Venom

033

A/N 

Hey you guys. I have to say a couple things before letting you read this chapter.

Number 1: THANK YOU SO MUCH FOR 50K READS ILYSM BYE YOU'RE THE BEST

Number 2, and here comes the sad part: as you've probably noticed, there aren't images for this chapter. I'll tell you why, then cry about it again like an idiot. So, they stole my phone. Yaaaay. Right now I'm using my computer to write this and publish, but I won't be able to use my tiktok for some time, so that's not cool. It happened at the worst time 'cause my life is already going to shit, so, thanks God, you're always so kind to me, eh? Anyway, as soon as I'll have a phone with everything on, I will try to put images here and get back on tiktok. Meanwhile, enjoy this new chapter. Love you all <3

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Dean was lying on top of her, his head resting just above her heart, her hand gently stroking his soft hair. He had his eyes closed and her taste on his tongue, but the thick cloud of lust that had lingered over them was gone. They were just talking, and talking, and talking.

"I didn't think you could sew," she admitted after hearing his confession.

His shoulders moved in something that looked like a shrug. "If I rip my shirt I need to know how to fix it myself, don't you think?" he explained, playing with a strand of her long hair. He wrapped it and unwrapped it around his finger.

"Yeah, I just thought you had someone to do it for you. You know, with all the money you have I wouldn't be surprised if you were spoiled, too," she said, smirking down at him. He tugged the strand of hair, making her yelp and then chuckle. "I'm kidding!"

"You better," he mumbled, although she could feel the smile on his lips.

He started brushing the sliver of skin that wasn't covered by the shirtsleeve with his fingertips, his touch so light she thought it was just the wind blowing on her. She asked, "If you could be anything, anyone, what would you be? Like, if you weren't an assassin and a CEO, etcetera," laying her eyes on him.

His bottom lip tugged in as he bit it, thinking, brows twitching towards each other. He hummed, his breath tickling her throat. At last, he said, "A pianist." He glanced up at her to see her reaction.

She shifted her head so she could meet his gaze, holding the eye contact. "Right. I'd forgotten those fingers can do other things," she joked, winking.

He let out a breathy chuckle, lifting his body on an arm, moving her hair away with his free hand. Dean kept looking at her like she was the best and worst thing that had ever happened to him. Like she was the oxygen he breathed and at the same time the water that drowned him. Salvation and ruination.
He asked, shaking away his thoughts, "What about you?"

Helen looked at the ceiling, tilting her head to lean in his touch better. "I want a villa in Tuscany, Italy," she confessed, closing her eyes, imagining the warmth of the Italian region on her skin, the sun shining on the green Tuscan hills, vineyards and olive trees spread out in perfect schemes on the landscape of the picture she had in mind. "With lots of dogs, and cats, and bunnies, and horses- I love horses," she went on, almost feeling the breeze waving her hair away from her face, puppies and kittens running around her, horses in a paddock behind her house, roaming and neighing happily.
She smiled to herself.

He loved her smile. How it stretched her lips, and yet made her face look so relaxed and calm. God, he loved her. And he hated that he did. "All by yourself?" he questioned, brushing his thumb along her jaw, her neck, her shoulder.

She gently shook her head, eyes still shut. "No. With the person I love," she explained, exhaling as he touched her ever so softly.

"A husband- or wife?" he went on, laying his head back on her chest, her hand again drowning in his dark curls, massaging his crown. He sighed.