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Stoned On Your Love

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“I just want a taste,” Dean speaks low and quiet as his hand travels up under Donna’s skirt.

They’re at dinner. The bar is mostly empty. They had burgers and are sipping their beers, but now Dean wants ‘dessert.’

“Not here,” she whispers, pushing his hand away.

“Why not?” he whines, obeying, pulling his hand away, but still indignant.

“We’re bellied up to the bar, Dean,” she replies, scandalized, scanning the room. “In my town.”

Dean smirks. “But that’s part of the fun, D,” he replies, licking his lips.

She shakes her head, focusing back on her beer, draining it. “Alright,” she says, setting the empty glass to the bar top and sitting up straight as she swivels her barstool to face him. “Well, go on, then, finish your beer and let’s go.”

Dean gasps like a giddy little boy, eyes jumping and lighting as he slams the rest of his beer. “Let’s hit it, Wonder Woman,” he says, grinning wide as he stands up out of his stool and offering her an arm as she hops down out of hers.

They bid goodnight to the other bar patrons as they walk out the door.


“On your knees, Dean,” Donna says as they cross the threshold to her home. She drops her handbag on the sideboard and shrugs out of her denim jacket. By the time she turns to face him, he’s removed his exactly where she wants him.

She heard him groan, heard his clothing rustle as he dropped to his knees as instructed, but seeing it is something else entirely.

Donna sighs, unbuttoning the cuffs of her blouse then starting on the placards as she meanders toward him. She circles him, tosses the gauzy garments to the arm of her couch then runs her fingers through his hair. When she comes to a stop in front of him, facing him, his pretty green eyes are almost black with hunger.

“You are so beautiful,” he mutters, his face soft and endearing, looking up at her with such reverence.

Yeah, he wants to fuck her. She can see that he’s hard. He’s the embodiment of lust, but that’s just Dean. He’s primal, animalistic, needy. But he also cherishes her. He loves her. He doesn’t even have to say it; it’s etched in his features, it’s embedded in his touch, it’s laced through his words.  

“You look so good,” Donna says, cupping his jaws, holding him to her body. He nuzzles into her belly, inhales and sighs. His hands gently wrap her hips.

“What do you want, D?” he asks, looking up at her again. “I’ll give you anything.”

He means it, too.

“Make love to me right here,” she says, reaching behind her back to unzip her skirt and let it fall to the floor, pooling around her heeled feet. “Right in the foyer.” She smiles, bites her lip.

He takes her by the hand to pull her down. She kneels, mirroring him. He holds her face in his hands and kisses her, kisses her, kisses her.

She pushes at his jacket, his overshirt, pulls his t-shirt until he stops kissing her long enough for her to get it over his head and tossed aside.

“Right here, huh?” he asks, grinning again, leaning in again. He reaches for her thighs, pulls and twists until she’s on her back.

She giggles. “Yes,” she answers. “That’s what I said, Superman. Right here.”

They’re like a couple of teenagers, grinning and googly-eyed. He cracks a couple of stupid jokes, and she laughs belly-deep, as he gets his pants undone and down to his knees.

“Like this,” he whispers, settling over her, pushing inside her.

They both sigh and Donna brings her knees up around his hips. “Just like this,” she answers and her breath shakes.

Dean sets a rhythm. She’s soft and wet and writhing under his hard, hot, thrusts. He’s slow as he goes, though, steady. Deep then shallow. He hits all her buttons, and she revels in it.

“I love you,” she whispers, running her hands over his bare shoulders as he pumps into her, straining muscles and starting to sweat.

His answer is to drag back, thrusting shallow, right over her g-spot, taking her mouth with his, groaning into her. “D, come,” he whispers. “Please, baby.”

Donna groans in tandem, arches her back and gives him what he wants. She comes gripping and undulating.

Dean buries his face in her neck and she can feel the sheen of sweat, the wet of a single tear, as his thrusting slows and he finds his own release. His lips graze her throat and then she hears it.

“Me too, D,” he whispers. “Me too.”

And then he’s kissing her again, inside her and all around. Donna has never been happier in her life.