God, it seemed to take her ages to come down. As slow of a process as it was, descending from that blissful coital zenith, Natasha gradually became aware of a heartbeat other than hers - it was still galloping like a Thoroughbred, Jesus Christ - and slowly opened her eyes to see a familiar face so very close to hers. Recognition prompted her to grin somewhat lazily, still tingling all over from their wild encounter.
The first of many, God, she hoped.
Dean was still plastered against her, nestled firm between her thighs, but then she hadn't really allowed him to go too far, at that. Her legs were still locked around his waist, and her arms wrapped around his shoulders, as if afraid he might vanish were she to relax her grip. Everything from her waist down throbbed pleasantly, and a minute shift between him and the door brought a soft gasp from kiss-bruised lips, as she felt him shift deep within her.
Hearing his quip brought out a slow, exhaled chuckle, and Natasha lolled her head to again take his mouth in a long, languid kiss, gently sucking on his bottom lip before pulling away entirely. Green eyes were dark, liquid, but still carried enough naughty mirth for her to quip right back, "Still not sure." Her lips slanted wryly. "Ask me in the morning, lover."
Dean makes a muffled, pleased noise into the kiss before she pulls back from it, and once again his gaze is drawn to those deep green eyes not too dissimilar from his own. He likes the gleam he sees in them, still hazy from their brief but intense exertion but still as feisty as ever. It was going to take a lot more than that to truly satisfy her, which is more than fine with him. He's got time, and he hasn't gotten laid since the last time she was here, which feels like ages ago now.
His own smirk fades with a quiet sigh of his own when he's finally obligated to slide out of her, though he won't let go of her thighs until she's balanced her weight back onto those ridiculously high heels she's still wearing. He's pretty sure that they've dug sharp little marks into his back to go along with the equally sharp scratches where her nails have dug into his shoulders, but he's got no complaints about that either. He likes it when she's rough, and that kind of pain barely registers for him anymore.
"I like the outfit, by the way." He's far more interested in sliding it off of her, one piece at a time, starting with sliding the shirt off of her shoulders and then working his fingers underneath the tight camisole beneath, than he is in immediately dragging her toward the bed. They'll get there, though he'll probably need to finish sliding out of his own jeans first. "What would you call this, classy stripper?"
There's some teasing to it, but it's not as if Dean's ever tried to hide his appreciation for that aesthetic.
Natasha did well to keep from whining when Dean slipped out of her, but bit her lower lip in protest anyway. Still, she did need to regain her own two feet, although she had to keep a solid grip on equally solid arms for a few moments when she did, just to keep from sliding to the floor in a heap.
But once she was steady again, Natasha made some minute adjustments - a bathroom trip was in order shortly - cocking an eyebrow as Dean perfunctorily pushed her overshirt off of her shoulders, and she let it fall, smirking as those talented hands worked themselves beneath the rest of her layers.
"Thank you," she replied in an arch little tone. "I dressed with you in mind." She took the liberty to press her palms to his own chest, dragging them slowly down over corded muscle beneath warm skin. "I have to admit I prefer this particular look on you, too." Bare-chested, jeans hanging open, short hair tousled, that "just-fucked" gleam in those lovely eyes...yes, she liked it very much.
"Hmm...I suppose you could call it that," she agreed with a slight nod, more interested in dragging the flat of her tongue along the ridge of Dean's collarbone before slowly kissing her way downward to suck and fondle a tight dark nipple. She paused, glancing up to smirk, "Although I should have worn my thigh-boots if I was really going to 'work the pole', though."
Dean expected the bra to match the underwear, and he's far from disappointed. It's enough of a sight that he pauses for a moment in his efforts to relieve Natasha of her clothes, his fingers working along one lacy edge around the curve of her breast. A lazy smirk curves his lips at both her consideration and her compliment, one that mellows into an expression of appreciation as she turns her own attention to his chest, a soft grunt emphasizing his opinion on the matter as those lips close around his nipple. Of the many advantages of continuing an affair with one particular woman, one of the best has got to be the fact that she knows where all his sensitive spots are.
And she knows that he has a taste for this look, made even better by how ruffled and partially undone as it is now. She's every bit of a hot mess after what he's done to her, and there's nothing better than a hot mess that he's made. It definitely won't be too long before he's ready to go another round at this rate.
"Mmm, you're welcome to work my pole in whatever shoes you want, baby." He's teasing a little, but there's still a seductive purr to his voice. He's not wasting any more time in slipping his hands behind her, catching onto the clasps holding her bra in place. It only takes a few seconds for him to deftly unhook them with well-practiced ease, and though his view is partially obscured he likes the way her breasts bounce as they're freed from the restraint. It's enough to distract him from working on the skirt, because he doesn't wait to wait that long to get his hands on them, fingers cupping around those outer curves while his thumbs stroke across her nipples.
"So, should I wait for you in bed or should I catch you at the bathroom sink?"
It hasn't escaped his notice that there's a nice big mirror in front of that sink, and he does like to watch her as he fucks her from behind.
Dean's teasing little purr tickled Natasha's humor and she allowed a brief giggle to escape, lifting her arms slightly for him to skin her bra off and away. Then she put her lips back on his skin, nipping little kisses scattered here and there, but rewarded him with a throaty moan when his thumbs piqued her nipples.
Wanting more of that calloused, rough touch, Natasha lifted her head and draped her arms over Dean's shoulders, letting her back arch to rub her breasts against his chest and press firm, eager flesh into his hands. Coaxing his head down, she gave him a deep, promissory kiss, licking her way into his mouth with sinful abandon.
Coming back up for air, the redhead leaned back just enough to slither a hand down between their flushed bodies to unashamedly fondle Dean's cock, slim fingers working his length with unerring promise. "How's this?" she purred at his mouth, tip of her tongue delicately tracing the curve of his upper lip.
Then she pulled away - although she ignored the wanton whine of her body at the loss of contact with his - and gave the hunter a little shove, enough to step around him and make her slow deliberate way towards the room's bathroom, taking care to sway her hips beneath the short fall of her skirt, long scarlet curls tumbling down her bare back.
"Five minutes, lover," she told him over a bare shoulder, hand on the door jamb. Flicking on the light, she had to take a breath at the impressive size of that mirror, and just how sturdy that sink actually looked. Natasha smirked, already a little breathless with anticipation.
"We really should keep working on that hangover, shouldn't we?"
No matter how many times Natasha has pressed her lithe form up against him, soft and willing against his more calloused skin, he can't imagine ever feeling anything less than a thrill at it. Of course even if that alone wasn't enough to push his buttons, she tips her head back up toward him with obvious intent, and he's quick to oblige her by hunching down to close the distance between them. The warm, pliant and utterly shameless way she moved her lips and tongue against his own is a perfect complement to the handfuls of equally tantalizing flesh under his fingers. It's a promise fulfilled of slower, sensual touches that always tend to follow after the intense, harsher ones that come from impatient hunger that builds all too quickly when they're apart.
She's rewarded with a quiet groan for the deft fingers working along the length of his cock, soft flesh there already well on its way toward hardening. There's a noticeable twitch of that at the attention she's lavishing on him, followed by a swell that's enough to give it more.of the erect arch that she's become so familiar with. It remains even when she pushes him back to move past him, especially when he's given that view as she goes. The sway of her hips alone would be enough to give any man deliciously dirty thoughts.
"That's the idea," he eventually rasps in response, sliding wet tongue across his abruptly dry lips as she fires another smouldering gaze at him over her shoulder. It's only once she's fully moved into the bathroom that he'll turn his attention toward properly freeing himself from his jeans. And while he's giving her a few minutes of relative privacy he'll pick up a clean towel from the back of a chair where he tossed it the night before, using it to wipe himself off a bit in the meantime.
It's deeply ingrained habit that has him checking his phone in those few minutes too. It's never on silent, especially not when Sam isn't with him, but he knows just how critical even a missed text can be, and as reluctant as he would be to cut this short, duty sometimes calls. Thankfully that's not the case today.
When he does move toward the bathroom he's completely naked aside from the towel, which he casually tosses toward a corner as he reaches the door, and his cock is fully hard and erect. But while he could more or less ambush her, there's something to be said for giving her the full view of his muscular figure leaning against the doorway, aroused and eager for more.
"You indecent?" He asks with a smirk as he peers in. He's not too worried about her not being ready for him - when Natasha says five minutes, that's exactly what she means.
Her own personal ablutions took only a few short minutes; she was as practical in this as she was in everything else. She decided to leave her skirt on, as she knew how much Dean loved to hold on to it, that and handfuls of her long hair, whenever he worked her from behind. And damn, but just the memory of that particular little endeavor had her shuddering from crown to heel in a mix of blissful reminiscence and eager anticipation.
But she did peel off the useless panties, kicking them aside almost disdainfully. The heels she kept, since being a good head shorter than her lover was, at times, cumbersome. So after cleaning up a bit, tousling her hair back into artful disarray, she leaned against the counter, gazing at her reflection in the large mirror, and was nonchalantly reapplying her lipstick when Dean appeared in the doorway, skirt hitched just high enough to reveal the curve of her ass, thighs parted just enough to tease.
Green eyes met his in the mirror, and she smirked, capping the small tube. "Always, baby," she tossed back over her shoulder, along with two long red curls. Natasha licked her lips as she let her eyes wander, taking in every defined inch of that thick, toned body, loving how lost she always became in it. One eyebrow arched lightly.
"You know, sometimes it's not even fair, how gorgeous you are, Dean Winchester." Red lips curved in a contrived pout. "Makes a poor girl forget herself every now and then."
Dean was expecting a view and he's far from disappointed. He's already made his intentions very clear, and that's all the inspiration Nat needs to put on a tempting display that caters to those ideas perfectly. That easy sensuality has never ceased to amaze him, and as appreciative as she is of him he's not sure that anything he does measures up to her own efforts. But what he does do obviously gets her into the same mood. Of course he can't see the way he looks at her, with hunger and excitement burning in that smouldering gaze, unspoken promises lingering in every confident step and accompanying flex of muscle.
"You're one to talk."
He won't remain in the doorway for too long, instead moving to cross the distance between them as soon as the words are out of his mouth.
He could, and has gone straight to bending her over the counter, but now that they've taken that first, desperate edge off he's more inclined to taking it a little slower than that. Calloused hands settle briefly on her shoulders, almost teasing with the placement before they're sliding down her back and then across, working along the line of the skirt still hugging her hips. By the time his hands come to a rest on her stomach he's pulling her back against him, his cock settling against her ass, letting her feel it there rather than immediately offering a grind along with it. It all feels good to him, both her supple body and soft waves of hair pressed against him.
His fingers keep moving though, heading right back to the curve of her breasts, not only to feel those soft curves in on his hands again, but also to pull her back into his chest so that he can pepper kisses and bites at the join between her neck and shoulder.
"If I'm unfair, you're unbelievable." The murmured words pause as he pays some similar attention to her ear for a brief moment. "I thought you had to be too good to be true until I got my hands on you."
To be fair, Natasha almost expected to be shoved over the counter and immediately assaulted by the hard body now settling so very nicely behind hers, nor would she have minded in the slightest. But this was nice also; Dean's work-roughened hands settling on her shoulders gently, only to slide almost reverently down her body and across her skin, leaving soft shivers in the wake of those blunt but oh-so-skilled fingertips.
She wasn't too surprised to feel him thick and hard against her backside, however; it seldom took very long for her handsome hunter to recover, regardless of how intense their previous session had been. Nor had she ever minded "helping" that along, either with her own hands or her lips - she aimed to please, either way. But he hadn't needed any extra incentive this time, she noted, slowly easing back to settle flush against his front, instinctively easing astride the hot length situated firmly between her thighs.
Dean cupped her breasts and Natasha moaned softly, letting her head fall back against his shoulder and lifting her arms to wind around his neck, tilting slightly to offer more heated skin for his teeth and lips. She always enjoyed his tactile attention; as ferocious as they could be with each other - more often than not, really - these slow caresses and gentle teasings always served to soften the icy rings around her heart in more ways than one. He knew how to play her body like a fine instrument, and it always responded ardently, eagerly, to the rhythm he set.
The words murmured at her ear prompted a slight grin and a brief chuckle, and Natasha turned her head to graze her lips along the line of Dean's jaw, nuzzling beneath to run her tongue over the slightly scruffy cord of his neck. "Oh, really? You certainly were direct about it, I have to admit." But then, she'd appreciated that. Dancing around what one really wanted was for amateurs, or blushing ingenues who didn't have to fight every single day to survive.
Natasha began to slowly rock back and forth against her handsome hunter, a slight wiggle to entice and tease. One of her hands slid back to thread through his short hair, the other she wound behind his waist to cup the curve of his ass. "I think that's what finally sold me on you, Winchester."
Dean's resolve to take this slower, teasing and caressing, is tested as she takes the opportunity to straddle his cock, and there's a noticeable twitch from it as he feels all that tempting heat settle around him. His resolve holds for now though, helped somewhat by just how attractively she responds to his touches, willingly and eagerly writhing to allow even more of them, and to get in a few of her own. It shows off some of her flexibility to twitch around enough to get her lips on his jawline and the accumulation of stubble there, and her hand on his ass, and he offers a low noise of pleasure before lifting one hand from her breast to tilts her head back just a little more, enough to give her a brief but heated kiss.
"I didn't think I would see you again," he admits, sliding his tongue over his own lips as he relinquishes hers, still tasting her on them. As he goes on his hand continues to drift downward, past her chest this time, trailing across her stomach and then even more boldly between her legs, his fingertips seeking out those most sensitive spots. It's an interesting sensation to feel her with his fingers while she sits astride rather than on his cock, and it'll get even better as he works her up until she's truly desperate for more of it. It's a goal that will be helped by a slow rock of his own hips against her. The friction is almost maddening for him, he can only imagine that it'll be even more so for her with his teasing. "If I had one chance, of course I was gonna take it."
It's not as if he's afraid of rejection. He's made countless passes at women over the years, with a complete range of reactions, so many that he never let himself get too invested in any one in particular. Natasha wasn't different in that regard, not at first. Now though, they've settled into a dynamic that's been far less common for him. It's good, amazing even, but at the same time it's less familiar territory, and it's harder not to care too much about whether or not she keeps answering his calls. He knows better than to get attached, and yet they keep ending up exactly like his.
He's amused at her reflection, though that won't stop him from turning the conversation toward more blatantly dirty talk.
"You sure this didn't have anything to do with that?" He asks, a mischievous note coloring his otherwise suggestive tone while he makes a pointed thrust of his hips, his cock rubbing more intimately against her. He still fully intends to follow through with what he suggested earlier of course, just not quite yet. He likes fingering her, though in this case it's an immediate prelude to much more.
Humor was always easy between them; they both had a blunt, brutal, cynical way of looking at the world. Granted, Dean still carried hope, while Natasha had long made peace with the fact that the world was going to blow hell wide open and she was okay with that. And both of them had made a silent pact to simply enjoy each other, rather than attempt to change either's point of view. It was just physical, this "thing" between them.
At least, that's what she kept telling herself, over and over and over.
She didn't "do" relationships. She didn't "hook up" with the same lovers more than twice. But for some strange reason, she never hesitated to respond whenever a familiar text message or voicemail (always from different numbers) arrived. And to his credit, the few times she'd initiated contact, Dean had never refused, usually arriving at their arranged destination first.
As if he were eager to see her again. That thought...did things, way down in Natasha's stomach. Things she stubbornly refused to face. But she could enjoy him now, and so she had and she would. He was worth taking the time to enjoy, to suffer over, and he always made sure to reciprocate, to ensure her pleasure before his own. A considerate lover.
A good man.
"You're good at - and bad about - taking chances, love," she murmured against his skin, feeling her body respond eagerly to his wandering hand, and she inhaled a swift breath as that hand slid between her legs, finding her still slick and hot. Her hips bucked gently, enticing him for more, and she kneaded her fingers in his tight cheek, humming a small moan as he rocked against her.
"Mmmmm, it might have." Her lips quirked in amusement, and she turned her gaze to watch them in the mirror, a soft flush coloring the tops of her breasts and smoothing upwards to her throat as he tantalized her so sinfully. One of her eyebrows went up, and she met his eyes even as one of hers shivered in a sly little wink. "It definitely makes arguing with you more exciting."
It's always a tug of war with himself before he picks up the phone to call Natasha up again, but not because he wants her any less. He hasn't told her that he never does this, not since Lisa, but he's got the impression that she understands just how unique this is for him. Some part of him wishes he had the will to turn her down, not for his sake but for hers, because no matter how good she is, everyone gets hit by the Winchester curse sooner or later if they stick around long enough. It's not your fault most of them would say, but it is. If he didn't stop allowing himself to have... well, anything.
So he'll take her somewhat double-edged compliment about taking chances without attempting to argue, and not least of all because of the attractive distraction she makes under his fingers and in the mirror. It's everything he could have hoped for. Her lithe body has always been impossibly attractive, and to see it squirm in pleasure and anticipation is even better. It would have been even more of a sight before their fast, hard fuck at the door, but he wouldn't have had the self-control to wait for that.
"I doubt you'd be coming back for more if it had been disappointing," he chuckles in return. rubbing his fingertips over her clit with a little more pressure. He could keep teasing her like this for a while, maybe even to the point of having her outright demanding more, but his mood is more toward something slow, intense and sensual. And to that end he slips his other hand down from toying with her nipple to her lower back, putting just enough pressure there to push her down toward the counter, not so roughly that she couldn't fight it, but still insistent. The rougher touches will come later, never more than she can handle, but he's learned all too well that he doesn't have to hold back for her.
"Cause I doubt you have any trouble bringing any man you want to bed with you." As she goes down her follows her somewhat for now, close enough that his voice is a seductive purr at her ear, his body arched over hers, his skin looking darker in comparison to how pale hers is in the light. "The hard part is finding someone who pushes your buttons just the right way, huh?"
He's pretty sure she runs into the same problems he does. He can find a pretty face almost anywhere, but a hot girl who's got as much stamina as he does, and can hold her own if something were to come crashing in on them? That's a hell of a lot harder to find.
Poking her nose into Dean's personal life just wasn't her style. She had better manners than that, and on the off point, it really wasn't her business, anyway. His life was just that: his life. She had her own, and if they chanced to cross now and again, Natasha was always willing to enjoy it, to the absolute fullest. She didn't doubt that there would come a day when one or both of them would drift apart, and she'd reconciled herself to that. There wasn't any "happy ending" for anyone in their profession.
Which was why they were more or less limited to these sorts of trysts; meeting in some backwater town in a rickety motel, indulging in each other while time allowed. Because there was no way to know what idiotic nasty might come crashing through the door - a fairly stupid one, given the caliber of what awaited it on the other side - and for once, Natasha didn't have to be the first one to pull a gun to hand. Yes, it was nice, indeed. Everyone said opposites attracted, but clearly they'd never experienced this sort of thing before.
Men like Dean Winchester were few, and very far between. And Natasha Romanoff - Natalia Romanova - had no trouble accepting him just as he was, bad decisions and all.
"Mmm, probably not," she agreed, letting her lashes drift closed and a soft breath hiss escape when thick fingers pressed a little harder between her thighs, sleek and wet. She might have consented to stand there all night while he toyed with her, but it wasn't too long before she felt Dean urging her forward, and a vulpine smirk curved her lips, but she acquiesced without protest, sinuously stretching as she did so.
Heels of her hands propping her on the counter, Natasha gave Dean a sly glance over one bare shoulder before dropping her head and bowing her back, hips wiggling in his hands, just enough to tease. "Not really," she remarked with a slight shrug, then added, "But you know how high my standards are, so..." She purred delight to feel him rubbing warm against her back, guttural voice sinfully silky at her ear. "I'm a complicated woman, Dean," she breathed back, turning her head for a heated kiss. "It takes a particular combination to light this fire."
And the damnable man was quite skilled at how to stoke those flames, too. Natasha pressed her hips back into his, rubbing his hard cock between slick, hot lips. Her thighs parted, invitingly, and she ran the tip of her tongue around her mouth, teasing, but there was very little coyness in her voice when she whispered, "C'mon, baby, fuck me. Now."
One of the things that Dean likes about Natasha is the fact that she's always quick to throw his teasing right back at him, obviously getting just as much pleasure from riling him up as he does from working her into a hot mess, and this particular position is that much more arousing because he has fucked her. He's as much to blame for that slick mess as she is, and while he feels quite a bit of satisfaction over that, somehow it makes him even more eager to take her again, stoking a heat within him that burns just as hot as it did the moment he met her at the door. She does this to him every time, because as good as he is at pushing her buttons, she seems to instinctively know how to hit all of his.
"I'm never going to get tired of hearing that."
Her eager insistence draws a growl out of him that's pure feral lust, one that's muffled momentarily by a kiss that he takes to just as hungrily. Occasionally he finds himself in a mood to draw the teasing out even more, if simply to hear what it does to her voice, but there's nothing quite like the sound of her just inhaling when he rolls his hips with one purpose in mind. It takes more skill to angle himself just right when she's so wet, but it's a challenge he's definitely up to, using both hands to pin her in place while the tip of his cock pushes up against her.
This time he does take it slower, giving himself time to feel her clenching around every inch of him as it sinks into her. One hand on her back slides upward along with that slow motion until his entire forearm is pinned across her back, fingers tangling into the soft, scarlet cascade of her hair, while his other hand remains on her hip, still gripping it tightly. He hardly needs anything else to keep her in place, not unless she bucks her hips into him, a movement that would only result in his grip tightening before he's even started to thrust.
His eyes flick briefly up to the mirror, just to be able to see her reaction even as he hears and feels it. It's far from the first time - and far from the last, he hopes - but it's the kind of moment that sticks very vividly in his mind, one that easily comes to him when he finds himself alone and in need of a release.
They could - and have, and often - spend hours teasing and tormenting each other until one or both of them were crazy with lust, burning with desire for each other. It wasn't at all uncommon for them to disappear into whatever hiding place they'd chosen, be it a motel room such as this one, and abandoned house somewhere in the woods, wherever, for as long as they could, days if possible, and indulge themselves in each other until necessity once again pulled them apart.
They knew each other so well, there wasn't any awkwardness or trepidation, just the slow burn of flesh to flesh, heart to heart, and an easy attraction that never seemed to diminish. Less so now, with Dean pushing her down on the counter and sliding thick and hard between her soaking thighs, making her bite at her lower lip with his tantalizing slowness, guaranteed to spiral her out of her mind with dizzying pleasure.
Natasha dropped her head and moaned, feeling him fill her again, her tight walls rippling down over his cock, pressing into her slow and deliberate, and her back arched invitingly as she rolled a tight nipple between her own fingers, tugging on the bud until the tiny pains mixed with the heavy pleasure settling deep in her loins. When he was fully seated inside her, she lifted her gaze to the mirror, green eyes already dark with lust, and met Dean's behind her, her lips parted and gently slack, tip of her tongue teasing the upper with obscene grace.
"...Dean..." she heard herself moan, flexing her thighs and squeezing him tight, aching for him to move, to thrust into her as hard and as deep as he desired.
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maskirovka) wrote2018-04-08 02:44 pm
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The first of many, God, she hoped.
Dean was still plastered against her, nestled firm between her thighs, but then she hadn't really allowed him to go too far, at that. Her legs were still locked around his waist, and her arms wrapped around his shoulders, as if afraid he might vanish were she to relax her grip. Everything from her waist down throbbed pleasantly, and a minute shift between him and the door brought a soft gasp from kiss-bruised lips, as she felt him shift deep within her.
Hearing his quip brought out a slow, exhaled chuckle, and Natasha lolled her head to again take his mouth in a long, languid kiss, gently sucking on his bottom lip before pulling away entirely. Green eyes were dark, liquid, but still carried enough naughty mirth for her to quip right back, "Still not sure." Her lips slanted wryly. "Ask me in the morning, lover."
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Dean makes a muffled, pleased noise into the kiss before she pulls back from it, and once again his gaze is drawn to those deep green eyes not too dissimilar from his own. He likes the gleam he sees in them, still hazy from their brief but intense exertion but still as feisty as ever. It was going to take a lot more than that to truly satisfy her, which is more than fine with him. He's got time, and he hasn't gotten laid since the last time she was here, which feels like ages ago now.
His own smirk fades with a quiet sigh of his own when he's finally obligated to slide out of her, though he won't let go of her thighs until she's balanced her weight back onto those ridiculously high heels she's still wearing. He's pretty sure that they've dug sharp little marks into his back to go along with the equally sharp scratches where her nails have dug into his shoulders, but he's got no complaints about that either. He likes it when she's rough, and that kind of pain barely registers for him anymore.
"I like the outfit, by the way." He's far more interested in sliding it off of her, one piece at a time, starting with sliding the shirt off of her shoulders and then working his fingers underneath the tight camisole beneath, than he is in immediately dragging her toward the bed. They'll get there, though he'll probably need to finish sliding out of his own jeans first. "What would you call this, classy stripper?"
There's some teasing to it, but it's not as if Dean's ever tried to hide his appreciation for that aesthetic.
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But once she was steady again, Natasha made some minute adjustments - a bathroom trip was in order shortly - cocking an eyebrow as Dean perfunctorily pushed her overshirt off of her shoulders, and she let it fall, smirking as those talented hands worked themselves beneath the rest of her layers.
"Thank you," she replied in an arch little tone. "I dressed with you in mind." She took the liberty to press her palms to his own chest, dragging them slowly down over corded muscle beneath warm skin. "I have to admit I prefer this particular look on you, too." Bare-chested, jeans hanging open, short hair tousled, that "just-fucked" gleam in those lovely eyes...yes, she liked it very much.
"Hmm...I suppose you could call it that," she agreed with a slight nod, more interested in dragging the flat of her tongue along the ridge of Dean's collarbone before slowly kissing her way downward to suck and fondle a tight dark nipple. She paused, glancing up to smirk, "Although I should have worn my thigh-boots if I was really going to 'work the pole', though."
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And she knows that he has a taste for this look, made even better by how ruffled and partially undone as it is now. She's every bit of a hot mess after what he's done to her, and there's nothing better than a hot mess that he's made. It definitely won't be too long before he's ready to go another round at this rate.
"Mmm, you're welcome to work my pole in whatever shoes you want, baby." He's teasing a little, but there's still a seductive purr to his voice. He's not wasting any more time in slipping his hands behind her, catching onto the clasps holding her bra in place. It only takes a few seconds for him to deftly unhook them with well-practiced ease, and though his view is partially obscured he likes the way her breasts bounce as they're freed from the restraint. It's enough to distract him from working on the skirt, because he doesn't wait to wait that long to get his hands on them, fingers cupping around those outer curves while his thumbs stroke across her nipples.
"So, should I wait for you in bed or should I catch you at the bathroom sink?"
It hasn't escaped his notice that there's a nice big mirror in front of that sink, and he does like to watch her as he fucks her from behind.
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Wanting more of that calloused, rough touch, Natasha lifted her head and draped her arms over Dean's shoulders, letting her back arch to rub her breasts against his chest and press firm, eager flesh into his hands. Coaxing his head down, she gave him a deep, promissory kiss, licking her way into his mouth with sinful abandon.
Coming back up for air, the redhead leaned back just enough to slither a hand down between their flushed bodies to unashamedly fondle Dean's cock, slim fingers working his length with unerring promise. "How's this?" she purred at his mouth, tip of her tongue delicately tracing the curve of his upper lip.
Then she pulled away - although she ignored the wanton whine of her body at the loss of contact with his - and gave the hunter a little shove, enough to step around him and make her slow deliberate way towards the room's bathroom, taking care to sway her hips beneath the short fall of her skirt, long scarlet curls tumbling down her bare back.
"Five minutes, lover," she told him over a bare shoulder, hand on the door jamb. Flicking on the light, she had to take a breath at the impressive size of that mirror, and just how sturdy that sink actually looked. Natasha smirked, already a little breathless with anticipation.
"We really should keep working on that hangover, shouldn't we?"
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She's rewarded with a quiet groan for the deft fingers working along the length of his cock, soft flesh there already well on its way toward hardening. There's a noticeable twitch of that at the attention she's lavishing on him, followed by a swell that's enough to give it more.of the erect arch that she's become so familiar with. It remains even when she pushes him back to move past him, especially when he's given that view as she goes. The sway of her hips alone would be enough to give any man deliciously dirty thoughts.
"That's the idea," he eventually rasps in response, sliding wet tongue across his abruptly dry lips as she fires another smouldering gaze at him over her shoulder. It's only once she's fully moved into the bathroom that he'll turn his attention toward properly freeing himself from his jeans. And while he's giving her a few minutes of relative privacy he'll pick up a clean towel from the back of a chair where he tossed it the night before, using it to wipe himself off a bit in the meantime.
It's deeply ingrained habit that has him checking his phone in those few minutes too. It's never on silent, especially not when Sam isn't with him, but he knows just how critical even a missed text can be, and as reluctant as he would be to cut this short, duty sometimes calls. Thankfully that's not the case today.
When he does move toward the bathroom he's completely naked aside from the towel, which he casually tosses toward a corner as he reaches the door, and his cock is fully hard and erect. But while he could more or less ambush her, there's something to be said for giving her the full view of his muscular figure leaning against the doorway, aroused and eager for more.
"You indecent?" He asks with a smirk as he peers in. He's not too worried about her not being ready for him - when Natasha says five minutes, that's exactly what she means.
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But she did peel off the useless panties, kicking them aside almost disdainfully. The heels she kept, since being a good head shorter than her lover was, at times, cumbersome. So after cleaning up a bit, tousling her hair back into artful disarray, she leaned against the counter, gazing at her reflection in the large mirror, and was nonchalantly reapplying her lipstick when Dean appeared in the doorway, skirt hitched just high enough to reveal the curve of her ass, thighs parted just enough to tease.
Green eyes met his in the mirror, and she smirked, capping the small tube. "Always, baby," she tossed back over her shoulder, along with two long red curls. Natasha licked her lips as she let her eyes wander, taking in every defined inch of that thick, toned body, loving how lost she always became in it. One eyebrow arched lightly.
"You know, sometimes it's not even fair, how gorgeous you are, Dean Winchester." Red lips curved in a contrived pout. "Makes a poor girl forget herself every now and then."
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"You're one to talk."
He won't remain in the doorway for too long, instead moving to cross the distance between them as soon as the words are out of his mouth.
He could, and has gone straight to bending her over the counter, but now that they've taken that first, desperate edge off he's more inclined to taking it a little slower than that. Calloused hands settle briefly on her shoulders, almost teasing with the placement before they're sliding down her back and then across, working along the line of the skirt still hugging her hips. By the time his hands come to a rest on her stomach he's pulling her back against him, his cock settling against her ass, letting her feel it there rather than immediately offering a grind along with it. It all feels good to him, both her supple body and soft waves of hair pressed against him.
His fingers keep moving though, heading right back to the curve of her breasts, not only to feel those soft curves in on his hands again, but also to pull her back into his chest so that he can pepper kisses and bites at the join between her neck and shoulder.
"If I'm unfair, you're unbelievable." The murmured words pause as he pays some similar attention to her ear for a brief moment. "I thought you had to be too good to be true until I got my hands on you."
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She wasn't too surprised to feel him thick and hard against her backside, however; it seldom took very long for her handsome hunter to recover, regardless of how intense their previous session had been. Nor had she ever minded "helping" that along, either with her own hands or her lips - she aimed to please, either way. But he hadn't needed any extra incentive this time, she noted, slowly easing back to settle flush against his front, instinctively easing astride the hot length situated firmly between her thighs.
Dean cupped her breasts and Natasha moaned softly, letting her head fall back against his shoulder and lifting her arms to wind around his neck, tilting slightly to offer more heated skin for his teeth and lips. She always enjoyed his tactile attention; as ferocious as they could be with each other - more often than not, really - these slow caresses and gentle teasings always served to soften the icy rings around her heart in more ways than one. He knew how to play her body like a fine instrument, and it always responded ardently, eagerly, to the rhythm he set.
The words murmured at her ear prompted a slight grin and a brief chuckle, and Natasha turned her head to graze her lips along the line of Dean's jaw, nuzzling beneath to run her tongue over the slightly scruffy cord of his neck. "Oh, really? You certainly were direct about it, I have to admit." But then, she'd appreciated that. Dancing around what one really wanted was for amateurs, or blushing ingenues who didn't have to fight every single day to survive.
Natasha began to slowly rock back and forth against her handsome hunter, a slight wiggle to entice and tease. One of her hands slid back to thread through his short hair, the other she wound behind his waist to cup the curve of his ass. "I think that's what finally sold me on you, Winchester."
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"I didn't think I would see you again," he admits, sliding his tongue over his own lips as he relinquishes hers, still tasting her on them. As he goes on his hand continues to drift downward, past her chest this time, trailing across her stomach and then even more boldly between her legs, his fingertips seeking out those most sensitive spots. It's an interesting sensation to feel her with his fingers while she sits astride rather than on his cock, and it'll get even better as he works her up until she's truly desperate for more of it. It's a goal that will be helped by a slow rock of his own hips against her. The friction is almost maddening for him, he can only imagine that it'll be even more so for her with his teasing. "If I had one chance, of course I was gonna take it."
It's not as if he's afraid of rejection. He's made countless passes at women over the years, with a complete range of reactions, so many that he never let himself get too invested in any one in particular. Natasha wasn't different in that regard, not at first. Now though, they've settled into a dynamic that's been far less common for him. It's good, amazing even, but at the same time it's less familiar territory, and it's harder not to care too much about whether or not she keeps answering his calls. He knows better than to get attached, and yet they keep ending up exactly like his.
He's amused at her reflection, though that won't stop him from turning the conversation toward more blatantly dirty talk.
"You sure this didn't have anything to do with that?" He asks, a mischievous note coloring his otherwise suggestive tone while he makes a pointed thrust of his hips, his cock rubbing more intimately against her. He still fully intends to follow through with what he suggested earlier of course, just not quite yet. He likes fingering her, though in this case it's an immediate prelude to much more.
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At least, that's what she kept telling herself, over and over and over.
She didn't "do" relationships. She didn't "hook up" with the same lovers more than twice. But for some strange reason, she never hesitated to respond whenever a familiar text message or voicemail (always from different numbers) arrived. And to his credit, the few times she'd initiated contact, Dean had never refused, usually arriving at their arranged destination first.
As if he were eager to see her again. That thought...did things, way down in Natasha's stomach. Things she stubbornly refused to face. But she could enjoy him now, and so she had and she would. He was worth taking the time to enjoy, to suffer over, and he always made sure to reciprocate, to ensure her pleasure before his own. A considerate lover.
A good man.
"You're good at - and bad about - taking chances, love," she murmured against his skin, feeling her body respond eagerly to his wandering hand, and she inhaled a swift breath as that hand slid between her legs, finding her still slick and hot. Her hips bucked gently, enticing him for more, and she kneaded her fingers in his tight cheek, humming a small moan as he rocked against her.
"Mmmmm, it might have." Her lips quirked in amusement, and she turned her gaze to watch them in the mirror, a soft flush coloring the tops of her breasts and smoothing upwards to her throat as he tantalized her so sinfully. One of her eyebrows went up, and she met his eyes even as one of hers shivered in a sly little wink. "It definitely makes arguing with you more exciting."
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So he'll take her somewhat double-edged compliment about taking chances without attempting to argue, and not least of all because of the attractive distraction she makes under his fingers and in the mirror. It's everything he could have hoped for. Her lithe body has always been impossibly attractive, and to see it squirm in pleasure and anticipation is even better. It would have been even more of a sight before their fast, hard fuck at the door, but he wouldn't have had the self-control to wait for that.
"I doubt you'd be coming back for more if it had been disappointing," he chuckles in return. rubbing his fingertips over her clit with a little more pressure. He could keep teasing her like this for a while, maybe even to the point of having her outright demanding more, but his mood is more toward something slow, intense and sensual. And to that end he slips his other hand down from toying with her nipple to her lower back, putting just enough pressure there to push her down toward the counter, not so roughly that she couldn't fight it, but still insistent. The rougher touches will come later, never more than she can handle, but he's learned all too well that he doesn't have to hold back for her.
"Cause I doubt you have any trouble bringing any man you want to bed with you." As she goes down her follows her somewhat for now, close enough that his voice is a seductive purr at her ear, his body arched over hers, his skin looking darker in comparison to how pale hers is in the light. "The hard part is finding someone who pushes your buttons just the right way, huh?"
He's pretty sure she runs into the same problems he does. He can find a pretty face almost anywhere, but a hot girl who's got as much stamina as he does, and can hold her own if something were to come crashing in on them? That's a hell of a lot harder to find.
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Which was why they were more or less limited to these sorts of trysts; meeting in some backwater town in a rickety motel, indulging in each other while time allowed. Because there was no way to know what idiotic nasty might come crashing through the door - a fairly stupid one, given the caliber of what awaited it on the other side - and for once, Natasha didn't have to be the first one to pull a gun to hand. Yes, it was nice, indeed. Everyone said opposites attracted, but clearly they'd never experienced this sort of thing before.
Men like Dean Winchester were few, and very far between. And Natasha Romanoff - Natalia Romanova - had no trouble accepting him just as he was, bad decisions and all.
"Mmm, probably not," she agreed, letting her lashes drift closed and a soft breath hiss escape when thick fingers pressed a little harder between her thighs, sleek and wet. She might have consented to stand there all night while he toyed with her, but it wasn't too long before she felt Dean urging her forward, and a vulpine smirk curved her lips, but she acquiesced without protest, sinuously stretching as she did so.
Heels of her hands propping her on the counter, Natasha gave Dean a sly glance over one bare shoulder before dropping her head and bowing her back, hips wiggling in his hands, just enough to tease. "Not really," she remarked with a slight shrug, then added, "But you know how high my standards are, so..." She purred delight to feel him rubbing warm against her back, guttural voice sinfully silky at her ear. "I'm a complicated woman, Dean," she breathed back, turning her head for a heated kiss. "It takes a particular combination to light this fire."
And the damnable man was quite skilled at how to stoke those flames, too. Natasha pressed her hips back into his, rubbing his hard cock between slick, hot lips. Her thighs parted, invitingly, and she ran the tip of her tongue around her mouth, teasing, but there was very little coyness in her voice when she whispered, "C'mon, baby, fuck me. Now."
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"I'm never going to get tired of hearing that."
Her eager insistence draws a growl out of him that's pure feral lust, one that's muffled momentarily by a kiss that he takes to just as hungrily. Occasionally he finds himself in a mood to draw the teasing out even more, if simply to hear what it does to her voice, but there's nothing quite like the sound of her just inhaling when he rolls his hips with one purpose in mind. It takes more skill to angle himself just right when she's so wet, but it's a challenge he's definitely up to, using both hands to pin her in place while the tip of his cock pushes up against her.
This time he does take it slower, giving himself time to feel her clenching around every inch of him as it sinks into her. One hand on her back slides upward along with that slow motion until his entire forearm is pinned across her back, fingers tangling into the soft, scarlet cascade of her hair, while his other hand remains on her hip, still gripping it tightly. He hardly needs anything else to keep her in place, not unless she bucks her hips into him, a movement that would only result in his grip tightening before he's even started to thrust.
His eyes flick briefly up to the mirror, just to be able to see her reaction even as he hears and feels it. It's far from the first time - and far from the last, he hopes - but it's the kind of moment that sticks very vividly in his mind, one that easily comes to him when he finds himself alone and in need of a release.
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They knew each other so well, there wasn't any awkwardness or trepidation, just the slow burn of flesh to flesh, heart to heart, and an easy attraction that never seemed to diminish. Less so now, with Dean pushing her down on the counter and sliding thick and hard between her soaking thighs, making her bite at her lower lip with his tantalizing slowness, guaranteed to spiral her out of her mind with dizzying pleasure.
Natasha dropped her head and moaned, feeling him fill her again, her tight walls rippling down over his cock, pressing into her slow and deliberate, and her back arched invitingly as she rolled a tight nipple between her own fingers, tugging on the bud until the tiny pains mixed with the heavy pleasure settling deep in her loins. When he was fully seated inside her, she lifted her gaze to the mirror, green eyes already dark with lust, and met Dean's behind her, her lips parted and gently slack, tip of her tongue teasing the upper with obscene grace.
"...Dean..." she heard herself moan, flexing her thighs and squeezing him tight, aching for him to move, to thrust into her as hard and as deep as he desired.