California Dreamin'

As I said before, it’s not as if there are any secrets between us.

So it’s weird that I’m acting this way, shy and jittery. Maybe it’s because we’re at the end of the journey. Our solitude is over. Now comes the reality of telling my parents, of being a couple in front of them.

I can’t give it any more thought than this because Dean is demanding my attention.

“Hey, eyes up here, Tiny,” he orders, the finger that was lingering on my cheek now at my chin, and he lifts my face.

When our eyes meet, he turns in his seat and shifts closer.

“Feel what?” he repeats his question from before, looking down at me.

“You. I feel you,” I whisper.

His cheekbones flush and he cups my cheek. Well, cupping is gentle. He grabs it. His palm opens up and his fingers grasp my jaw in a possessive hold.

A hold that kills my shyness piece by piece. A hold that makes me wish that we were back at that motel room, tangled up in sheets and in each other.

“Yeah? You feel me?”

His thready, rough voice vibrates in my belly, in my core that’s become slick just from remembering the way he both made love to me and fucked me.

“Yes,” I reply.

“What do you feel?”

“That you’re inside of me. That you’re still there.”

That’s when he lets go of my hand that was joined with him on his thigh and grabs my other cheek too.

His thumbs make a circle around my throat as his fingers bury themselves in my hair. “Inside of you, yeah. That’s where I am. That’s where I’ll always be, you understand? I’ll fuck you so many times, in so many different ways, that you’ll always feel me. You’re mine now.”

I fist his sweater as I feel a trickle of my wetness ooze out of my core at his words. “Yeah.”

“Say it. Say you’re mine.”

“I’m yours, Dean.”

“You’ve always been mine.”

“Always.”

His mouth tugs up but not in a humorous smile. It’s a tight, brimming with regret. “I’ve just been too stupid to see it.”

I let go of his sweater and rub the corner of his mouth. “It’s okay. You see it now.”

He frowns, his features bunching up into intense lines. “Yeah. Yeah, I do.” I go to say something else, but he stops me. “Tell me you know that I’ll do anything for you.”

My heart hurts.

It squeezes itself and I feel an ache in my chest. People always say that love hurts but maybe it’s not a bad thing.

Maybe sometimes love hurts because the man you love loves you back.

He not only loves you back, he loves you so much that you can see that love take a physical shape in the way he holds you and looks at you.

The way he breaks himself open for you.

Sometimes love hurts because it’s bursting at the seams.

“I know. I’ve always known, Dean.” I lick my lips. “You’ve always protected me. You know what my mom calls you sometimes?”

“What?”

“Fallon Whisperer.”

He swallows thickly, his eyes rimmed with emotions.

“You’re my whisperer, Dean. You’re my protector. And you know what else?”

“What?”

“My mom, when she talks about Dad, she says that she was born for him. She was born to love him. And I feel the same. About you. I feel like I was born for you too. I was born to love you and I’ll do anything for you. And I know that you’ll do anything for me because you were born for me too.”

I lean over and kiss his stubbly throat. His grip in my hair twitches, his fingers making a fist out of my strands, pulling my head back.

“I’ll talk to him. I’ll talk to your dad,” he repeats his words from last night and I immediately frown.

“I’m your protector, aren’t I?” he rumbles.

“Yes, but listen—”

“No. Whatever his initial reaction might be, I will be the one to take it.”

“But Dean, he’s my dad and I—”

“Yeah, he’s your dad but you’re mine.” His fist flexes in my hair as he continues, “And I’ll protect you from everyone including him, if I have to.”

My dad is my dad and I love him more than I love anyone else in this world. I don’t need to be protected from him. I know how to handle him.

But this man in front of me, this man whom I’ve loved as long as I’ve loved my dad, needs this. He absolutely needs this from me. His flaring nostrils, his tight fingers in my hair, the way he’s leaning into me with determination—everything points to the fact that he wants this.

And I don’t know how to refuse him.

Everything inside me clenches up and I nod. “Okay.”

At my acquiescence, a little stiffness from his body drains away. “Okay.”

“I love you,” I whisper, smiling, feeling a feminine pride that I pleased him.

“You were born for me,” he whispers swallowing, instead of acknowledging my I love you, his eyes roving over my face.