The sound of his breathing."Dean..." she whimpers, reaching for him and longing to see the desire in his eyes. She knows it's there. She can feel it. Taste it in the way he kisses her. "Please..."He lowers her, warm and naked, to the bed. She feels his skin pressing against hers and tries to push closer to the hard heat of him. His hands close around her wrists and she feels a silken cording looping around them.For a brief second, she panics. Sam tied her up when he was possessed. Was Dean driven by an unspeakable force? She struggles slightly, biting her lip and trying not to cry out. She's too proud to beg. Too scared to ask what's going on.His breath scorches her throat as he hovers over her. As if sensing her insecurity, voice husky, he says, "I'll stop if you want me to..."The sincerity in his words - the tenderness and uncertainty - fillet her. It opens her heart and her body. Fills her with desire and want. Swallowing, she nods in answer.Dean's big hands map the curves of Jo's. Living conditions have improved some. My mom worked at home, and my dad was a wholesale clothing salesman who wasn't home very often. My parents were smart enough to stay the fuck out of that nasty, and then new, concept known as the suburbs.We lived in a three bedroom apartment, then. My sisters Rachel and Sarah shared one of them. My brothers Saul, Jacob, and I all shared the second. My parents shared the third, of course. Maybe five kids seems like a lot, but my neighbors had 12, so I don't think we were too bad off.My parents weren't black-hat religious, but they believed, and we were raised to believe with them. Not two months ago, I had been Bar Mitzvahed. That means that, in the eyes of the community, I was a man. In our community, men were men, women were women, and men became men when they had partaken in the Bar Mitzvah. Which made me ... a man.As a man, I was expected to do certain things. First of all, I was expected to partake in the religious responsibilities that came.
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