.” She waved both hands around in shock and disbelief high over her short, stubby frame. “What kind of place let’s someone stay dead in their bed the whole night-ah? I mean, we’d do the vigils in the houses for the dead when I was in Italy as a child.” She made the sign of the cross. “But, those people were dead in their beds on purpose. These nurses are getting paid to do a job and are too busy on their phones. These damn phones.”

Dean tried to steer her away from the technology rant. A common theme in her conversations. He swallowed down some pasta. “What weird stuff, Brigida?”

“Hm?”

“What happened to the other body?”

“Oh. The same thing. The thigh had been cut. Butchered up. Like someone was slicing up a steak for later.” She shivered, another sign of the cross and some mumblings in Italian. That’s when Brigida pulled out that sweet little smile of hers with puppy dog eyes that could give Sam a run for his money. “Do you think you could ask around? You know people, right? All that bounty ‘unting stuff Giulia says you do. You must know people.”

He’d headed to Golden Rays right after lunch. The plan was to go in as a son looking for some long term care options for a sick mother. Along the way he’d scope out the place, talk to some of the residents. That would put Brigida at ease.

These kinds of places were always sad and depressing. The Facility Director, chirping on about the positive aspects of around the clock care, seemed oblivious to the actual environment she was highlighting to Dean. Random wheelchaired residents parked by windows or in corners stared off at nothing. Walkers were used as weapons by the more mobile elders. They’d goad the nurses with the tennis ball covered legs and refused medications. Loud fits of nonsensical outbursts or arguments over a game of checkers could be heard in the commons area over the DIY channel on the television.

“Would it be alright to talk to some of your residents? You know, just to get the real skinny on this place?” Dean asked, flashing the fifty-something woman escorting him around his million dollar smile. “Not that you’d ever tell me a lie, Tameca. But you know… only the best for my mom.” 

She tugged and righted her wrinkled pencil skirt. “Well, I can give you a few minutes.” She smiled back and fussed with her hair. “How about I go and get you a packet of information to take home with you?” He nodded. She tapped his forearm. “I’ll be right back.”

Dean sighed, gazing at a nurse on the other end of the room with a couple residents. Nothing had his radar up. His nose twitched at the antiseptic cleaner in the air being used to hide a lingering scent of urine. 

“You’re Dean!” The exclamation forced Dean’s head to spin. A woman with a jet black head of hair, coiffed like a football helmet, sat on one of the couches, an arthritic finger crooked in his general direction.

Dean’s eyebrows shot up. “I am. And, who might you be?” He raised his voice, knowing it was better to assume everyone had a hearing issue in this place.

She gave him a knowing nod and tapped the cane on the carpet in front of her feet. “Gloria.”

“Ah. THE Gloria? Friend of Brigida?” He smiled and pointed to the empty seat next to her. “Alright if I join you?”

“I never turn down the company of a handsome fella.” She grinned.

Dean eased into the couch. “Did Brigida tell you I might be coming by?”

“No. But she’s talked about you every week for the past three months when she comes by for lunch. ‘Dean this. Dean that. Dean’s such a good boyfriend to my daughter.’” Gloria leaned in. “She shows everyone here pictures of you on her phone.”

“Really?” That was a little concerning. “Pictures?” When the hell did she take a picture of me?

Gloria waved his look away. “She’s happy is all. And, wants to brag a little. Don’t be too hard on her. Giulia means the world to her. From what I’ve heard, you make her pretty happy.” Her wrinkles smoothed as she turned serious. “Are you here about what I told Brigida? She said she’d mention it to you. I heard about how you rescued Giulia.” She whispered and fussed with something in her ear.

Ah, one of those ‘I’ll only use my hearing aid when I want to types’. “Yes.” Dean matched her tone. “Did she tell everyone here about that, too?”

“No. Italians only like to hang our clean laundry out for everyone to stare at. Not the dirty stuff.”

Dean chuckled. “Is there anything else you can tell me, about what’s been going on?”

“Well,” she scooted a little closer next to him on the couch and grabbed his knee, “Heard something kind of scary about Night Nurse Nancy.”

Sounds like a character in a porn. “Okay.”

“Freddie… well, he almost checked out the other night. I just got an earful from him. He told me that he was having trouble breathing… real bad sleep apnea.” She pointed to a man who looked to be about a hundred sleeping in a wheelchair.

Dean pointed, brows raised in confusion. “You got an earful out of that man?”

She nodded. “I’m the only one he talks to around here. Everyone thinks he’s a nut job. Anyway, he told me he woke up the other night and thought he was dreaming, when he saw Nancy standing over his bed. She took the damn CPAP machine off his face and just watched him. For minutes. And, then…”

Dean frowned. “Yeah?”

“She licked his face. Said he was going to taste yummy.”

Still sounds like a character in a porn.

Gloria continued. “But, Nancy’s been acting a bit strange over the past couple months.”

“Well, face licking is definitely a contender for strange behavior.”

“Depends on the situation, young man.” Gloria flirted with a wrinkle-laden grin.

Dean cleared his throat.

The old woman didn’t skip a beat in the conversation. “She’s been missing work a lot. Used to be like clockwork. Real dependable.” Gloria sighed. “And, she used to smell so nice. Like begonias. Now, when she comes into my room to help me get ready for bed,” her nose wrinkled up, “she smells like a sewer.”

Pieces slotted into place in Dean’s head. “Would you happen to know Night Nurse Nancy’s last name and when she comes into work?” 

Gloria did know Nancy’s last name. It was Kissle and she usually started her shift at six o’clock. Dean said his goodbyes. Gloria teased he should come by one day with Brigida for lunch. The macaroni and cheese they served on Wednesdays wasn’t half bad. Even Brigida ate it. Tameca, the Facility Director, cornered him with a Golden Rays folder before he could duck out and insisted she get his phone number. He obliged, giving her his other, other cell phone contact.

Dean drove Baby to the nearest coffee shop, lugged his business laptop in with him, logged onto the Free WiFi, and did his best Sam impression for a good half hour. Sipping on some black coffee, he used his hunting know-how and skip tracking tools and resources to find out as much as he could about Nancy Kissle. He and Julie exchanged some lively and sexy text messages in between his research. He told her he was out on a quick job, but should be able to swing by her house later. If not for dinner, then most definitely dessert (winky face emoji, tongue licking face emoji).

The information hadn’t been too hard to dig up. Nancy was a little over fifty. Single. Never married. Lived about five miles from the facility. There was no harm in swinging by her place of residence. Maybe he could ask her a few questions. Or do some snooping. He had a hunch, but he needed to be sure. It was almost five. Maybe he’d get lucky. But, his stomach grumbled, so he grabbed a sandwich to eat in the car before he left.

The five story apartment complex looked like any other. Unassuming, boxy and boring, with a worn green covered awning leading to the entrance doors. A horseshoe shaped parking lot wrapped around the building. Dean drove around the lot, slow and determined, until his eyes landed on the license plate attached to Nancy Kissle’s motor vehicle registration. Still here. He parked far away from the puke green compact hatchback belonging to the nurse. He frowned at the similarity in shape and size the suspect’s car had to Julie’s.

Deciding his usual attire would not be too out of the ordinary for anyone to remember if things went south, he slid a hammer into the large interior pocket of his army jacket. Dean was flying by the seat of his pants again. And, he kind of enjoyed it. Baby’s door clicked closed upon his exit.

Enjoyment versus duty. That was the crux of his last therapy session with Tricia that very morning, hours before Brigida arrived. Tricia was a seventy year old therapist who also had thirty years of hunting under her now hung up belt.

Dean pulled his phone out and paced outside the locked doors of the apartment building. He pretended to have a conversation with someone, glancing in the glass doors, until a man appeared in a hurry on his way out. He chatted away into the phone and slid through the space of the open doorway the resident had left in their wake.

The tiny entryway had a wall of lockers that served as mailboxes on one side. The room smelled like dirty gym socks.

Charming. Nothing like Tricia’s place, that’s for sure. Tricia had a condo in Denver, Colorado. Dean got a little tour of her swanky abode in their first telehealth session two months ago. He’d needed proof of her credentials. The diplomas on her wall made no difference. He wanted to see her hunter’s stash, her old tools of the trade. A pull of a safe door, hidden behind an expensive looking painting that pried back from the wall on a hinge, let him peek via video chat at the guns, knives, spell books, and ingredients used to make tinctures and antidotes. There were even a few vampire teeth and werewolf claws in a mason jar. They tinkled against the glass when she shook it. The only things Tricia hunted now were elk. An eight point trophy hung above the wall behind her in the office.

Dean noted the permits and approvals hanging over his head in the apartment building alcove. He also did a sweep for cameras. One pointed at the entrance door. But, lucky him, there was no sign of another one. Especially one pointing in the direction of what he’d been looking for since he stepped inside. Assuring no one was heading in or out, he sprinted to the far corner and pulled the fire alarm. A pitiful dinging emerged from the ancient system. Seconds later, the other alarms in the building triggered and echoed back, louder and with purpose. His eyes darted up the stairwell and then the elevator. Let’s hope Nancy is responsible and follows guidelines in an emergency. Dean started up the steps, slow, feeling that surge of enjoyment pulse through him. 

Enjoyment versus duty. He had lists to put together for his next therapy session. Forty three fucking years old and I gotta do homework. Things he did for enjoyment. Things he did because he had to. See if any connected, overlapped. Dean already told her he’d enjoyed hunting. Needed it like breathing. Had grown into embracing the duty and found a carnal pleasure in the hunt at a young age. Tricia already knew the whispered, hero tales of the fabled Winchesters. In fact, having Dean Winchester as a client was like hitting the jackpot. She might write a dissertation about him if he ever gave her permission. Dean wasn’t sure if he should take that as a compliment or a threat.

The question, Tricia posed, was if he could consider himself a good person, not broken, outside the realm of normalcy, because he found enjoyment in the duties of a hunter. There were many things people enjoyed centuries, even only decades past, that had been considered evil, abnormal. If enlightenment and acceptance was possible on a societal level by a large majority, Dean should be able to give himself the same hall pass.

Residents passed him down the apartment building stairwell. Some in a hurry, others grumbling at the disruption. “Wrong way, buddy.” A smart ass, about Dean’s age, tossed the comment out at him.

“Making sure my girlfriend isn’t home, thanks.” Dean mumbled. As he rounded the corner and glanced up, he identified Nancy from her drivers license picture, exiting the door marked “3rd.” Dean slowed as the ample bosomed woman he’d been looking for passed his figure. The stench Gloria mentioned wafted into his nose. Not a sewer. But how would Gloria know that smell or have anything else but a sewer to compare it to? Only someone who’s spent time six feet under would know that smell. All those endless hours racked up, thousands of them probably, surrounded by dirt and rotting corpses. That’s the smell of a graveyard.

Nancy continued down the stairs, not even giving Dean a second glance. A peek down the zig zags, making sure that if he couldn’t see her, she couldn’t see him, gave him the confidence to head through the door into the third floor hallway. A sweeping survey of the hall confirmed he was alone. The order of the numbered apartment doors guided his direction. His steps hurried to the right and followed the bend that turned left. Boots halted at the threshold of 3E. A floor mat covered in cartoon cats chasing balls of yarn welcomed him.

Poor Nancy. He knocked. Waited. Knocked again. Dean deemed the area around him clear with a tilt of his head left, then right, and a tuning of his ears to the sounds of nothing in the hall. He pulled the picks out of his pocket. Fiddling with the pins in the lock, hunched over, for longer than anticipated made his back uncomfortable. An inner debate of a kick down was admonished once the click of success bolted him upright to twist the doorknob.

A meow from a long haired white cat greeted him when he stepped in the doorway. It snaked and rubbed around one of his shins, purring, transferring its fur onto Dean’s jeans. Another orange tabby was not as friendly, frozen in place near the love seat in the living room. Dean took another step inside and the orange cat fled the scene. The white feline bolted after it in what looked like a playful chase. The earthy scent hit him, like compost on steroids.

Dean readied himself with the hammer in hand and canvassed the small apartment. The cat food and water bowls were filled in the living room. He passed by the bathroom. There were self care products on the vanity, all arranged nice and neat. The litter box in a nook in the hallway was clean. What the hell? Maybe it’s not…

A turn of a corner had him in the kitchen. The chest freezer in the spot where a table would normally sit halted his steps. Locked. He aimed and swung the hammer on the tiny combination lock twice. It broke into pieces and scattered on the floor. The contents of the freezer made Dean cringe. “Son of a bitch.” He mumbled. “Poor Nancy.”

Nancy still wore the tattered remains of her bloody nurse uniform. She’d been folded and wedged into the freezer like a trash compactor had given up halfway through. An even more macabre version of a contortionist trick. The ghoul hadn’t even bothered to close the eyes of its victim. Not that Dean had expected something close to mercy from anything supernatural. Her eyeballs were covered in a layer of frost and cloudy. The cat pattern of her scrubs bloody in patches where the monster had been snacking.

He closed the lid, then opened the fridge door. Clear glass storage containers, all from a matching set with pink plastic lids, were filled with, at first glance, cuts of meat, pork. “The fucker’s moved in. And, it likes cats. And, not just as a side dish.”

Keeping Nancy on ice to use her form. Nice and comfy living her life after a couple months. Must have bought the freezer right after she died. A blaring firetruck and sounds of activity from the open kitchen window had him peek down to the parking lot. Shit. Her car’s gone. His watch read that it was almost six. It must have gone to work. Gotta get another lead on this thing and its habits. Routines. Can’t wait here for when it gets back and can’t off it at the nursing home.

A pile of envelopes, bills and paperwork piled up on the kitchen counter got his attention. His fingers waded through, looking for anything out of the ordinary. “Hm. All Saints Cathedral Cemetery.” He studied the invoice. “A mausoleum crypt? Buying a vacation home, too?” He snapped a picture of the invoice to grab the address and crypt location. “Well, I know where I’m going next.”

*  

Now, after tossing the machete over first as a precaution, Dean climbed over the chain link fence, grumbling and cursing. He might be really close to wrapping up this issue. And, dammit, he wanted to get home to Julie. Warm in her bed, waiting for him. Safe.

It took another twenty minutes to search the grounds of the cemetery. Dean tracked down the ten by ten crypt that Nurse Nancy had put a down payment on. The elaborate, gothic stone work and the crumbling mortar of the exterior proved this wasn’t new construction. What the hell? Can you lease these things?

The makeshift crowbar, an iron post loosened from a fence five minutes prior, wedged into the gap between the crypt gate and the jamb broke the seal with little effort. Dean recalled the brother and sister ghoul duo that had killed his half-brother Adam. Need to make sure this is a swinging singles pad and not a home for the fucking Brady Bunch.

The post clanged to the concrete. “Lucy! I’m home!” Dean belted out in his best Desi impression. The machete eased out of the sheath. The swish of the blade swirling in his rotating wrist. It finally settled in position by his thigh. The flashlight focused on the corners of the stone structure, the walls, the ceiling, the ground.

Nothing here. Not yet.

A gust of wind shot past Dean, into the crypt. At least, he’d thought it was the wind for a second. Then Nancy, a crazed look in her eye, out of breath, hair wild, appeared before him in the center of the floor. And smiled.

Her palm connected to his sternum in a classic Bruce Lee move. The force threw Dean backwards out of the crypt onto squishy sod, and thankfully not a tombstone, about ten feet away. He landed arms flailed and outstretched - on purpose to avoid slicing off any important bits with the machete. “Ooof!” Dean groaned. “That’s gonna hurt in the morning.” His flashlight now lost, he rose trying to focus in the dark. The ghoul’s shadow strolled over. “Strong, silent type, huh?” Dean shrugged and wheezed. “Can’t shut me up to save my life.” He gripped the machete like a baseball bat. “I gotta know, though.” He gasped. “What’s up with the cats?” His insides vibrated from the manhandling.

Nancy stopped, a couple feet in front of his figure. Her head tilted.

“I mean is the crazy cat lady thing just a bit? You have a partner in crime helping you out with all this?”

“What? Never been killed by a strong, independent ghoul before?” She finally spoke. Her voice shrill. Cackling.

Dean smiled. “All I needed to hear.” He swung.

And didn’t miss.

*  

When he got back to his car, Dean called Detective Marty Tullman and explained the whole mess.

“Damn, Winchester. Again? If I weren’t as good a cop as I am and seen the things I’d seen, I’d think you were some serial killer baitin’ me along.” Marty sounded tired over the line.

“Saved your life, remember?” Dean reminded.

“Yeah, yeah. So, what I gotta clean up?”

“I tried to clean up my prints back in the apartment. But, in case any get lifted…”

He sighed, “Yeah, yeah.”

“And, the twinsie ghoul is in the crypt for safekeeping. Just so you see it for yourself.” He snapped his finger. “Get those cats some nice homes, Detective.” 

*

The powerful jets of his bathroom shower sprayed hot water with an intense focus on all his aching muscles. He leaned into the heat and wet for a good ten minutes, stretching and grunting, trying to squash the adrenaline surge along with the impending soreness. A helping of pain meds and a beer were taken for good measure. The comfy sweats, his blue Henley, and slippers would be enough for the quick trek to his final destination. He slipped house keys and the phone into a pocket after locking up. Debated, then rounded the front of his house to cut through the neighbor’s backyard. No more fence climbing tonight.

Dean halted at the end of Wes and Samuel’s driveway, spotting the red embers of a cigarette near the back porch, before their motion sensor spotlighted him.

“Hello, Dean.” Samuel crooned his way. A camel colored cardigan hung loose from his shoulders and hunched frame, leaning elbows on bent knees. A puff of the cigarette had it blazing red again.

“Sorry, Samuel. Alright if I head through?”

“Of course. You don’t have to ask. Neighbors and all.” He grinned in the golden glow. “You should probably install a gate between your backyard and Julie’s, though. For convenience.” A tip of the head toward Julie’s house followed, along with a wink.

Dean smiled. “Good idea. I’ll run the idea by her. Have a good night.”

As he walked away, Dean heard Samuel mumble, “Not as good a night as you’ll be having, I’m sure.”

Dean crept through Julie’s house, avoiding as many of the creaks in the floor as possible. It was a thoughtful gesture on his part but totally unnecessary. He’d learned over the past couple months how sound of a sleeper his lady was. Out like a light when she didn’t have much to fuss or worry about. Out even faster after a horizontal, or on occasion vertical, sexy romp with him. She mumbled one night, in his arms as she drifted, that she hadn’t slept so well in years. A sense of pride and accomplishment filled him, hearing that.

He slid through the doorway into her bedroom. His eyes caught her luscious frame tangled in a mess of comforter and sheets in the middle of the bed. Such a bed hog. He touched the small lamp on the nightstand to get a better view. His and her house key, and silenced phone, landed on the dresser.

The adrenaline flooded through him again. He wet his lips and strolled to the foot of the bed. Took his time. Drank her in. Ready for me. Her bare shoulders peeking out from the covers indicated she’d gone to bed with not much on, anticipating his return. Her little moans, her version of snoring, increased an octave with each inhale. He waited for it to reach that plateau, crest, and die down again, quiet and calm. He’d gotten used to that little detail, stayed up close to an hour one night to memorize her breathing pattern. It helped his not as restful sleeping habits adjust to hers.

Dean pulled at the comforter with a tight grip. It snagged with the dead weight. The insistence and tugging caused her to moan in her sleep. Dean’s commando cock twitched. She rolled over onto her back, freed the comforter. Feeling like he hit the jackpot, Dean realized he had hooked the sheet as well. Julie rolled to her other side and sighed.

Oh, yes. Sooo ready for me. He peeled the sheet back and away. Saw the slope and crook of her arms hiding those breasts he needed to get his mouth on. The dip of her spine and the curve of her ass and those plump cheeks he wanted to slap. Thighs he wanted wrapped around his ears, blocking out any noise so all he could hear was his mouth sucking and working her pussy into a puddle. The tight cords on the back of her knees he ached to feel clench over his shoulders.

Dean removed his shirt and sweatpants. His cock was now at full attention and already dripping with precum. “Jules.” He whispered, the comforter and sheets now a small hill at the bottom of the mattress. He had to climb over, careful and slow. He slipped onto his tummy and army-crawled toward her. 

His hard cock slid and pushed into the mattress. He groaned. She stirred. Another sigh and she rolled fast, flopped onto her back, slapping his cheek with curled fingers and the back of her hand. Dean cursed. Julie snored.

He felt his eyes widen. Her breasts rose with each deep breath. He tilted his head away from her offending arm and slithered over to her chest. He whispered. “You better not slap me again, Jules. Not in the mood.” She moaned, in her dream world, back at him. “Shit. Maybe I am.”

Dean’s jaw tightened. His chin hovered inches above her ribcage. The shadow of his profile covered the rise of her soft tummy. The hunger rose with the travel of his gaze over the solid, protruding hip bones. He loved to gnaw on them before getting down to business between her legs. She was a feast for sore eyes.

There’d still been so much he wanted to explore with this woman. He had to keep reminding himself to believe he had time with her. The safe part, that’s most important right now. Thoughts and visions of tying her up had gotten him hard beyond comprehension. Hell, he even toyed with the offering of Jules wrapping silk cords around his wrists. Pink ones. He’d talked him through how bad of an idea all of that was in front of the bathroom mirror weeks back. There was the potential flashback and trigger of Jules’ kidnapping by the Jinn. None of it would be a wise venture. He couldn’t ask her, even in jest, if she’d be up for that kind of kink. At least not now.

So, the weeks together had been playful, light, and he let her guide him. Watched with surprise and awe when she expressed her cute little dominant side. Especially when his mouth went where it wanted to right now. Or, that time she was down on her knees, giving him the privilege of her mouth on his cock, and decided to slap his ass right as he got close to coming.

As much as he ached to wake her with his tongue or cock deep inside, it was not a good idea.

“Julie?” He whispered, louder.

Nothing.

“Julie?” He nudged into her side with his chin. “Wake up, sweetheart.”

An angry little moan escaped. Grumpy.

He sighed, then spoke louder, with more force. “Okay. I guess I’ll just get dressed and head back home.” He leaned on his side, propped up on an elbow, ready to rock off the mattress, watching for any reaction from her.

That dangerous arm curled around his chest, hooking into his side. “Dean?” she asked, stirring from sleep, eyes still closed.

“Who else would be naked in your bed?” He teased and relaxed into the softness of her body. Her tummy was the perfect pillow for the side of his face. His neck and shoulder wedged against her waist. A nuzzle made her sigh, knowing she appreciated that he took a razor to his scruff after the shower earlier.

He studied her face from his vantage, past her breastbone, caught the lips turning into a smile. “Depends on the night. Have to check my schedule.” She mumbled. “What time is it?”

Dean swiveled his head to read the alarm clock. “After ten.”

“Deeaann.” She grumbled. “Why so late?”

“Shhh…” He dialed down her grumpiness with a handful of breast and the soft rolling of her right nipple between his thumb and forefinger. “You gonna yell at me or let me take care of you?”

A pleasant moan erupted. “Can’t we do both?” She whispered.

He chuckled. “Bossy.”

“Baby.” She countered.

“Oh, it’s gonna be like that?” Dean bolted up, rocked back on his knees, bare ass against his heels. Julie’s eyes bolted open as well. He loved that look of amazement and lust he could conjure. He grabbed her by a knee with both hands, lifted the leg up in the air and swung it around him, scissoring her open like a living doll. Just as quick, he leaned down kissing her tummy. His forearms tunneled under her back between the mattress, lifting and placing her in a more comfortable position now that he’d bent her into an odd angle. Her head flopped by the side of the bed.

She giggled as he cradled the back of her head with one hand and shoved two pillows under her ponytail. “So thoughtful.” She teased.

“I try, sweetheart.”

Julie’s smile softened. Her cool fingers gripped his jaw. “I know.” She lifted off the pillows and seized his lips in a kiss. “Hm.” The sound vibrated in his mouth. Continued to pulse through his skin when she released. “I missed you.”

He grinned. “You just had me last night.”

She shrugged. “And?”

He sat back up between her legs. His knees splayed under her thighs. All of her opening to him. His thumb slipped through the fold, light and teasing. She groaned. He was still sore as hell but he was going to spend at least an hour on her body. “How do you want me tonight? Cause I have all sorts of ideas.”

She bit her bottom lip before speaking, squirming under his touch. “I had a surprise for you. That was why I wanted you to come home early.”

His eyes dipped down to inspect the wetness coating the two fingers he had swiped past the dark curls and through the pink folds. He licked his lips and gazed back up at her face.

“Dean. Shit. I guess it can wait until the weekend.”

“Seriously? You’re going to hit me with ‘had a surprise for you’ and make me wait?” He lowered his voice on purpose. “Come on, baby. What was the surprise?” He searched for her wet hole, found it, and snuck in with a fingertip.

“You made me wait.” She shot back. Dean smirked at how hard she was trying to stay focused and angry. “God, why do you have to be so goddamn infuriating, adorable, and fuckable all at the same time?” She huffed and stared him down with a shaky, crumbling glare.

“Gift.” He strummed her clit with his thumb, found that spot that tapped her like the second hand of a clock. Slight tremors shook through her skin and hitched breath. His mouth betrayed him, confessing, “Damn, I love how your body responds to me. Wanna be inside. Feel you all around me.” He tested her with a soft order. “Grab a condom. You’re closer. And, I don’t want to stop… this.” He thrummed her hard now.

She hummed, thinking. Her chest arched up. “So, maybe then I should give you your surprise?”

“Jules.” He groaned. “Come on, baby. One way or another, we’ve got to shift this into the next gear. Quick.”

“I went on the pill a few weeks ago.” She moaned out.

Dean stilled his movements. “Huh?”

Her panting continued. He watched her try to come down from the arousal. “Went to the doctor and got some birth control.” Her mouth danced around the explanation. “Steve had gotten snipped years ago. I thought… if you wanted… if this was going somewhere… we might want…” She shrugged. “Be closer.”

Dean’s lips parted, listening to her. His hands left the warmth and wet of her. He leaned down, let his hands cage her at the waist. 

“I had to get tested, just to make sure, right after I found out what the asshole did.” She continued. “So, I know I’m fine.” Her eyebrows raised in hope.

Dean smiled.

“If you aren’t sure, we can wait until you get tested. I mean, with all your past man whoring.” She smiled back.

“Man whoring?” He chuckled.

“No one is this good without lots of experience.”

His eyebrows rose. “You’re pretty damn good. Does that mean…?”

She tilted her head and pursed her lips.

He sighed. “Want to know one of the scariest things I ever did?”

The curiosity won and she nodded.

“Getting tested for every damn STD two years ago. When I moved to Delaware… after…” There were still the secrets he had to navigate through. He’d only told her more about his mom and dad and his nomad existence with Sam over the past month. But, nothing about the supernatural and the Winchester saga. He sighed, hating the need to audit the details. “I figured if I was going to clean slate it, I might as well know if I had anything else to worry about. I mean, I’d had the occasional… annoyances over the years… with all my man whoring as you so nicely put it.”

She giggled, her hands gliding up his arms, muscles bulging, locked straight on either side of her waist now. “And?”

“By some miracle, all good.” He begrudgingly gave Chuck credit for that.

She nodded, the smile growing. “And no one but me since you got tested?”

“Nope. No other pussy has passed these lips or been introduced to my cock.”

She slapped his biceps. “Nice.” Her lids narrowed. “What about ass?”

He laughed. “Nope. No other orifices.” He added as her mouth opened to question again. “Female or male.”

“Oh. Do I get to hear some fun tales?” She wiggled her eyebrows.

“Let’s see how this goes first?” Dean asked.

Julie nodded, let the words breathe out husky and deep. “Yes. Please.” She removed one of the pillows under her head and got comfy. “Andiamo, Bello.”

Dean gulped, buckled at the elbows and lay prone on top. Staring into her eyes, cushioning into the soft curves and feeling the hard ridges. “Not fair, Jules. You know what you do to me when you start talking Italian.”

Her hands roamed over his shoulders. “You feel so good already, Dean.” She kissed his lips soft and tender. “I’ve been wanting to really feel you since that first night together.”

His hardening cock settled into the warmth, sliding and teasing into the folds with a subtle rocking of hips. “You’re sure?” He asked. “You let me inside like this, I may never come out.” She giggled into her moan. Their lips, wet with the mingling and his licking, slipped over each other. Need. Want. All of her body heating up under his. So close. The thought of being even closer to this woman stilled him for a moment, froze him in the kiss. Should I? Without her knowing all of it?

He knew she felt whatever that was that happened in him. She pulled back. Threaded fingers through his hair and stared into his eyes. Deep. Hard. “Honest? In this moment?” She asked, smiling.

He nodded, those words heard from her often over the past weeks, requesting a glimpse into his thoughts.

“No plans on hurting me?”

“Of course not, sweetheart.” He whispered. “Right through to my bones. All I wanna do is make you happy.” He shrugged. “And, not piss you off too much in the attempt.”

She squirmed and circled her hips under him. “Pissing me off is half the fun, though, isn’t it?”

He grinned. “Maybe.” Her motions ignited him again. “God, you’re really gonna let me, huh?” He licked his lips and then hers. “It’s been so long since I’ve done that. Hot stuff isn’t gonna last long.”

“Then enjoy every second.” She mumbled, slid over to nibble on his ear and whispered. “I wanna watch.”

Dean groaned. “Fuck. Really not gonna last long if you keep ordering me around.” He took a deep breath and pushed up into a plank position. Her face tilted up, breath hot, exhaling fast against his chin. Their bodies shifted and eased in place, both of them focusing on the heat of their sex. One hand pushed her bent leg farther up and into the mattress, then stroked his length, still wet with her. “Can you see alright?” He asked.

She nodded, kissing his chin.

He smiled and dipped down to brush her forehead with his lips. His cock slid through her folds, slipping and coating, readying. He knew what he was looking for, of course. Knew her anatomy and proportions, had them seared and memorized in his brain. But he wanted to enjoy the feel of every inch of pink and plush and pulsing flesh. Enjoy every second.

Her hip tilted up, eager. Her face was flushed. She licked her lips and Dean almost collapsed on top of her.

He pressed the tip to her entrance. “This what you want so bad?”

“You know it is.”

“Tell me what you want, sweetheart?”

“Want to feel you. Just you, deep inside.”

“Fuckin’ Hell.” 

He moaned and pressed in an inch. His hand assisted in the guidance for another second or two. Then, he let go, balanced above her on locked arms again, his back curving downward in a slalom slope to his ass. His eyes closed, relishing the exquisite torture of skin to skin; the clutch of her walls accepting him; the sounds she made, a little more high pitched than usual. 

His eyes opened, catching her staring at his face. He smiled. “Thought you wanted a good view down below?”

“Nothing wrong with the view up here, either.” She urged him down to share a kiss, soft and slow.

He broke from her mouth. “Watch us, Jules.”

She nodded. And he watched with her as their bodies connected. Finally, after what seemed like forever, he eased down, seated into her complete and full. And she gave him the sweetest smile.

“Sweet smiles.” He groaned in delight. “Nothing but trouble.”