The storm was heavy, and thunder rolled. Dean was stirring in his bed, tossing and turning. He couldn't believe he saw her again. He didn't want to believe she didn't remember him. Thunder clapped outside his bedroom window. He heard another noise. It was a loud series of bangs. He thought it was the front door. Who would be knocking on his door? And in this weather? Very few people knew where he lived.
He threw on a pair of gray sweatpants with Northwestern in large purple letters running down the leg and headed down the stairs. He opened the door. Allie was standing there, soaking wet.
"Detective Kingston?"
His voice had a sound of confusion.
"Hi, Dean. Detective Carron. It's wet out here. Would you mind if I just stepped in?"
"Oh, sure, of course. Where are my manners? Please come in. Please," he said.
"Can I take your coat? Get you a towel or something?"
"Oh, that would be great."
She handed him her coat. He hung it up, ran upstairs to the linen closet, and got her a large towel.
Oh my God, what is she doing here? He thought. How did she find my house? She is a detective. But again, what is she doing here in the middle of the night, in the middle of a storm? Dean asked.
His mind was racing. He ran his fingers through his hair.
He came back downstairs. Allie was standing in the same spot. Her hair was down. It was wet and long and clinging to her one bare shoulder. The weight of the water had pulled the T-shirt down.
"Why don't you come in and get warm?" he offered.
She stepped further into the house and looked around.
"This is a very nice house. I never asked, are you married? I noticed you don't wear a ring, but I know a lot of law enforcement doesn't. They don't want people knowing they have a family."
"Oh no, I'm not married. I am very much single, actually," he said. "How about you? Boyfriend? Or husband but no ring?"
"No husband," she said, stepping closer to him.
"Boyfriend?"
"Do you need to talk about relationships right now?"
"How about the cop with the dark hair?"
"Lots of cops have dark hair? What's his name?" she asked.
He didn't know his name. He only saw his face and their exchange.
"Oh. Do you mind if I sit down? I don't want to get your couch wet."
You could lay in my bed for all I care. "Sure." He led her over to the couch, and they sat down. She turned and looked at him.
Look. I'm really sorry for the way I treated you today. I guess I was just embarrassed to see you. I didn't know how I should act," she said.
"Why would you have been embarrassed to see me?"
She put her hand on his face and gently traced the curve of his jawline over and over. "Because of what happened that night after we left Ava's."
"You remember that night?" he asked.
"Of course I do, don't you?"
"I remember every second of it. I do think of it often."
"Really. And what are you doing when you're thinking of it often," Allie asked.
His ears turned red.
"Oh, that's what you do when you think of it often."
She scooted closer to him.
"So what do you think of? What are your favorite parts?" she asked.
"Umm. In order of succession?"
"Sure. Tell me."
"Kissing you for the first time. You dancing with me to every song. Making… Well, sex, not love. I held you while you slept on my chest, in my arms. I had feelings that I never experienced before. How about you?"
"Just the sex. That's all I wanted. One night only."
"You didn't feel anything?"
"Oh, I felt something alright."
"I saw you standing in the doorway, watching me."
"And I let you leave. That must tell you something?"
"You would never be with me again?"
"You agreed to the terms. But it did feel good. Couldn't you tell?"
"Yeah, I could tell."
"I would love to get out of these wet clothes. Do you have a T-shirt or something I can slip into?"
"Oh, of course. Just give me a minute," Dean said.
He ran upstairs to his bedroom. He opened his dresser drawer and dug around. He came out with an oversized T-shirt. He ran back down the stairs to the living room.
There she was on his couch, wearing only the red lace undergarments she had on from that night.
He stopped in his tracks. And he looked at her.
"Is something wrong?" she asked.
"No, no, nothing is wrong at all. Those look very familiar." He grinned. "Come sit down."
She was shivering slightly. "Would you mind coming closer and warming me up?" she asked.
I must be dreaming, he thought to himself.
"Come on." She patted the seat next to her. Have a seat, Cowboy.
He sat down and handed her the T-shirt. She unfolded it and looked at it.
"Northwestern." She put it down on her lap. "You know, I can do one of two things with his T-shirt. I can put it on, or I can put it on the floor. Either way, it will end up on the floor anyway," she said.
He felt his heart quicken. He stammered words, but they did not make any sense. "Uh. I. You can. It's. OK."
She moved, her face inches away from his. "You want to kiss me, don't you?" she asked.
"There is nothing more I want at this very moment." He put his hand on the back of her head, pulled her in, and kissed her. It was precisely like he had remembered.
"But I thought you just said…"
She put her forehead against his and whispered, "You don't want to?"
"God, Allie, you know I do," he whispered back.
"Maybe seeing you again changed my mind, Cowboy."
She took his other hand and put it on her breast. He moved his hand from the back of her head and slid it down to the clasp on her red lace bra. In one swift movement, he unhooked it. She peeled it off, and it fell to the floor. He kissed down her neck, to her shoulder, across her collarbone.
She slowly laid back on the couch. Her arms were above her head. He took her nipple into his mouth and ran his tongue around the tight pink pebbled. He gently nipped at it, pulling it slightly. He then kissed her down the center of her torso to her belly button.
She moaned his name. "Dean."
He kissed his way down, moving the small strip of fabric of the red lace panties to the side. He licked her. He had never tasted anything so good, so sweet. She shivered not because she was cold from the rain but because of his touch. She could hear him making a noise. It was the sound of someone who was enjoying a delicious meal.
She looked down at him. "Dean," she said.
Only his eyes moved as he looked up to her. Her blue-gray eyes stared at him.
"Make love to me, please," she begged him.
He slid her panties off, and they joined her bra on the ground. He stood up and slid off the sweatpants. He got on the couch and hovered over her in the leaning rest position. He lowered his head and kissed her deeply.
He pulled back. "Did you drive over here?" he asked.
"Well, I sure as shit didn't walk."
"So, you are completely sober?"
"Not a drop of alcohol in my veins," she said.
"So you'll remember me? You'll see me tomorrow and remember me?"
"Of course I will."
"How do I know for sure?"
"Because we will do it again and again," she said.
She lifted her head and kissed him, tasting herself on his tongue. He was pressed against her. It was a familiar feeling to him. Through their kissing, he heard her moan.
"Please. Now. Make love to me."
He pulled back, "Love, not sex?"
"If that's what you want."
"I do. I honestly do."
"I'm happy to hear that," she said.
"Why?"
"Because I love you silly. Ever since I first laid eyes on you. I knew that I wanted to be with you. You don't love me too?"
"No. I mean, yes. I didn't think you felt the same way."
"You couldn't tell if you did."
"Then please, make me say wow," she said. "Just wow."
He was just about to feel her when a bolt of lightning and a large crack of thunder echoed through the air. Dean jolted upright in bed. He was sweating. His sheets were damp. He looked around. He checked his cell phone. It was 3:00 AM. It was only just a dream. It was a fantastic dream that he yearned to finish. He thought about it repeatedly while he drifted to sleep, hoping that he could go back and finish what his mind had started. It was no use. He remained dreamless for the rest of the night.
Across town, Allie was lying on her bed. She listened to the sound of the rain on her windows and the intense crack of thunder. She had been unable to sleep. She had been tossing and turning, thinking of him. She thought of his broad shoulders, his green eyes that sparkled in the sunlight, his little tight ass, and his face so familiar, but she could not place where she may have seen it. Maybe she did see it on the street at some point. She started to fantasize about what it would be like to experience him. To run her hands over his body and feel the definition of his muscles.
She was in the Bureau after hours. No one was there, and the lights were down. She heard the swish-swish of his jacket. She could subtly smell his Cologne. She felt him walk up behind her.
"Detective Kingston," he said.
She spun around in her chair.
He had been wet from the rain.
"You can call me Allie. If you want."
He peeled off his coat and threw it on the chair beside her desk.
"You're going to catch a cold if you stay in those wet clothes," she said.
"You are right."
He unbuttoned his dress shirt. It was wet and hung to the definition of his muscular chest. He took it off. He was beautiful: his shoulders, his arms, his chest. Allie had the compulsion to run her hands over him.
"I would offer you some clothes, but we don't have any in this building that would fit you. You're going to have to stay there. Half dressed."
"Yeah, but I'm cold," he said.
Well, maybe we could fix that." She rolled her chair closer to him. She reached out and unbuckled his belt and slid it from the loops. She undid the button and the zipper. Even though the pants were wet, they fell easily down his legs.
He had not been wearing any underwear. The cold had done nothing to diminish his size. She had never seen anyone that large in person, only in porn movies or magazines. She did enjoy the occasional Penthouse or Playgirl. She was perpetually single.
"Your turn," he said.
She stood up and let him undress her.
They kissed softly. He picked her up. She wrapped her arms and legs around him. Her fingers raked through his hair, his hair becoming mussed. Yet he still looked amazing somehow.
"Tell me what you want. Tell me your deepest, darkest fantasy."
"You. you are my deepest, darkest fantasy."
"As you wish," he said.
She sat down on her chair. He got down on his knees. He slid her hips forward. She slumped in the chair. He leaned in. She closed her eyes and tipped her head back.
She could almost feel him lying on the bed with her if she concentrated hard enough. She grabbed her breast and aggressively pinched her nipples. She ran her palm down the center of her chest, past her belly button, over her mound. She lay there and imagined him as she slowly started to feel herself.
She went faster and faster to keep up with the rhythm of her fantasy. Her breathing became heavy. Her chest heaved, her eyelids fluttered. She looked down at him. He looked up at her, and their eyes locked.
She slid two fingers inside herself. "Oh, fuck," she moaned. "Dean." With her other hand she rubbed her bundle of nerves that made the walls of her core clench.
She wanted him there so badly. She wanted to feel him on top of her, deep inside her.
Her eyes started to flutter as she moved her hand and fingers faster, sliding them back and forth. She felt the excitement cresting. She made herself come hard the lightning pulsed outside, and the thunder cracked.
With the thought of Dean in her mind, she could finally drift off to sleep.
She was unaware that Malibu had watched her from the darkness in the corner of her room. She was just as he remembered—just as beautiful. He watched her face, her head leaned back, mouth open. He remembers he would kiss her throat, her chin, her lips. She would say his name. He had never wanted to be as alive as in that moment. He watched her sleep for a while, then faded to black.
🎧Blind Melon: No Rain