Page 52

CHAPTER

TWENTY-FIVE

CLARA JUNE

We order filet mignon and baked potatoes, and a bottle of red wine to split. I try to tell Dean that I don’t need that fancy meal, that I’m used to a sandwich or cold chicken tenders. That food isn’t that big of a deal.

But he orders the filet and wine regardless, and it’s so delicious.

The combination of the flavorful, butter soft meat and the cherry and pepper notes in the red is otherworldly.

I moan like I’m having an orgasm, which causes Dean to groan, adjusting in his seat.

He teases that he’s likely a masochist, ordering such a good meal then forcing himself to listen to me enjoy it.

When the plates are cleared and the tray is pushed into the hall, when I’ve checked on all three boys one last time for the night, and when there is nothing else that needs to be done, Dean puts the do not disturb sign on the door handle, and starts the shower.

We don’t talk much, and I wonder if it’s because we both know that whatever happens in this room tonight is forever going to change us both, or if it’s because we’re both nervous.

Although, I’m not nervous.

And when I watch him tug down his pants as I do the same, he doesn’t seem nervous either.

After a few minutes, we’re both completely naked as the steam from the shower begins to cloud the room.

Pink marks are streaked across my skin, reminding me and anyone else who sees them that I’ve had a journey, that I’m carrying a bit of extra love, and that I’ve grown humans.

My hands itch to cover those spots, or at least attempt to, but I don’t.

Dean’s eyes brim with adoration as they sweep over my naked body, taking time around my breasts, and over the blonde curls between my legs.

“Clara June, you’re so beautiful.” He puts his hand over his chest, and closes the two feet between us.

His cock brushes against me, stealing my breath and taking my focus, but he centers me when he places my hand over his chest.

His heart is racing.

“You and you alone make me feel this way,” he says, voice smokey and husky, arousing me further.

With his other hand, he reaches down, partially fisting his cock.

Partial because he’s so big, he can’t fully please himself without two hands.

His balls hang, an ombre of straining pinks, replete with cum, cum that I can almost taste because I want it so badly.

Want him so badly. “We won’t be able to achieve it tonight, because it’s gonna take time,” he says, and it takes me a few solid moments to understand what he means.

Sex.

We won’t be able to fully have sex tonight because he’s so big, he doesn’t believe we will be able to work him inside of me.

I’ve never understood pain bringing pleasure, but the idea of being able to handle him, to give him the gift of accepting him inside of me after all the times he’s pleased me, forced me into more mind-numbing pleasure— “We have time. Lots of it, in fact,” I say, my heart racing, wondering if the statement is bold, or puts pressure on him.

“Yes we do, mama,” he says in that raspy tone that makes my thighs clench.

Dean leads into the shower, adjusting the water to our comfort. There’s a small ledge in the shower, likely meant for propping a foot up to shave, or maybe even for sitting for a moment if the water gets too hot. But Dean eyes the ledge, then motions for me to sit.

Steam billows around us, and the hot water scorches my reserves. “Put your feet up, let me see you all spread open for me,” he says, strength in his tone, but softness, too. It’s a command, make no mistake, but not one that comes with punishment but instead, reward.

Sitting on the ledge, I pull my knees to my chest, grip my ankles, and spread my legs, letting my feet rest on the cold tile around me.

I’m spread open, pussy and asshole exposed, and my stomach is spilling over at this angle.

It’s a vulnerable position for so many reasons, but all insecurity falls away when Dean’s hand starts pumping, his other hand partially cupping and tugging on his balls.

He’s growing harder by the second, and it infuses me with a hit of confidence.

I sit up a bit straighter, and keep my feet planted as I release my ankles, letting one hand fall between my legs.

Dean’s breathing turns to audible groans. “Make yourself come for me, Clara June.”

The hand that idly stroked my clit, is now trembling and hesitant. “I’ve never done that in front of someone while they watched,” I tell him.

“Me either,” he says, drawing attention to his pumping fists. Both of his hands are stacked around his length now, biceps flexing, chest torquing as he pumps part of himself.

“Are you gonna do it too?” I ask, hypnotized by his stroking and pumping, by the way he touches himself for me to see, by the intimacy of what we’re doing in this shower stall.

He shakes his head. “No. Right now, it’s just about you.

” He brings his hands together, clasping them behind his head, physically forcing himself to be restrained.

The way his stomach muscles knot with the forced tension, the way his thighs explode with muscle as he widens his stance to watch me— my mouth pools with liquid desire, and between my legs grows hazy and hot.

“Do it, Clara June,” he coaxes, rivulets of water following the curves of muscle on his chest.

I drop my hand to my pussy, and press two fingers at my entrance, letting my head fall back against the tile with a moan when I discover myself swollen and slippery. My fingers sink inside easily, and Dean urges me to try more.

I slip another inside, and I thrust my hips forward gently, the cold tile scraping my bare ass slightly as I do.

But I keep going, fucking my three fingers, alternating between moving my hips and moving my hand, all the while keeping my eyes on Dean.

His dark eyes, his extraordinary cock jutting from his beefy thighs, the way his chest rises and falls quickly, like he’s struggling for composure— “Dean,” I murmur.

“Coach,” I try again, my voice thin with the pressure of desire from the impending orgasm.

“Let me see that pretty pink pussy take what she needs,” he encourages, his filthy words a stark contrast to his otherwise-sweet nature. I love the dichotomy, and more than that, I love that I’m the only one who knows the dichotomy exists. I’m the only one that gets dirty Coach.

With my thumb resting on my clit, I slowly push my three fingers back inside, moaning at the way my body hungrily clenches all around them. I’m so horny. And when I look at Dean’s forearm sized cock, my insides burn.

“Say it, mama, tell me you’re coming, tell me that pussy is coming for me, let me hear you,” he coaxes, his eyes set on my cunt in a way that makes me feel so sexy I can’t hold back.

My knees slam together and my head falls back, but Dean’s there, prying me apart, dropping to his own knees to watch my body convulse and clench.

He doesn’t let me finger myself anymore, but instead presses his thumb to my clit, stroking me through my orgasm while watching me come, front and center.

My ass clenches up with each wave of encumbered orgasm, and arousal rushes from my open, hungry cunt, tickling the underside of my ass.

“Fuuuuck,” Dean croons, the steam now making me lightheaded as I continue to come, cunt clenching, hips thrusting, clit exploding from the rough scrape of his thumb.

“Look at that pretty pussy come,” he whispers, using the tip of his finger to trace the edge of my swollen lips, eventually nudging inside .

I moan at the feel of his finger pushing into my drenched channel, clenching around it in orgasmic aftershock. He withdraws, and licks his finger clean, despite the spray of water available. And that’s somehow romantic to me, but most things Dean does are that way.

“That was so beautiful. Thank you, Clara June, for sharing yourself with me like this. I know it’s hard to be vulnerable, but you do it so well.

You’re so beautiful,” he says, finding my mouth with a wet kiss, slipping hands beneath my armpits.

He brings me to my feet, and washes my hair, telling me how gorgeous my pussy is, how he adores every inch of my body, how he can’t wait to feel me all around him.

All the while, he’s hard, the head of his cock pushing past his foreskin, out, ready to find a wet, warm home.

After we rinse and get out, he towels me off but we stay naked as he instructs me to lie down in the center of the turned down bed.

“Every orgasm you have, your muscles relax a bit more, ready themselves a bit more. And every orgasm you have, you’re wetter and needier,” he grunts, stroking his hand through his damp blonde waves. “I’m gonna need my favorite pussy to put on another show for me.”

I reach down and find myself wet, again or still, I’m not sure at this point. My damp hair is fanned over the pillow, uncombed for now. “I want to have sex with you, Dean,” I tell him, not bold enough to call it what it would be, to label it as making love.

He stands at the foot of the bed, ignoring his eleven inch erection, instead kneading his balls with one hand. “I want that, too, Clara June.”

I feel brave for a moment. “Do you have a condom?”

He looks at me for a moment, but finally shakes his head .

“Do they make condoms big enough for you?” I ask, partially teasing, but also partially curious. He’s… endowed.

Dean nods. “They do, but we’re not making love tonight.”

My toes curl into the mattress at his choice of words. I blink my eyes to keep them from getting hot and misty. “No?”

He shakes his head. “I want you bare, and I want everything that comes with that. But we haven’t talked about that, not yet. Maybe we aren’t there yet, and maybe we are. The truth is? Tonight it doesn’t matter if we’re there yet or not because you aren’t ready for me, not yet.”