Dean as a demon was a handful. Effortlessly sexy. Good with his words, and hands, and what he was packing in his jeans. A bad singer, but still managed to pick up the ladies with a small wink and tracing his teeth with his tongue. But you? You were what he had his eyes on to get.

You were one of Crowley’s contacts that had a bone to pick with Heaven. Not a demon, but still so damn sexy. You’d parade around in those too cropped shorts, cropped tank top and combat boots that made your smooth legs look longer. A thigh holster strapped to that powerful thing that he wanted wrapped around him.

He wanted you. He wanted so badly to tame you, and he’d tame you nasty.

He finally got his chance to be alone with you when Crowley gave him a soul collecting job and you two were in his room, but Dean had no intention of respecting Crowley’s king-size. For now, he could only imagine you bouncing on his lap. His tongue licked his teeth as he hungrily stared at you.

“Crowley seems very fond’a you, sugar.” He purred, taking a look at your ass in those shorts he swore was just a bare extension from underwear. His eyes traced the anti-possession tattoo on the side of your neck. Your neck, damn, he wanted to grip it so bad.

He chuckled lightly, but low in his throat as usual as he felt drawn to your confidence. You weren’t like the blonde-haired, scantily-dressed sleazebags he’d get it down with. “I see the appeal.”