Venom

014

TW in this chapter: edging, degradation and praise

"Now we can begin." His voice was a deep growl, owned by an inner creature who screamed need and lust. Under his built body Helen looked like a little kitten about to get eaten alive.

Though, his touch was still gentle as he brushed his thumb on her lip. Helen stuck out the tip of her tongue, licking the length of his finger. Dean only smirked. A predator ready to devour his prey. And he sure as hell would take his time eating her out. He wanted to savour every shade of her heavenly taste.

Wrong as it might have been, Helen didn't stop him. There was no way she was stopping him now that she finally had his hands on her. Not a chance.

Dean leaned over her to speak to her ear, the couch creaked. He whispered, his lips brushing her lobe, "Take off your shirt." He wanted her naked, bare, exposed. But she hesitated. Dean's face hardened a little, his jaw flexing. "Take off your shirt now," he repeated.

Helen swallowed, debating on what to do. She knew he wouldn't judge her - he wasn't the type to do that - but some old part of her, the part that was still insicure about the little stretch marks on her breasts and hips, the tiny rolls that formed on her belly when she bent because she never said no to a second slice of cake or a double cheeseburger, stopped her. Training as an assassin kept her in shape, but her body was still that of a human being. Her imperfections were part of her, she knew that, but it didn't make it easier for her to accept it.

And then there were her scars. All over her body, some smaller, some bigger, all telling a different story and reminding her of the lives she'd taken.

"Helen," he called her. Her eyes were in his in an istant. "Do as you're told," he said.

She shook her head. "I...uhm, I can't take it off with the handcuffs," she reminded him, hoping that he'd give up and move on.

Dean grinned. "Trust me. Lift it as you'd do to take it off. I won't tell you another time." She was putting on an attitude, and he was growing impatient. His dick was so hard in his sweatpants it hurt.

Again, she shook her head. "I can't," she said. Couldn't he just stop pushing it? Why did he even want to see her? It was just another female body. He'd probably seen many others. He'd probably seen many others. She let that ugly realization sink in. Many better looking bodies.

Dean frowned, sitting up, his legs on her sides and his hips carefully lifted over hers. If he touched her there with his dick, he wouldn't be able to stop and wait. "Why," he demanded, and not questioned.

"Because..." The words failed her, sounding childish and pathetic. Why did she even ask him to touch her in the first place? How could she be so stupid? "Because I can't. This is wrong," she added then, trying to sit up and push him away.

His hand landed on her chest, between her breasts, pushing her back down. Helen exhaled loudly. Dean immediately reassured her, "I'm not going to touch you, if you've changed your mind. But I am going to ask you to tell me why you won't take that shirt off." His hand wasn't pushing her hard enough to hurt, but it kept her still and focused on him.

She swallowed the knot of fear. "It's just..." she started saying, but again she couldn't speak the truth. "Dean, it's nothing. I just don't want to take it off, okay? It won't change anything."

Dean sighed deeply. "No, I guess it won't," he said, but he wasn't referring to her shirt. He was referring to the whole thing. He was going to touch her, and then tomorrow - well, today, as it was already six in the morning - it would all be back as it always had been. But Dean knew better. He'd find out. No matter the cost. "Talk to me," he said, and thought it sounded fucking lame given that a few hours ago they were at each other's throats.