The Hunters Release
The motel door slammed shut behind you, rattling in its frame. You barely noticed, too busy dragging off your jacket, feeling the grime and blood of the hunt clinging to your skin. Dean was right behind you, breathing just as hard, his own jacket hitting the floor with a dull thud. The air between you was thick—more than exhaustion, more than relief. Something else clawed at the edges, dark and hungry.
Your eyes met his.
It was like a goddamn spark igniting a powder keg.
Neither of you moved for a second, chests rising and falling in tandem, bodies humming with something far more primal than fatigue. Then, like a switch had flipped, Dean was on you.
A low growl vibrated from his throat as he closed the distance, crashing his lips against yours, hard and demanding. He tasted like sweat and copper, like adrenaline and need, and you couldn’t get enough. Your fingers fisted in his shirt, yanking him closer, gasping when he shoved you back against the nearest wall with a force that rattled the cheap picture frame above your head.
“Fuck—” You barely got the word out before his hands were on you, rough, desperate. He grabbed your thigh, hoisting it up to his waist, pressing his hips forward so you could feel just how ready he was. Your head fell back against the wall as he kissed his way down your neck, biting, sucking, marking. His stubble scraped against your sensitive skin, sending jolts of pleasure straight between your legs.
“Wanted this all damn night,” Dean murmured, his voice a dark rasp against your throat. “Watchin’ you move, watching you fight—” His teeth scraped the shell of your ear before he bit down, hard. You gasped, grinding against him.
“Dean,” you panted, clawing at his belt, desperate to get rid of the layers between you.
He wasn’t much more patient. His fingers made quick work of your pants, yanking them down before spinning you around and shoving you against the wall again, this time with your hands braced against the peeling wallpaper. His breath was hot against the back of your neck as he pressed his body against yours, his cock straining against his jeans, grinding against your bare skin.
“Look at you,” he murmured, one rough hand skating down your side before gripping your hip. His other hand traced up your spine, slowly, teasing, before fisting in your hair and pulling your head back just enough to make you gasp. “So goddamn perfect.”
You whined, pressing your ass back against him, seeking friction, and he groaned, deep and guttural.
“Fuck this,” he muttered before stepping back just long enough to shove his jeans and boxers down.
The moment his bare skin pressed against yours, you shuddered. Dean didn’t waste time. One hand gripped your hip tight enough to bruise, while the other guided himself between your legs, teasing, stroking through your slickness before lining up and thrusting in, rough and deep.
You choked on a gasp, your fingers scrambling against the wall for purchase. He was thick, stretching you open in the best way, making your head spin.
“Jesus,” Dean ground out, both hands gripping your waist now, holding you in place as he pulled back and slammed forward again. “So fucking tight—”
He didn’t ease into it. Didn’t give you time to adjust. He just took, pounded into you like he needed it more than air, like you were the only thing tethering him to the earth.
And you fucking loved it.
Your moans turned into shameless cries as he fucked you against the wall, the motel room filled with the sound of skin slapping against skin, the picture frame rattling against the cheap drywall. His grip was bruising, his pace relentless.
“Dean—fuck—”
“Yeah?” His voice was a low growl in your ear. “You like it rough, sweetheart? Like me fucking you like this?”
You nodded frantically, words failing you, and Dean chuckled darkly.
“Hold on,” he warned before pulling out and spinning you around so fast your head spun.
You barely had time to process before he was lifting you onto the rickety motel table, shoving everything off with a crash, and spreading your legs wide. His eyes were dark, blown out with lust as he grabbed your thighs and pulled you to the edge, lining up again and slamming back inside with a force that had you crying out.
His lips crashed against yours, swallowing your moans, his hands gripping your hips tight enough to leave marks. He fucked you hard, deep, his cock hitting every perfect spot inside you, your bodies slick with sweat, with need.
“Come on,” he gritted out, one hand slipping between your bodies to find your clit, rubbing fast, ruthless. “Wanna feel you come on my cock, sweetheart.”
Your whole body locked up, pleasure slamming into you so hard it nearly knocked the breath from your lungs. You shattered around him, crying his name, nails digging into his shoulders.
Dean groaned, his rhythm stuttering, before he buried himself deep and spilled inside you with a broken growl, his forehead dropping to your shoulder.
For a moment, neither of you moved, bodies tangled, breathless. Then Dean let out a rough chuckle, pressing a lazy kiss to your throat.
“Well,” he murmured against your skin, voice still wrecked. “That’s one way to wind down after a hunt.”
You huffed a laugh, still too blissed out to move.
“Shower?” you finally managed.
Dean pulled back, grinning wickedly. “Only if you’re joinin’ me, sweetheart.”
Like you’d say no to that.
