Lights along the freeway pass in a blur while cross and uncross my legs in the passenger seat of Dean's car, so wound up I'm unable to sit still. Dean's iron grip on the leather steering wheel speaks volumes about his state of mind, which closely mirrors my own.

Our attempts at small talk are minimal to non-existent, probably because I suspect neither of us is capable of stringing together coherent sentences. Besides, there's no need for false pretenses. We both know exactly what is about to happen. I just hope it's worth every ounce of awkwardness that's sure to haunt me later. Then again, it's not like we're friends. I don't have much to lose—as long as Brendan doesn't find out.

Flagrantly disregarding the speed limit and various other traffic regulations, Dean shaves a good five minutes off what is normally at least a 20 minute drive. Despite that, he manages to get us to his building in one piece and veers into the underground parking garage, barely maneuvering within the lines of his designated stall. He switches off the ignition and slides out, walking around to the passenger side to get my door. My heart careens in my chest at the reality of where I am and who I'm with, but there's excitement stirring too.

I'm already out of the car and standing by the time he reaches me. For a split-second, I wonder if somehow that makes me seem overly eager. But when his eyes land on me, his expression tells me that's the last thing on his mind.

He reaches over, shutting my door, and wraps his arm around my waist as he begins to steer me to the glass-walled elevator booth. "This way."

In a handful of steps, we're standing in front of the elevator. Dean yanks me to face him and grabs my jaw, bringing his lips to meet mine. An impatient groan escapes from him as I part my lips, letting him deepen the kiss. His grip on me tightens and lust stirs in my center, peaking to a new high. It's objectively cool in the underground level and my tiny dress doesn't offer much for warmth, but I'm nearly overheating on the spot.

Without breaking away, he blindly reaches over and smashes the elevator button. The doors slide open moments later and he steers me inside, walking me backward until my butt hits a handrail at the back of the elevator car. With one arm still around me, he leans over and hits '4' for the top floor of the condo building.

Turning back to face me, his Dean's quirk. "I wasn't sure I'd get us back here in once piece."

He tilts his head and our mouths come together again, but it's softer this time. Teasing, questioning, almost playful. His fingers gently trail down my neck, traveling lower to skim the sides of my breasts, palming them. With every floor we climb, so does the intensity of our kiss. By the time we reach the 4th floor, I am certain we'd be in danger of having sex in the elevator if his building was any taller.

We tumble through the open doors onto his floor, ping-ponging down the hallway in a blur of frenzied kissing and groping. I think we're both on the verge of experiencing some kind of medical emergency. Cause of Death: Fatal Desire Overdose.

With a few more clumsy, tangled steps, we arrive at the threshold to his place. It's like finding an oasis in a desert, but the only thing I'm thirsty for is him.

Dean presses me up against his grey-painted front door, wedging his knee between my legs. I draw in a quiet gasp in response to the sensation and his face breaks into a wicked grin. He digs his knee in harder, watching my reaction, and I bite my lip as another ripple of pleasure surges between my legs. The hem of my dress is hiked up so high it's indecent. Anyone who comes down the hallway right now is going to be treated to a side profile of my ass.

"Hang on." His hand brackets my hip, gripping possessively, while he reaches behind me. He punches the buttons on the keypad, his forehead creased with concentration like entering the four digit code requires a great amount of mental effort. Maybe it is—I'm not sure I could count to five right now.

The keypad lets out an obedient double beep and Dean's lips crash down on mine again, knocking the wind from my lungs. He pushes the door open and walks me through the doorway. One of my heels catches against the floor and I nearly slip. His broad hand slides to my lower back, steadying me, but the intimacy of the gesture makes me feel more off-balance. My hands fly to his jacket lapel, instinctively clutching the fabric even though he's got a firm hold on me.

He slams the door and locks it, pivoting us both so I'm pressed up against the door again, only this time from the inside. Dean slides his hands under my dress, warm palms smoothing up the backs of my my thighs, squeezing. "Where were we?"

About to make a wonderful mistake.

I reach up, unfastening the top buttons of his crisp white dress shirt and working my way down. "Less talk, more stripping." With every button I set free, another inch of perfect, sculpted skin is revealed. It hits me that somehow, I've never seen Dean shirtless—and damn, have I been missing out. He had the body of an athlete god. I mean, I had some idea, but his abs have to be seen to be believed.

"Agreed." He slides my leather coat down my shoulders, hanging it on the doorknob beside us, then shrugs off his jacket and tosses it aside carelessly. This is how I know he's really lost his mind, because normally he would be horrified by such careless disregard for one of his beloved suits.

I draw in a breath at the sensation of cold metal pressing against my bare arms and shoulders. A fortress of warm, decadent male muscle crushes my chest from in front. My heart kicks into overdrive. Some kind of previously-undiscovered, additional gear reserved solely for him.

Dean's hands slide to cup me from behind and he yanks me forward slightly, pulling me away from the wall. His fingers land on the zipper of my dress and his lips pull into the most devastating smile. I'm completely under his spell. And he knows it.

He plants a trail of open-mouthed kisses down my neck, slowly tugging the zipper of my dress down. My dress splits open and falls off my shoulders, landing in a pool of purple fabric at my feet. I'm left standing in nothing but black 4-inch heels, a see-through lacy black bra, and skimpy thong underwear to match. At least I wore my top-shelf underthings tonight, though I didn't think Dean would be the one seeing them.

Dean pulls back, his heated gaze slowly tracing my body from head to toe. Lust pulls between my thighs at the hungry way he studies me.

His brow furrows and he sinks his teeth into his knuckle, letting out a sound that's a cross between approval and anguish. "You look even better than I imagined."

"So you admit to imagining me."

His dark green eyes flick back up to meet mine. "I thought that was pretty clear by now."

I might be nearly naked, but his reaction makes it feel like the playing field has leveled. His lips drag down my neck again and land at my collarbone. My hands slip beneath his open shirt, probing dense muscle stacked beneath taut skin. His body is better than I imagined, too.

"Just to clarify, I still hate you."

"Good." Dean sinks the gentlest of bites into the flesh of my shoulder. He begins to nibble his way up to my jaw and I arch my neck, offering him better access. "You should. I'm the worst."

"You really are."

His hands travel behind my back, deftly unfastening my bra. "I'm pretty good at some things, though." He leisurely slides his finger under one strap and lifts it off my shoulder, followed by the other, and the flimsy undergarment falls the floor beside my dress. He palms one breast while his mouth lands on the other, taking my nipple into his mouth. My hands rake through his hair and I let out a shudder of pleasure.

The entire length of my bare back presses against the cool metal of the door but a fever has flooded my body, a faint sheen of sweat forming on my brow. He's still mostly dressed, so it seems my stripping order was interpreted unilaterally.

His mouth travels back up my body, meeting mine. We kiss again while he nudges my knees wider. A titanium erection presses between my legs, hitting the perfect spot until I'm halfway there for the second time this evening.

"Brooke." Dean lets out a low groan, tilting his hips against me. "Baby, I'm going to fucking destroy you."

I lean my head against the wall, tugging harder on his hair. "Do it."

He grabs the backs of my thighs, scooping me up. I wrap my legs around his waist and he carries me into his bedroom, fingers greedily digging into my flesh.

As we pass through the modern, immaculate living room, it hits me that I've never been to Dean's place before. It smells clean, faintly of cedar and a hint of something else that might be pine, mixed with Dean's addictive cologne. Then I wonder how many other women have been to Deans—specifically, in his bed—and immediately guillotine the thought. The answer is, probably lots, and it's none of my business anyway.

Dean lowers me onto the bed and shrugs off his white shirt, coming to hover over me. His muscular biceps bracket me on both sides and his cologne surrounds me, the result is nearly sensory overload. One hand slides into my hair, angling my face to his while he ducks his head and his lips meet mine in a slow, leisurely kiss.

His fingers curl around my underwear, sliding them down my legs as I lift slightly to help him take them off. He slides a finger inside me and curves it up, watching me arch my back in response. My hands find the buckle of his belt, quickly unfastening it and undoing his pants. I can tell he's not going to give me release yet, and I'm not sure how much teasing I can take.

He studies me, amusement on his handsome face. "Impatient?"

"Aren't you?" My chest moves up and down with tiny, shallow pants. I'm so worked up, I'm winded.

He lets out a low hum, which I'm pretty sure is a yes that he doesn't want to admit. In a flash, he's fully naked and leaning back over me. From the angle, it's a spectacular view, caged in by miles of sinewy male muscle. I wrap my hand around his thick shaft, eliciting a sound of appreciation from him. While I had some idea what I was working with, this is confirmation that he may in fact be correct about his destroying promise.

Dean slaps a broad hand against onto my thigh and leaves it there, squeezing the flesh as he reaches for the nightstand with his other hand. A second later, he emerges with a small square foil wrapper and tears it open, expertly rolling it on. My pulse increases with each second that passes, fueled by anticipation and nerves.

He presses the head of his shaft against my slick entrance without entering all the way. I try to move my hips against him, but he pins me down with his free hand and doesn't give an inch.

Dean shifts, positioning himself over me again with his mouth inches away from mine. His warm breath skirts my lips. "Do you want me to fuck you?" His mouth tugs into a smirk like he's teasing, but I get the sense he needs me to say yes.

"Stop teasing." I groan, squirming beneath him. "You know I do."

He thrusts forward and pushes inside me, filling me, coaxing a breathy whimper from my lips. Somehow, it's more intense than I expected. I am far from inexperienced, but I don't think anything could prepare someone for Dean. It's like barely restrained energy waiting to be unleashed. His grip on my hips tightens and when he starts to move against me, it's so good I almost want to cry.

"Brooke, you feel so fucking good."

My nails dig into his back, pulling him tighter against me. "Oh god." This defies some kind of natural order. The first time with someone new isn't supposed to be this good. It's supposed to be a little awkward, a clumsy dance of two bodies learning how to work together.

I bite my bottom lip, giving in, savoring his every movement, every stroke. I don't know if Dean is just that skilled or if it's the fact that I've been hanging by a thread ever since our encounter in the bathroom. Maybe both. He picks up my leg, holding it up with his arm, and hits a spot deep inside of me. Pressure grows in my core, muscles in my body tightening. I lean my head back, arching into the bed and holding on so tight I think I might leave marks on his skin. I'm frantic, desperate for him to keep doing exactly what he's doing.

And then the bastard slows down. He studies my face, smug half-grin on his face. "You're hot when you're right on the edge like this."

"Pleasepleaseplease." It escapes my lips but it feels like someone else talking. I'm nearly incoherent.

He pulls out, sliding back inside me with slow, deliciously agonizing precision. "Please what?"

"Don't stop."

Everything in me tenses again as he changes his rhythm, thrusting against me again and again until the pleasure becomes almost mind-numbing. Everything explodes as an orgasm rocks through me, but he doesn't slow down. A second wave of ecstasy builds within me, taking me by surprise and quickly building even higher. His movements become quicker, more rough, and the second time I go over the edge, he lets go too.

With one final thrust, he lets out a low groan and sinks down over me, supporting his weight. His lips collide with mine in a brutal, crushing kiss. My palms come to rest against his chest, feeling his heart hammering as it gradually slows down. Dean grins down at me and reaches up, smoothing my hair. This should be more awkward than it is, but somehow it feels perfectly normal to be in his bed with him still inside me.

A few more heartbeats pass before he finally, reluctantly, he pulls out and gets off me to dispose of the condom. I feel an immediate chill from the loss of the heat of his body against mine. I'm not sure I've ever been properly fucked until now and it worries me that no one else will be able to live up to this again. He's raised the bar impossibly high.

Dean scoops up his underwear and heads into the bathroom, winking at me on his way by. I am treated to an incredibly fine rear view as he retreats. His backside should be memorialized in marble and placed in a museum.

A moment later, he strolls out of the bathroom looking like an underwear model. I'm certain I look like anything but that right now. It is one of life's great injustices.

"Thirsty?" He asks.

"Sure."

He saunters out of the bedroom like he isn't at all fazed by our encounter. To be fair, he probably does this a lot more than I do. As in, every weekend.

Meanwhile, I'm part-giddy, part-something I can't identify. I think I feel vulnerable, though I'm loathe to admit it. There might be a smidgen of guilt mixed in there, too.

I pull the sheet up higher around my chest, surveying the room. Great. I need to pee and I don't have clothes in here. My dress is still sitting in a heap at Dean's front door... along with my bra. We should have gone to my place instead but Dean's was closer, and an extra ten minutes seemed like a death sentence at the time. This was not a well thought-out plan—it wasn't thought-out, period. I'd give anything to have a robe to throw on right now.

My thong, at least, is laying on the floor beside Dean's rumpled dress shirt. I reach for my underwear and pull them back on, then I grab his dress shirt and slip it on as a makeshift cover-up. The white fabric is infused with the scent of him and his cologne, which gives me a pang in my stomach. It makes me feel oddly sad in a way I can't explain.

I slide out of his bed, padding over the cream-colored carpet through an enormous wall-in closet that leads into his bathroom. Rows of clothing hang with immaculate precision. From what little I did see on the way in, Dean's entire place is perfectly put together. His bathroom is equally nice, not that I'm surprised. Grey rectangular tiles clad the floor, with glossy white modern cabinetry and a grey concrete countertop. I feel like I'm in a high-end hotel instead of someone's home.

A glimpse in the counter-to-ceiling bathroom mirror reveals that I have total sex hair and my smokey eye makeup has seen better days. I look a little wrecked but I like to think I'm working it. Or at least, that's what I'm going to tell myself, because there's not much I can do about it right now.

After drying my hands, I walk back out of the bathroom at the same time Dean walks back into the bedroom holding a glass of water for me with my bra and dress draped across his arm. Something glances across his face when he sees me wrapped in his shirt and I wonder if he's annoyed with me for wearing it.

"Sorry." I gesture to myself. "No clothes."

"That's okay." He stops short, like he was going to say something else, but doesn't.

Dean studies me. "Are you tired?"

Why, is he going to offer to drive me home right now? And why does the prospect of that bother me? I knew exactly what this was. It's what I wanted.

"Wide awake, actually."

"Good." Dean gives me a rakish grin, prowling over to me. He sets down the glass of water on the nightstand beside us and walks me up to the bed until the mattress hits the back of my calves. His lips cover mine and he wraps me in an embrace, pulling me up against him.

Suddenly, his phone vibrates from the nightstand behind me. He lets me go and grabs it immediately, and my stomach sinks like a lead balloon.

"Are you going to take a call while we're in the middle of hooking up?" This is something my ex Travis would do. One time he asked me to blow him while he was playing video games. I obviously declined.

"I have to make sure it's not Josh." Dean glances at the screen with a frown, immediately locking it. "Never mind." He tosses it aside, returning his attention to me, and every misgiving I have about who was on the phone flies right out the window.

Within less than a minute, he's hard again, pressed up against my body. His rough hands slide his white dress shirt down my shoulders, lips grazing my shoulder as he lowers me to the bed.

"Already?" I can't remember the last time I was with a guy twice in a row. I feel like it's happened, but it must have been a long time ago. Maybe back in college, even. Even then it was probably because the first time was a disappointment, which is definitely not the case right now.

"I was just getting out my pent up frustration from earlier," he murmurs into the crook of my neck. "Now I can take my time with you."

My heart knocks against my ribcage. "Take... your time?" Suddenly, I think I'm in over my head, and I'm no innocent.

Before I know it, I'm whimpering putty in his hands. Again.

"Dean." My fingers twine into his hair, tugging desperately as he kisses his way down my body. He lingers on my inner thigh, rough stubble scraping the delicate skin, and lifts his gaze to mine.

"Do you want to come again?"

"Yes." I gasp, my hips greedily tilting against his hand. "Please."

"Get on your knees."

*