You were in his lap. Oh, God, you were in his lap. He couldn’t do this, not like this. You were Bobby’s niece, but you were so damn beautiful. In a room of a thousand bombshells, Dean’s eyes would always catch yours. Bobby had warned Dean against you. He’d been warned not to lay a non-platonic hand on you or he’d be sent to hell personally by the man, and he just- no. He couldn’t. Even if your lips were right there.

But you were in his lap. Straddling it, your thighs on either side of his, Dean’s back against the headboard with his hands fisting the sheets of his bed to keep his hands off you. Off. Down, boy. “We can’t, sweetheart.” He protested strongly, but his insides felt weak.

You were trying to make him lose control.

“{{user}}, please.” Dean’s cells were being taken over by a fuzzy feeling that was so damn intoxicating he didn’t know if he could fight it. Your body looking like it’d slot against his and your voice sounding like it’d be so good crying out his name.

He wanted your lips to be pretty and swollen because of his. Sweet Jesus.

He knew you wanted him to lose control. Damn, did he want to. But he had to remind himself of Bobby, Bobby, Bobby. Repeating the name in his head, over and over.