Dean and the Dryad

"And you don't. If that's what you're trying to sell, sweetheart, I ain't buying."

A flush bloomed under her skin, turning it from chocolate pudding to black cherry, and the memory of Sam cutting her shirt open came flooding back. At the time, Dean had been entranced by her hourglass figure: her tummy, soft and concave; those big, suck-me tits; the flare of her hips that promised a fantastic ass. All that flawless, earthy skin. But now, finally, he understood what had been eating at him.

Dean yanked his thermal t-shirt off and pulled her hand to his chest. "See this?"

She struggled, almost hissing, but he held firm until she softened enough to let him guide her palm across his pecs. Over the scars, burns and welts. His eyes told her the story of each mark. The longer they touched, the harder it was to stop. Imperceptibly, her hand began traveling on its own. She mapped his tattoos, the Enochian symbol that warded off demon possession under his collarbone, his mother's name over his heart. He willed himself to be still, keep arms at his sides while she grew bolder in her exploration. She alternated pressure, lightly scratching him with her nails, grazing his stiff nips.

It had been too long since Zena had gotten this close to a man, and something about the way he put his own desire on a leash excited her. She called the shots, though a tiny voice warned that she wasn't in control as much as she pretended. She leaned in and inhaled. He smelled like a man should: sweaty, musky, and her belly twinged in response. Something pulled her gaze right up into Dean's burning eyes.

Why are you trying to hide from me?

Maybe you won't like what you find.

Let me be the judge of that.

"What am I looking for?" she finally whispered. She plucked teasingly at the button fly of his jeans. "What do you want to show me?"

Dean was in agony. There were very few things on earth he wanted more than for her to open his pants. But this was one of them.

"The truth." He put his hands on her waist, closing the space between them. "I'm scarred all to hell from a life of fighting werewolves, vampires and demons. But you? You're smoother than a baby's bottom."

His hands trailed down to her backside and squeezed to punctuate his point.

Zena had inspected every inch of his torso. There was nowhere to go but down. Her eyes followed her fingers as they ruffled the coarse hair that lined the crevice of his abs and disappeared into his pants. His arousal was belligerent, straining toward her, peeking purple through the gap in his waistband. His angular jaw clenched with the effort to hold still.

Zena's mouth was dry—the only orifice on her body about which that could be said. She licked her lips and his resolve cracked; he dipped for a sample. She tasted like spiced apple pie, cinnamon and tender. He tugged on her lower lip with his teeth before delving back into the cave of her kiss. She was equal parts passion and reserve, but so responsive. It was a wicked combination. She moaned and it was all the sweeter for its reluctance. Every quiver shook him to the core. Dean ground slowly against her, getting lost in her lushness. He sank his teeth in her shoulder to break the spell, but that only spiked it.

"You're such a fucking liar," he whispered into her neck. He curled his fingertips around the base of her t-shirt and peeled it up over her breasts. They bounced in his hands, full and firm. He nuzzled them and Zena closed her eyes and hummed.

"No ritual scars, no ink," he spoke into soft tit flesh. He knew even as he inspected her that his end goal wasn't interrogation. No, he was going to devour her, starting with the chocolate kiss nipples in front of his face. Dean swirled his tongue over her melons, peeling back her bra to get at the large, velvety areolas. He latched onto her tender bits, her mews goading him to suck harder.

"Dean," she gasped, "what are you doing?"

"What are you doing? You're not a hunter. Why are you really out here killing dryads?" He gave her cleavage a long, slow lick, watched her expression change from want to need.

"I don't know what you mean," she mumbled.

"I mean, there's no sexy-ass cocoa huntress in Denver. Who are you, really? And why are you raring to get out of here like a hell hound's on your tail?"

Zena fought to focus beyond the battery of sensations. Dean didn't know the danger. It wasn't fair!

"You wouldn't understand. You and Sam've been so good to me. The last thing I want is to see you in the ground."

"So stay."

"I can't!"

He plainly saw her desire, but it was her fear more than anything that moved him. She wasn't afraid of him; she was afraid for him. She was trying to protect him, he realized. And in that moment he was lost.

He dove into her like a starving man, driving her backwards until her butt bumped the counter, then cupping her ass and hoisting her up on the surface, burrowing between her soft thighs. Dean's mouth and hands roaming her body were overwhelming. Everywhere he touched felt electric. She ached to have him. Dean brought something out of her that scared her, even as it made her liquid. Let it be all right, she prayed. But she'd been wrong before. She snatched herself back for a breath and the two touched foreheads, her hair falling like a curtain around them.

"Don't be scared," he panted. "I won't hurt you. I won't let anything hurt you."

Dean popped the snap on her pants, itching to taste her. With his eyes trained on hers, he breached her panties. His thumb found her ripe clit swimming in nectar, so plump it set his teeth on edge. Is this for me? Is this how I make you feel? Her lashes fluttered as he circled the nub, tickling her grasping entrance with another finger. It had to be the wettest place on earth. Her lids were heavy, she could barely keep her eyes open. But her hips told another story, slow-screwing his hand so deliciously she swallowed two of his fingers in her tight canal.

"That's it, darlin'," he croaked, hooking onto her g-spot, "get it any way you want it."

Dean was panting for her; he knew the slide into her heat would be unbelievable. But he wanted to be the best she'd ever had. He wanted to tease her until she dripped down her legs, then split her delicate seam and bang out the memory of any man before him. Driven by the thought, he sucked her neck hard enough to leave a mark, strumming one nipple while his other hand twisted in her folds like a corkscrew.

Zena's body bent like a bow against him. Her joints tightened until she shook with the tension. "Deeean," she wailed. It sounded like a warning. Light waves rolled behind her eyes, spasms jerked her body like a puppet on strings. Then she broke, her passage clutching at his fingers and drawing them deeper inside, flooding his palm as he relentlessly rang her bell. She seemed to dissolve as she came down, limp except for periodic shudders.

Dean was so hard, if he slid her onto his shaft her feet wouldn't hit the floor. He pulled her to the counter's edge, yanking her waistband under her rump and fitting his dick to her slippery aperture. Chomping at the bit, he barely managed to pump his brakes.

"OK?" There was no question what he was talking about. She nodded quickly, pussy pulsing and squeezing the meaty head of his cock. Dean was just feeling her flesh part, opening up her true sucking heat, when a key jangled in the lock. They froze, then catapulted into action. Zena jumped off the counter and Dean yanked her shirt down, not bothering with his own. She fumbled to zip her pants. After a beat, the door swung open and a bearded older man with a beer gut and a canvas rucksack stepped into the warmth.

"Bobby! I thought you were gonna be in the woods for a few days, deer hunting." Dean stepped behind Zena to hide his arousal. He couldn't resist pushing his hips up against her soft ass.

The grizzled old man made a face. "Changed my mind. It's chillier than I remember in the evenings. Who's this?"

"Zena," she said. "Sam helped me out of a tight spot."

"She got a pretty bad scrape for her trouble too, but she managed to bag that dryad before we could," Dean added.

Bobby eyed Dean's bare chest, his hands on the dark girl's hips, and their kiss-swollen lips. Usually he went for redheads, but he could see her appeal. He chuckled at their innocent act. I may be old, but I'm not that big a fool, he thought to himself.

"Single-handed? That is impressive, young lady. You get the nymphs too?"

The two looked confused.

"Uhh, what nymphs?" Dean asked.

"The nymphs that accompany every dryad, ya idjit. The deity's handmaidens. Sorta like sirens, they activate the lust the dryad makes use of. Sometimes they've made people copulate till death. They're almost as bad as their masters, malicious and entertained by human suffering. Got to be two or three of 'em round every dryad."

"Shit," Dean muttered. "Wish we'd known that this morning."

"That's why you can't rely on Wikipedia for lore." Bobby dropped his gear in a corner. "Well, I'm getting a beer. Want one?"

Without waiting for an answer, Bobby proceeded to crack three beers, and turned his back to pour them into glasses.

"Since we've got company and all, we can be a little fancy. Bottoms up."

Dean and Bobby shot-gunned the first gulp of beer, but Zena demurred.

Bobby raised a brow. "Not to sound impolite, but there are a few traditions we follow around here. The drink's mandatory. I'm not really asking."

"And if I don't? Because now I definitely don't." A smile bloomed on her face and Dean saw it for what it was: a welcome mat for violence. He recognized it from his own dark side. Could she really enjoy hurting people that much?

"Shut up, the both of you," Dean's voice grated. He was still hard as calculus. Why the hell did Bobby have to come home right then? He needed to clear his head, maybe jerk off a couple dozen times.

"Look, Bobby, between killing the monster, thinking she got kidnapped and taking 100 kitchen stitches, Zena's had a long day. Cut her some slack."

"We've all had a long day," Bobby grumbled. "What I don't understand is why we bother with safety protocols if you only follow them when the mood strikes you."

Just then, Zena swayed. She grabbed for the counter and missed, but Dean caught her before she hit the floor.

"Whoa, there! You OK?" Bobby yelled.

"I'm good. I've got it." Zena tried to push him away, but Dean wouldn't have it.

"Yeah, you're fully capable of taking care of yourself, I get it. But you're laying down now, doctor's orders." Dean slipped her arm over his shoulders and escorted her down the hallway to his tiny bedroom. It was spartan, just room enough for a twin bed, a shelf with neatly folded clothes and a chair. He eased her down on the old plaid quilt.

"I don't know what happened there. I just... got dizzy."

"You lost a lot of blood today. When's the last time you ate?"

She laid back on the lumpy pillow, her brow wrinkled in thought. "Yesterday, maybe lunchtime?"

He could've kicked himself. "I'm sorry, sweetheart. I don't know what I was thinking. I knew it was too early for you to be walking around. Sammy'll be here in a minute with some decent eats."

"Fuck, fuck, fuck," She chanted under her breath.

"What's the problem? Were you still planning to ride out tonight?"

Zena held his gaze. "I didn't make any promises, Dean," she said softly.

"Wow. Talk about a blow to the ego." He rubbed his stubble; his hand was slick with her scent and the static in his head came back with a vengeance. "We didn't patch you up to kick you out. Sleep on it. At least until you get on the mend. I can take the couch for a couple of nights."

"Who says I want you to?" Zena asked. She felt better after that first orgasm; the stitches didn't even hurt anymore. And here they were, alone on a bed. She was still keyed up from earlier, too. Her eyes glistened in invitation.

She looked so good, lying on her back. It would be so easy to slip under the covers and spend the rest of the night in heaven. But she was hurt, she'd almost passed out, for Christ's sake, and Dean knew in his state he wouldn't be gentle. Besides, she looked so vulnerable. He didn't want her to think she had to put out to stay. With effort, he tucked the blanket around her, allowing himself to just graze her eyelids with a kiss. Her cool breath tickled down his collar, nearly wrecking his control.

"Rain check." His voice was gravelly. "Get some rest. I'll wake you when the food gets here."