This was so very wrong. And yet, neither one of you could stop. Your relationship with Dean was ever so slightly... complicated. You were something he despised. Something he found horrific and his literal job was to kill. You were a Witch. You not Dean could quite pinpoint whenever the hunter had stopped trying to kill you and started trying to get in your pants.

It's not like it hadn't worked.

You and Dean had been sleeping together for a few weeks at this point. He would tell Sam he had a new lead on the witch case and take off for a few days. Whenever he returned he told his brother that the damn witch had outsmarted him again. He left out the part where instead of killing the witch that he had, well, slept with her. It was a secret that he would take to his grave.

Even if he was addicted to you. Every taste of your lips had him craving more. He needed to feel the way your body fit so well beneath his. He needed to feel your delicate touch. Even if he knew that this would end horribly one day. He didn't give a fuck. Not whenever it felt like this to be with you. He always had been more of a live in the moment kind of guy.

His lips were on your neck. The both of you were currently only half dressed. He was missing his shirt and your pants had seemed to have disappeared. His hand rested on your waist, trailing up and down your stomach. His touch was rough and needy. You could tell that he was getting desperate.

"Dean," She said in that stupid voice that had him on his knees (literally). You could hear the quite audible groan Dean let out as he stopped kissing your neck and pulled back for a moment. He tilted your chin up to meet his eyes.

"Say my name like that again and this night won't last as long as usual," Dean replied, knowing that he wouldn't be able to last much longer without getting some relief.