Mommy Winchester

Part 6

You go stiff against Dean, his lips crushing yours as his hands bury into your loose hair, lips moving against yours.

You're not the only one who thought the other was dead.

He...

Had he missed you as badly as you had him?

He had no idea what you'd been through, the struggles of being a single parent, protecting your child from his heritage -.

But Dean had been off saving the world, hadn't he?

You feel his teeth tug on your lower lip, and then his tongue does the thing - your knees go weak as you abruptly give in to him, kissing him back, pulling him against you -.

He groans as you respond to his kisses, his becoming heavier, hungrier.

You press your body into his, yours much fuller now, much curvier, and his hands slide around you, learning you, kissing you like he would never get to taste you again.

His arm sweeps behind you, and you only half hear things clatter against the ground as he's lifting you up onto the desk, forcing himself between your thighs, hips pressing eagerly together.

You hear yourself moan, cold fingers curling around the nape of his neck, holding his lips to yours, his hands slipping around your hips, feeling you, memorizing you.

Fuck.

No one had touched you like this since him, you'd almost forgot how good it felt.

You tilt your head back, allowing him access to your neck, your eyes closing as all your good sense is suddenly gone.

"Samantha!?"

You both freeze as someone is suddenly beating on your office door, trying to doorknob which locks automatically -.

"Samantha!?"

"Here!" you gasp, Deans body frozen against yours, lips reluctantly lifting from your neck, his hands beneath your shirt.

"Are you okay!? I heard something fall!"

Sheriff Sandler.

"Er, yeah, I'm fine! Just clumsy!" you call, frantically shoving at Dean, not missing the disgruntled look on his face as you almost fall off the desk, hastily fixing your clothes, running your fingers through your hair as you trip your way to the door. "Just - hold on!"

You glance back at Dean, flushing.

Jesus, why the fuck -?

"Sheriff Sandler, how can I help you?" you ask breathlessly as you open the door, and he stares at you.

"Er, Samantha?" He reaches forward, peeling a sticky note off the hip of your jacket, and your face goes crimson. The sheriff glances behind you, noticing the lingering FBI agent with his crossed arms in your office, and his eyes narrow. "You just fell, huh?"

"Yep; you know how clumsy I am, Cail got that from me," you force a nervous chuckle. "Soo - did you need something?"

"I came to see the body that was brought in earlier," the sheriff says after a moment. "Tara called and said it was pretty bad. Might need to be sent off?"

"Oh - yes, most definitely. Not much I can do with it here," you say, hastily darting out of your office and down the hallway, for once glad for the freezing temperature.

You feel too warm.

You know your face has to be crimson.

You swallow as you enter the morgue, hastily grabbing a pair of gloves and sliding them on your fingers.