tw. obsessive / stalker dean x reader. somnophilia. pussy eating. breaking in. p in v. creampie. alcohol mention. panty kink. panty stealing. CNC. title from alligator blood- nicole dollanganger.
the key turns with practiced silence in the deadbolt. Dean knows exactly which floorboards creak. the third from the door, the one in the hall by the bathroom, the spot just beside your bed. He's memorised the layout of your apartment the way he memorised the feel of your skin from that one time you bumped into him at the grocery store, your hand brushing his as you both reached for the same bottle of whiskey.
Six months ago. You don't remember but he does.
His boots are off left at the door in the hallway. He's wearing only socks, a pair of dark jeans and a leather jacket that's seen better days. He moves through your living room like smoke, past the collection of succulents on your windowsill, past the half-empty coffee mug you left on the coffee tableâblack with two sugars. you take it just like he does. moving into the rectangle of pale moonlight spilling from your bedroom doorway.
You're on your side with one arm tucked under your pillow, mouth slightly open, your lashes dark crescents against your cheeks. The sheet has twisted around your legs leaving one thigh exposed, the curve of your hip visible where your oversized t-shirt has ridden up.
You're wearing that shirtâthe worn one with the faded band logo that he's seen you in at least a dozen times from his parked car across the street.
Dean's breath catches in his throat the way it always does when he sees you like this. Vulnerable. oblivious. his.
He pads closer to the bed, his shadow falling over you. The mattress dips as he settles his weight on the edge, the springs complaining softly. You don't stir. You never do. You sleep like the dead and Dean thanks whatever twisted god is listening for that mercy.
His hand hovers over your hip, not quite touching. He can feel the warmth radiating from your skin, smell the faint scent of your shampooâsomething coconut and vanilla that drives him insane. His cock is already half-hard in his jeans, pressing against the zipper demanding attention.
"God.. look at you.â he whispers, his voice rough and low. "So fucking beautiful I can't think straight."
He finally lets his palm rest on your bare thigh. Your skin is impossibly soft, warm from sleep. He strokes up, fingers trailing over the swell of your hip and dipping under the hem of your shirt. You shift slightly in your sleep, a soft sound escaping your lips and Dean freezes, his heart hammering against his chest.
When you settle back into your breathing rhythmâslow, even and deep he exhales shakily.
"Sweetheart.â he murmurs like a prayer. "You have no idea what you do to me."
He slides his hand higher tracing the line of your ribs through the thin cotton of your shirt. His thumb brushes the underside of your breast and his mouth waters. He's dreamed of this, of touching you, of taking what he wants while you lie there oblivious.
Slowly he pulls the sheet down further baring your legs completely. The moonlight catches the curve of your ass where your shirt has bunched up and Dean has to bite back a groan. His free hand goes to his jeans fumbling with the button, unzipping with a sound that seems impossibly loud in the quiet room.
He frees his cockâhard and thick, the head already slick with a bead of precum. He strokes himself once then twice, watching your sleeping face. your parted lips. the way your chest rises and falls.
"I need to taste you..â he breathes out.
He shifts positioning himself between your legs. With gentle reverent hands he pushes your thighs apart. You make a sleepy sound of protest but don't wake, your body relaxing into his touch. The cotton of your panties is thin, worn, and he can see the shadow of your cunt through the fabric.
Dean leans down and presses his mouth to you through the cloth, inhaling your scent. He's dizzy with it. His tongue darts out wetting the fabric, tracing the seam of your folds. You twitch, your hips rolling slightly and he groans against you.
He hooks his fingers in the waistband of your panties and pulls them down your thighs, your knees, off completely. He pockets them for later. he'll stroke himself to this memory.
Now he spreads you open with his thumbs and you're glistening pink, already wet in that unconscious way your body responds to sleep. Dean swears under his breath, his voice cracking.
"God look at this pussy. Made for me. Made just for me."
He lowers his head and his tongue is flat against your clit in one smooth possessive stroke. He tastes salt and the faint sweetness of you and it's better than any whiskey, better than anything he's ever had. He circles your clit with the tip of his tongue slow and firm and your body responds immediatelyâyour hips twitch, a soft moan escaping your throat.
"That's it..â he murmurs against you. "Let me have it, baby."
He works you open with his mouth, licking into your folds, fucking you with his tongue. He's patient. He knows what he's doing and he takes his time. He brings you to the edge and backs off just to watch your breath hitch, just to see the way your brow furrows in your sleep, caught in the edge of a dream you don't remember.
When he surfaces his chin is slick with you and his cock throbs with a brutal need. He positions himself between your thighs, the head of his cock nudging against your entrance. He looks at your face one last timeâyour relaxed features, your soft mouth, the way you've turned your head to the side completely unaware.
"I'm sorry, sweetheart.â he whispers though there's no apology in his voice. "I can't help myself. You're mine."
He pushes in and your cunt yields to him wet and hot and tight, the friction of that first slick slide making his eyes roll back. You gasp sharply, your body jolting and he stills, buried halfway inside you. His jaw is clenched so tight it aches.
"Shh shh, I've got you.â he whispers smoothing his hand over your hip, your belly. "Just relax. You feel so good, Christ. so good."
Your body adjusts, your muscles loosening as you sink back into sleep and he takes that as permission. He pushes deeper seating himself fully inside you and the feeling of your tight cunt gripping his cock is almost too much. He has to breathe through it, his forehead nearly pressed to yours, his breath fanning over your face.
He starts to moveâslow deep strokes that drag the full length of him through your slick heat. The bed creaks in a steady rhythm, the headboard knocking soft against the wall. Your nails scrape weakly at the sheets, and your lips part, your breathing speeding up, catching on little whimpers.
"Fuck, you take it so well.â he grits out, his hips picking up speed. "You take my cock so fucking good, baby. Dreaming about this, I know you are. Dreaming about me filling this tight little cunt."
He wraps one arm under your knee, hitching your leg higher changing the angle. He drives deeper, hitting a spot that makes your whole body clench, your back arching off the mattress. A low broken moan escapes you, the first sound you've made that's truly awake, but your eyes stay closed.
"Right there-â he gasps. "Right fucking there come on, give it to me. wet my cock."
He reaches down between your bodies, his thumb finding your clit and rubbing tight circles. He fucks you harder, faster, the sound of skin slapping skin filling the room. Your breath comes in ragged gasps, your walls fluttering around him and he watches your face contort in that perfect mask of pleasure.
"Now.â he commands, his voice breaking. "please- cum for me now."
Your orgasm crashes through you, your back bowing with a sharp cry tearing from your throat. Your cunt milks him, clenching and pulsing and Dean buries his face in your neck as he follows you over the edge, spilling deep inside you in hot heavy pulses. He grinds his hips against you riding it out, groaning your name like a curse.
For a long moment, the only sound is his ragged breathing and the distant hum of traffic. He stays inside you softening, his face pressed to the curve of your shoulder. When he finally pulls out, he watches a pearl of his cum leak from your cunt, and he uses two fingers to push it back inside.
"Can't waste any of itâŠâ he murmurs.
He pulls your shirt down, rearranges the sheet over you and presses a long, soft kiss to your forehead. You mumble something in your sleep, turning onto your other side and curling into a ball.
Dean dresses in the dark, takes your panties from his pocket and stows them safely, lets himself out of your apartment the same way he came in.
As he walks to his car under the streetlights, he pulls his phone from his pocket and opens the app he's been using to track your phone's location.
"Tomorrow nightâŠâ he says to himself. "Same time, sweetheart."
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