𝖒ari

The Impala's engine rumbled beneath them like a living thing, its familiar growl filling the comfortable silence that had settled over the car. Dean's eyes were fixed on the road ahead, one hand on the steering wheel, the other reaching for the half-empty beer bottle wedged between his thighs. The highway stretched out before them, endless and dark, the only illumination coming from the headlights cutting through the oppressive blackness of the rural Kansas night.

In the backseat, Sam Winchester sat with his long legs folded awkwardly in the cramped space, his shoulders hunched, his jaw tight. He'd been like this for days now. All coiled tension and barely suppressed irritation, snapping at the smallest things, his patience worn thinner than the tires on Baby after a particularly rough hunt.

You sat beside him, pressed against the opposite door, your posture relaxed despite the uncomfortable position. Your dark sunglasses were perched on your nose even in the darkness of the car, the thick frames and heavily tinted lenses hiding your eyes from view. Black long-sleeved shirt, black jeans, black boots—you looked like you'd stepped out of a noir film, all sharp angles and shadows. The only splash of color was your skin, almost luminous in the dim light filtering through the windows.

Three weeks. Three weeks of sleeping in cramped motel rooms with only one bed, three weeks of Sam's body screaming for relief and getting nothing but frustration. He couldn't even jerk off, not with Dean sleeping two feet away, not with you standing guard just outside the door with your supernatural hearing, not with the constant threat of monsters lurking in every shadow.

It was driving him slowly, torturously insane.

His jeans felt too tight. Everything felt too tight. His skin, his muscles, his control: all of it stretched to the breaking point. Every time you shifted beside him, every time your arm brushed against his, every time he caught a whiff of your scent, something clean and sharp and utterly foreign, his body responded with embarrassing eagerness. His cock would twitch in his pants, filling with blood, and he'd have to shift his position to hide the evidence of his desire.

God, he was pathetic.

A seventeen-year-old with his first crush couldn't have been more needy, more obviously desperate. He could feel the heat in his cheeks every time you so much as glanced in his direction, and he was absolutely certain you could hear his heartbeat racing whenever you got too close. Your supernatural senses had to be picking up on his agitation, his arousal, his complete inability to function like a normal human being around you.

"Alright, listen up," Dean said suddenly, breaking the silence. He pulled the Impala to the side of the road, the gravel crunching beneath the tires as he came to a stop. "I'm going to go find that bar we passed about two miles back. The one with the.." he paused, a grin spreading across his face. "blondie. The one who was giving me the look."

Sam's jaw tightened even further. "Dean, we're on a hunt. We don't have time for you to-"

"Relax, Sammy." Dean waved his hand dismissively. "I'll be back in a few hours. You two can sleep in the car—or not sleep in your case, vamps." he added, glancing at you with a wink. "Just keep an eye on my Baby while I'm gone. If I come back and she's got a single scratch on her, I'm blaming you."

"Dean."

"Sam." Dean's voice took on a sharper edge. "I haven't gotten laid in two weeks. I'm about to crawl out of my skin. And you've been in a shit mood for days, so honestly, I could use a break from your bitchy face. I'll be back before sunrise."

Sam opened his mouth to argue, then closed it again. What was the point? Dean was already getting out of the car, already striding away with that confident swagger he'd perfected over years of hunting and womanizing. Within seconds, he was just a dark shape on the road, growing smaller and smaller until he disappeared around a bend.

The silence in the car was deafening.

Sam could feel you beside him, your presence radiating a strange kind of stillness. You didn't breathe, not really. Not in the way humans did. You'd fake it for the sake of appearances when around other people, but Sam knew you didn't need it. You were just... existing. Waiting. Watching.

He shifted in his seat, trying to find a position that would be comfortable for his aching body. The movement jostled his legs, and he felt the unmistakable pressure of his hardening cock against his zipper. God, he'd been half-hard for hours now. It was getting worse by the minute, the heat in his gut building to a fever pitch.

He thought about the hunt they'd just finished. The vampire nest they'd cleared out, the bodies they'd burned, the constant fear that one of them would get bitten or turned. And here he was, sitting next to another vampire and all he could think about was how fucking bad he wanted to get his hands on you.

What was wrong with him?

His dick didn't care about morality. His dick didn't care about the danger. His dick only cared about the way you moved, the way you spoke, the way you looked at him from behind those dark glasses. His dick only cared about the fact that you were a vampire, something dangerous, powerful, dark, and everything inside him wanted to submit to that darkness, to give in to the primal urge that had been building for weeks.

"I know you know."

The words escaped his mouth before he could stop them. He winced, turning his head to look at you. You were already watching him, your head tilted slightly, an expression he couldn't quite read on your face.

"I know you can hear it," he continued, his voice rough. "My heart. It's been pounding like crazy for the past few days. And you've definitely seen—" he gestured vaguely at his lap, where the unmistakable bulge in his jeans was pressing against the fabric. "—that, by now. So just... just go outside. Give me five minutes. Ten minutes, tops. I'll take care of it, and we'll never speak of this again."

The silence stretched between you for a long moment.

Then, slowly, a smile spread across your face. It was a dangerous smile, the kind that promised trouble and pleasure in equal measure. Sam felt his stomach drop, his cock twitching with sudden interest.

"What's so funny?" he asked, hating how defensive his voice sounded.

"You're so cute when you're flustered, Sam." Your voice was low, smooth, like honey poured over steel. "All that big, strong hunter attitude, and here you are, asking me to give you a little privacy so you can get yourself off. It's adorable, really."

Sam's face burned. "It's not- I'm not-"

"Not what?" You shifted closer, your body sliding across the seat until you were pressed against his side. The contact sent a jolt of electricity through his system, and he had to bite back a moan. "Not desperate?"

He let out a whiny sound of complain that would have embarassed him into an early grave if his brain wasn't deprived of blood enough to notice it.

"I'm a vampire, Sam." You reached up, your cool fingers brushing against his jaw. He shuddered at the contact, his eyes fluttering closed. "I know everything. I know you've been dying to get your hand down your pants, not that you could with Dean snoring right next to you or me keeping watch outside the door."

Your hand slid down his chest, tracing the lines of his muscles through his shirt. He was trembling now, his body reacting to your touch with a hunger he couldn't control.

"Let me help you," you murmured, your lips brushing against his ear. "I can do it better than your hand."

Sam's breath caught in his throat. "You... you don't have to do this. I'm fine. I can-"

"You can't." Your voice was firm, insistent. "You've been pent up for weeks, Sam. I can practically taste it on you. Your need. Your desperation. It's.. intoxicating."

You pulled back, and he could have sworn he saw something flicker in your eyes behind those sunglasses. "Don't you want to know what it's like? To have me take care of you?"

Sam swallowed hard. Every rational thought in his head was screaming at him to say no, to push you away, to pretend this conversation had never happened. But his body, his stupid, traitorous body, was already leaning into your touch, his hips shifting to create more pressure against his aching erection.

"Yes," he whispered, his voice cracking. "God, yes."

Your smile widened. "Come on, then."

He was moving before he could think, lunging across the backseat and crashing his lips against yours.

The kiss was messy, desperate, all teeth and tongue and the kind of raw need that came from three weeks of denial. You made a sound against his mouth—surprise, pleasure, he couldn't tell—and then you were kissing him back, your cool hands fisting in his shirt, pulling him closer.

Sam groaned into your mouth, the sound ripped from somewhere deep in his chest. This was what he'd been craving. This was what he'd been dreaming about. Your lips, your taste, the way you moved against him like you wanted to devour him whole—

"Sam," you breathed against his mouth, and the sound of his name on your lips almost sent him over the edge right there. "Sam, slow down. We have time."

"I don't want to slow down," he gasped, his hands finding your hips, pulling you into his lap. "I've been waiting for weeks. I can't—I need—"

"I know." Your lips traced along his jaw, down his throat, and his head fell back against the seat with a thud. "I know, baby. I've got you. Just let me take care of you."

His hands tangled in your hair as you kissed your way down his neck, your teeth grazing his skin in a way that made him shudder. He could feel your fangs, just barely there, and the knowledge that you could bite him at any moment sent a thrill of fear and desire straight to his core.

But you didn't bite. Not yet.

Instead, you pulled back, looking down at him with that same unreadable expression. "You've been so patient," you murmured, your hand sliding down his chest, over his stomach, to the button of his jeans. "So good for me. I think you deserve a reward, don't you?"

His mind was a haze of sensation and need. He could feel every inch of you against him, the coolness of your skin through your clothes, the subtle shift of your muscles as you moved atop him. He could smell you, too.. that strange, clean scent that drove him crazy, and taste you on his lips, something metallic and sweet, like copper and honey.

"I'm going to lose my mind," he muttered, his forehead dropping to rest against yours. "I've been so fucking pent up, and you're so-" He broke off with a groan as you arched, your hips meeting his in a perfect rhythm.

"So what, Sam?" Your voice was teasing, almost playful. "So what am I?"

"So fucking perfect," he breathed. "So dangerous. So... everything."

You laughed, a soft, musical sound that made his heart stutter in his chest. "You're sweet, Sam Winchester. Stupid, but sweet."

"Stupid?" He pulled back, his eyes wide. "How am I-"

"Because you're about to lose control," you said calmly. "Because you've been holding back for so long that you're about to come in your pants like a teenager. And you think I'm not going to notice?"

Sam's face flamed. "I'm not- I can control myself-"

"Can you?" Your hand slid down further and he practically sobbed at the feeling. When you reached his belt, you paused, your fingers hovering over the buckle. "Because I think you're right on the edge, Sam. I think you've been on the edge since the moment Dean left. And I think you need someone to push you over."

He didn't have words. He couldn't form thoughts. All he could do was nod, his eyes fixed on your hands as they worked at his belt.

"Then let me help you," you said softly. "Let me give you what you need."

The next few minutes were a blur of desperate movement and barely controlled noise. Sam's hands fumbled at his jeans, trying to get them off while you worked at your own clothes. The Impala's backseat was cramped and awkward, practically no room to maneuver, but neither of you cared. The need was too great, the urgency too overwhelming.

Somehow, you ended up with Sam on his back, his jeans and boxers shoved down around his thighs, his cock standing proud and aching against his stomach. And you were on top of him, your legs straddling his hips, your own pants and panties discarded somewhere on the floor of the car. He could feel you, the heat of you, the wetness of you, and it took every ounce of self-control he possessed not to thrust up into you like a fucking animal.

"You're so big," you breathed, your voice filled with wonder and heat. "Sam, you're fucking huge."

He groaned, his hands gripping your hips. "Fuck- don' say that shit to me-"

"What?" You chuckled breathlesly as you leaned forward, your hair falling around his face like a dark curtain. "It's the truth, Sammy."

You lowered yourself fully onto him, and Sam saw stars.

The feeling was indescribable, your heat enveloping him inch by agonizing inch. He was so hard it hurt, so desperate he could barely breathe, and you were so tight, so perfect, so fucking good. He moaned, a broken, desperate sound that he'd be embarrassed about later. Right now, all he could do was feel.

"That's it," you murmured, your hips rolling against his. "That's it, Sam. Let me have you."

He did. He let you have everything: his control, his worries, his fear of the darkness inside him. He let himself sink into the feeling of you, the pleasure of your body moving against his. And when you leaned forward, your lips brushing against his neck, he almost came right there.

"Bite me."

The words escaped his mouth before he could stop them. He heard them echo in the small space of the car, felt the shock of his own need ripple through his body. His hands tightened on your hips, his hips thrusting up into you even as he spoke.

"Please. Please, bite me. I need it. I need to feel your fangs in my neck, to feel you drink from me. Please, please, please-"

You froze above him, your eyes wide behind your sunglasses. "Sammy-"

"Fuck, please." He was begging now, and he didn't even care. "I've been dreaming about it for weeks. It's all I can think about. I've been so fucking hard just from the fantasy of it, and now- please. Please, just-"

"Sam, that's... that's a lot." Your voice was softer now, almost tender. "Are you sure?"

"Yes." There was no hesitation, no doubt. "Yes, I'm sure. I want this. I want you."

For a long moment, you just looked at him. Then slowly, so slowly, you leaned forward once again, your breath warm against his neck. He could feel your fangs grazing his skin, sharp and dangerous, and his entire body shuddered with anticipation.

"Tell me again," you whispered. "Tell me what you want."

"I want you to bite me," he whined, his voice rough with need. "I want you to drink my blood. I want you to make me yours."

"Yes." He felt your lips curve into a smile against his skin. "Yes, Sam. That's exactly what I wanted to hear."

And then your teeth sank into his neck.

The pain was sharp and shocking, a burst of white-hot agony that made him cry out. But it was followed by something else.. something incredible. Pleasure flooded through him, hotter and more intense than anything he'd ever experienced. The feeling of your mouth on his neck, of your fangs deep in his flesh, of his blood flowing into your mouth..

His orgasm hit him like a freight train. He came harder than he'd ever come in his life, his hips bucking up into you as his cock pulsed and spilled inside you. He could feel your own climax, your muscles clenching around him as you milked him for everything he had. And still, you drank from him, your fangs buried in his neck, his blood flowing into your mouth in a slow, steady stream.

He felt lightheaded, disconnected from his body. The pleasure was so intense, so all-encompassing, that he couldn't tell where he ended and you began. He was just sensation, just feeling, just pure, blissful surrender.

Eventually, you pulled away, your tongue laving over the wounds on his neck. He whimpered at the feeling, his cock twitching weakly inside you. Your lips brushed against his jaw, his cheek, his lips. leaving a trail of soft, tender kisses that seemed almost reverent.

"Sam," you whispered. "Sam, wake up."

He blinked, his eyes focusing on your face. He hadn't realized he'd closed them, had forgotten he had a body. Your glasses had been discarded somewhere sometime, and he could see your eyes for the first time.. dark and deep, filled with something that looked almost like affection.

"Holy shit," he breathed. "That was..."

"Yeah." You smiled, a soft, genuine smile that made his heart ache. "It was."

The Impala was warm and intimate, the windows fogged with the heat of your bodies. Sam lay beneath you, his softening cock still inside you, his cum slowly leaking out of you and onto his stomach. He should have felt gross, or weird, or at least a little awkward. Instead, he just felt... content. Peaceful. Like every nerve in his body had been soothed.

You kissed his forehead, his nose, his lips. Small, gentle kisses that made his heart flutter in his chest. Your fingers traced patterns on his chest, soothing and soft.

"Are you okay?" you asked. "I didn't take too much?"

"fine." His voice was hoarse, but genuine.

"Yeah?" You smiled again, that soft smile that made him melt. "Good. You deserved that, Sam. After all these weeks of putting up with Dean's snoring and bad jokes and sleeping in the car, you deserved something good."

He chuckled weakly. "don't think Dean would agree with you.."

"Dean's an idiot." You kissed his jaw, his neck, just below where the bite marks were.

His heart swelled. He opened his mouth to say something, to tell you what you meant to him, but you silenced him with a kiss.

"Don't," you murmured against his lips. "Don't say it. Not now. Just... let this be what it is. Let us have this."

He nodded, not trusting his voice. He could feel sleep pulling at him, his body demanding rest after the ordeal of the past few weeks. He let himself sink into it, let himself drift, with you curled against his side and his blood still on your lips.

He was safe. He was warm. And for the first time in a long time, he was completely, utterly at peace.

Sam drifted in a haze of contentment, his body still humming with the aftermath of the most intense orgasm of his life. Every muscle in his body felt loose, relaxed, like he was floating on a cloud. He could feel you still pressed against him, your cool skin a perfect counterbalance to his flushed heat, your fingers tracing lazy patterns on his bare chest.

He was getting sleepy—really sleepy, in a way he hadn't felt in weeks. The constant tension, the constant vigilance, the constant need that had been driving him crazy—it was all gone now, replaced by a deep, bone-deep satisfaction. He felt like he could sleep for a week.

"You did so well, Sam." Your voice was soft, almost dreamy, a warm murmur against his skin. "So good for me. You were so sweet."

He made a small, pleased sound, his hips shifting slightly. He was still inside you, softening but not completely soft, and the sensation of your warmth around him was keeping him in a state of blissful semi-arousal.

"Are you going to sleep?" you asked, your lips brushing against his collarbone. "Because I can stay with you, if you want. I can keep watch while you rest."

"Mn." He couldn't form words. His brain had melted somewhere around the moment his orgasm had hit him, and it hadn't reformed yet. All he could do was make small sounds of contentment.

Your soft laughter washed over him like music. "You're adorable like this, Sam. All fuzzy and cuddly. Is this how you always are after sex, or is this a blood-loss thing?"

He made a vague noise. It didn't mean anything. He wasn't sure he even knew what his own noises meant anymore.

"That's okay. You don't have to talk." You pressed a kiss to the corner of his mouth. "Just rest. I'll take care of everything."

His eyes fluttered closed. He could feel the car's engine, still running, he realized, and felt a small surge of gratitude that the air conditioning was keeping them from overheating, as a faint vibration beneath you. The hum was soothing, a white noise that mixed with the slow haze of his thoughts.

"We should probably clean up.." you murmured eventually.

"Probably." He didn't move.

You laughed, a soft sound that vibrated against his skin. "Dean's going to be back soon, Sammy."

"Dean can wait."

"Sam." There was a warning note in your voice, but it was undercut by amusement. "He's going to know."

"don' care." He pressed a kiss to the top of your head. "Let'im know."

You pulled back, looking at him with an expression he couldn't quite read. "You mean that?"

"mean it." He reached up, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear.

The smile that spread across your face was like sunrise after a long night. "Okay," you said softly. "Okay."

You untangled yourself from him, and he immediately missed the warmth of your body. But you were right, you needed to clean up, needed to make sure there was no evidence of what had happened before Dean got back.

Sam watched as you found a napkin from the glove compartment and started wiping yourself down, and the sight of his cum dripping from between your thighs made his cock twitch with renewed interest.

"Don't even think about it, mister." you said without looking up. "We don't have time."

"wasn't thinkin' 'bout nothin'."

"Liar." But you were smiling as you said it.

Dean came back two hours later.

Sam was half-asleep in the backseat, his head resting against the window, his body limp with exhaustion and satisfaction. His jeans were hastily buttoned but not zipped, half hidden under the blanket you had drapped over him.

You were outside, leaning against the Impala's hood, your sunglasses back in place despite the darkness. When Dean approached, you gave him a lazy wave.

"Have fun?" you asked, your voice perfectly neutral.

Dean narrowed his eyes, looking between you and Sam. "What happened to him?"

"Fell asleep." You shrugged. "He was tired."

"Riight." Dean's eyes flickered to Sam, and then back to you. "And those marks on his neck?"

"Bugs."

"Bugs." His voice was flat. "Bugs bit him in the shape of two perfect puncture wounds."

You smiled, and Dean saw it—the flash of your fangs, still extended, still stained with something that looked suspiciously like blood. "Mosquitoes," you said innocently. "They're vicious this time of year."

Dean groaned, dropping his head into his hands. "You're telling me you- in my car- with my baby brother-"

"Don't worry." You patted his shoulder, and Dean shot you a look that could curdle milk. "We cleaned up."

"I don't-" He stopped, turning to look at Sam again. The younger Winchester had shifted in his sleep, revealing the full extent of the marks on his neck and chest. He groaned, opening the door as you stepped aside to reach down and shake his brother into awakeness.

"Sam. Sam, wake up."

"Hmm?"

"Did you-" Dean couldn't even finish the sentence. "Did you two seriously-"

"Mnh." Sam's eyes fluttered open, and there was a dreamy quality to his gaze that made Dean want to bash his head in against the door. "Hey, Dean. Did you have fun?"

"Don't 'hey, Dean' me. What the hell happened while I was gone?"

Sam blinked, seeming to process the question. Then a slow and lazy smile spread across his face, the kind of smile that made Dean want to smack him into tomorrow morning. "We fucked." he said, his voice filled with a lazy and smug kind of satisfaction that made Dean groan.

"With the vampire."

"My vampire."

"For fuck's sake- in my Baby, Im going to be sick."

The fluorescent lights of Sandover Bridge & Iron's twenty-second floor hummed with that particular frequency that usually made Sam's teeth ache, but today he barely noticed. His eyes were fixed on the blinking red light on his desk phone: the one that meant an internal call from one of the upper floors was coming through.

His heart stuttered.

The cubicles around him buzzed with the usual afternoon activity: keyboards clacking, phones ringing, Ian cracking jokes two desks over about the new intern's disastrous attempt at making coffee in the break room. Sam heard none of it. All he could focus on was that insistent little red light.

It's probably nothing, he told himself, even as his hand trembled slightly reaching for the receiver. Could be any department. Could be someone from Accounting with a printer issue. Could be-

"Samuel," your voice purred through the line, and Sam's breath caught in his throat. "I need you in my office. Right now."

His mouth went dry. "O-okay," he managed, his voice cracking embarrassingly. "I'll be right up."

"Good boy." The line went dead.

Sam sat there for a moment, the receiver still pressed to his ear, listening to the dial tone. His khaki-clad thighs pressed together beneath his desk, trying to will away the sudden and very inconvenient tightness in his pants. Good boy. Those two words, spoken in that particular tone you used when you were in the mood, had his entire body responding like a Pavlovian dog.

"Whoa there, buddy." Ian appeared at the edge of his cubicle, coffee mug in hand, his perpetually scruffy face split in a knowing grin. "You look like you just saw a ghost. Who was that?"

Sam hastily hung up the phone, his cheeks flushing. "No one. Just—it was nothing."

"Nothing, huh?" Ian leaned in, squinting at the caller ID display on Sam's phone. His eyebrows shot up. "Wait, isn't that the twenty-second floor? That's the COO's floor, man. What does the COO want with you?"

"I don't know." Sam lied, and it came out so unconvincingly that even he winced.

Ian's grin widened impossibly. "Uh-huh. Sure you don't. You know, this is, like, the fourth time this week you've been called up to the top floors. And you always come back looking like you've been put through a spin cycle. Hair all messed up, shirt untucked..." He gave a low whistle. "What exactly are you getting yourself into, Winchester?"

Sam's flush deepened to a shade that rivaled the red mug on his desk. "I genuinely don't know." he said, which was at least partially true. He never knew what to expect when he went up to your office. Sometimes you just wanted to talk, to ask him about his day, to lean against your desk and smile at him in that way that made his knees weak. Other times—well. Other times he ended up with his face buried between your thighs and your fingers tangled in his hair, begging you to let him come.

"Ian, I really have to go," Sam said, already scrambling to his feet. "She- the COO- she's waiting."

"I bet she is." Ian clapped him on the shoulder. "Good luck, buddy. She's got you wrapped around her finger so tight you probably can't feel your own dick anymore."

"Oh, shut up." Sam hissed. "I hate you."

"No, you don't. You love me. I'm the only one who knows how to fix the printer when it jams, and you're too tall to fit under the desk to reach the power cord."

But he was already walking toward the elevators, his long legs eating up the distance. He could feel Ian's eyes on his back, could imagine the smug grin on his friend's face, but he couldn't bring himself to care. All that mattered was getting to you.

The elevator doors slid open, and Sam stepped inside, jabbing the button for the twenty-second floor. The doors were just beginning to close when a hand shot through the gap, forcing them open again.

"Hold the elevator, would ya?"

Sam's heart plummeted into his stomach.

Dean Smith strode into the elevator, all easy confidence and swaggering charm, his suit perfectly tailored, blue tie clean and spotless. He was in his late twenties, with the kind of boyish handsomeness that drove women crazy. In this world, he was just another person over him on the food chain. In another life—one that Sam only lived in his dreams—he was something else entirely.

But Sam knew those were just dreams. And that Dean had a way of looking at him that made him feel like he was being x-rayed.

"Hey there, tech boy." Dean said, leaning against the elevator wall. "Going up?"

"Um. Yes." Sam cleared his throat. "Yes, I am."

Dean's eyes flicked to the lit button on the panel—twenty-two. His eyebrows rose. "That's the COO's floor, you know."

"I know."

"Funny." Dean crossed his arms, his expression unreadable. "You seem to be going up there an awful lot these days. What's the deal?"

"My job requires-"

"Your job requires you to be in the IT department on floor 7." Dean cut him off, that smirk widening. "That's where you're supposed to be. That's where your desk is. That's where I always see you, hunched over your computer looking like you're doing something important."

Sam's jaw tightened. "I've been called up. There's an issue with the COO's computer."

"Is there now."

"Yes. There is. And I need to go fix it."

Dean studied him for a long moment, his eyes traveling from Sam's flushed face down to his hands—which were currently clenched into fists. The elevator rose slowly, floor by floor, and with each passing number Sam's anxiety ratcheted up another notch. Did Dean know? Had someone seen you two? Was there some kind of company rumor floating around?

"You know," Dean said finally, and his voice had taken on a strangely amused quality, "I've worked here for a while. Long enough to know that the COO, oh, she's got a type."

Sam's head snapped toward him. "What?"

Dean just grinned, wide and knowing. "Relax, tech boy. Ain’t gonna say nothing. Just..." He gave Sam a long, appraising look. "I kinda see why she likes you. You've got that whole 'eager puppy dog' thing going on. Real sweet. Kinda pathetic, but sweet."

The elevator chimed, announcing their arrival at the nineteenth floor. Dean pushed off from the wall, clapping Sam on the shoulder as he passed.

"Have fun up there," he said, and there was something almost fond in his voice. "And try not to look quite so desperate when you come back down. It's a dead giveaway."

The doors slid shut behind him, leaving Sam alone with his racing heart and burning cheeks.

The twenty-second floor was quiet, as it always was. Plush carpet muted the sound of Sam's footsteps as he walked down the corridor toward your office. The walls were lined with tasteful art, landscapes and abstract pieces that probably cost more than what he made in a year, and the air smelled faintly of expensive perfume and new carpet.

Your office door was closed, but Sam could see your silhouette through the frosted glass. You were moving around inside, probably clearing your desk or preparing for his arrival. His mouth went dry again.

He knocked twice.

"Come in."

Your voice was all business, smooth and professional. But Sam had been sleeping with you for three months now. He knew the subtle changes in your tone, the way your voice dropped just slightly when you were in one of those moods. And right now, your voice had that particular quality that made his knees feel weak.

He pushed the door open.

You were standing behind your desk, your blazer already hanging on the coat rack by the door, leaving you in a silk blouse that clung to your curves. Your hair was perfectly styled, your makeup flawless, and you were looking at him with that smile: that secret, knowing smile that promised everything.

"Close the door," you said, not looking up. "And lock it."

Sam obeyed, his fingers fumbling with the lock. He heard the click, and then-

"Now get over here."

He was on you in less than a second.

His hands found your hips first, fingers digging into the fabric of your pencil skirt as he pulled you against him. His mouth crashed against yours, desperate and hungry, drinking in the taste of your lip gloss and the faint hint of coffee on your breath. You made a small sound of surprise against his lips, but you were already kissing him back, your hands coming up to tangle in his hair.

God, your hands in his hair. That was always what did him in. The way you'd grip the auburn strands and pull just enough to make his scalp tingle, directing his head exactly where you wanted it. You tugged now, pulling his head back just far enough to break the kiss.

"Eager today, aren't we?" you murmured, and your voice was lower now, huskier.

"Please." Sam gasped, because that was all he could say. Please. Please touch him. Please let him touch you. Please, please, please.

You laughed softly, and the sound went straight to his cock. "Please what, sweetheart? Use your words."

But Sam couldn't use his words. He couldn't think. All he knew was that you were here, and you were touching him, and he needed more. He surged forward again, capturing your mouth in another desperate kiss, his hands sliding up your back to clutch at your shoulder blades. You let him, kissing him back with equal fervor, and then you were pushing him backward, wriggling your body between his long legs, and-

His back hit the wall with a soft thud.

You were between his thighs now, your body pressed against his, and you were kissing him like you wanted to devour him whole. Your hips moved in a slow, rolling rhythm against his, and even through the layers of fabric he could feel the heat of you. His breath hitched, a pathetic little sound escaping his throat.

"Look at you," you murmured against his lips. "So desperate for me already. You're shaking, Samuel."

He was shaking. He couldn't help it. Every time you touched him, every time you looked at him with those dark, hungry eyes, he fell apart. It was like you had some kind of power over him, some kind of hold that made him forget everything except how much he needed you.

"I need- please, I need-"

"Awh, so cute." You kissed the corner of his mouth, then his jaw, then the sensitive spot just below his ear. 

Sam whined. Actually whined, a high-pitched sound that should have been embarrassing but only made you chuckle against his throat.

"Shh," you soothed, even as your hands traveled down his chest, fingers playing with the buttons of his polo shirt. "No need to whine like a kicked puppy. I always take care of you, don't I?"

"Yes," Sam breathed. "Yes, you do. You take such good care of me."

"I do." You popped open the first button of his shirt. "Because you're such a good boy for me, aren't you? Such a sweet, desperate thing."

Sam nodded frantically, his hips bucking involuntarily against yours. You rewarded him with a kiss, deep and possessive, and then you were pulling away, tugging him by the front of his shirt toward your desk.

The surface was covered in papers, folders, and an array of pens and pencils arranged in a neat holder. You swept the whole mess aside with a single, decisive motion, sending everything scattering to the floor.

"You know how much I love this." you said, and your voice was almost fond. 

"I know." Sam said, and his voice cracked on the last word.

"Good boy." You pushed him down onto the desk, and he went willingly, his back hitting the cool wood surface. "Now let me take care of you."

You climbed on top of him, straddling his hips, and the weight of you was the most incredible feeling in the world. Sam's hands found your thighs, gripping the soft flesh through your skirt as you leaned down to kiss him again. Your tongue traced the seam of his lips, demanding entry, and he gave it willingly, moaning into your mouth as you deepened the kiss.

Your hips began to move, a slow, torturous grind that had him seeing stars. His hands flew to your waist, gripping tight, trying to pull you closer even when you were already pressed against him.

"Please," he gasped against your mouth. "Please, please, please—"

"Please what?" you asked, but your voice was breathless too, and Sam could feel the damp heat of you through both your clothes. "What do you want, sweetheart?"

"You," he said desperately. "Just you. Always you."

You laughed again, that soft, throaty sound that made his head spin. "You're so cute when you're needy." You kissed his neck, soft and teasing, then harder, your teeth grazing his skin. "I love it."

Sam's hands were in your hair now, mussing the perfect style, and he didn't care. He needed you closer, needed more, needed everything. You were the most incredible thing that had ever happened to him, and the fact that you were his boss, that you were so far above him in every way, only made it more intoxicating.

"Pleasenghh" he begged. "I need- please let me-"

"Let you what?" you asked, and you were grinning now, a wicked smile that promised everything. "Let you what, Samuel? Tell me."

"Need to be inside you," he gasped. "Please. Need to feel you. Need to be good for you."

"Oh, you're so good for me." You kissed him again, soft and sweet, and then you were pulling away, climbing off of him and stepping back. "But first-"

You unbuttoned your blouse with maddening slowness, letting it fall open to reveal the lacy black bra beneath. Sam's hands twitched at his sides, desperate to touch, but he knew better than to reach for you without permission. You were in charge, and he loved it. He loved the power you held over him, the way you could reduce him to this trembling, desperate mess with just a look.

"Like what you see?" you asked, and there was a note of teasing in your voice.

"I always like what I see." Sam breathed. 

You smiled, and it was softer now, almost fond. Then you were reaching for his belt, undoing it with practiced ease, and Sam's breath caught in his throat.

"Lift your hips," you instructed, and he obeyed immediately, lifting just enough for you to tug his khakis and boxers down to his knees. His cock sprang free, already hard and leaking, and you made a soft sound of approval.

"Look at you," you murmured, wrapping your fingers around him. "So hard for me already. So eager."

"Always," Sam gasped. "Always for you."

You stroked him slowly, deliberately, and Sam's head fell back against the desk. He could feel your thumb rubbing over the sensitive head, could feel the slickness of his own precum, and it took everything he had not to come right then and there.

"Please," he begged. "Please, I need-"

"I know what you need." You released him, and he almost sobbed at the loss. "But I am in control, Samuel. You know that."

"Yes," he agreed immediately. "Yes, you're in control. You're always in control."

"And you're going to do exactly what I say?"

"Anything. Ah-nything y'want."

You smiled, slow and satisfied. Then you reached down, taking off your panties, but not throwing them away like you had with the rest of your clothes. Sam blinked, confused, until you brought them to his lips.

"Open." you said softly.

He opened his mouth without hesitation. You pushed the fabric inside, and the taste of you—clean and slightly sweet, with a hint of salt—flooded his senses. He moaned around the gag, his hips bucking involuntarily.

"That's better," you said, and there was something almost tender in your voice. "Now you can be as noisy as you want. No one will hear you."

Sam whined, a high-pitched sound that was muffled by the fabric in his mouth. You just smiled, climbing back onto the desk to straddle him once more.

"Ready?" you asked.

He nodded frantically.

You positioned yourself over him, and then you were sinking down onto his cock, and Sam's world went white.

The feeling of you enveloping him was almost too much, the heat, the tightness, the way you seemed to grip him like you never wanted to let go. His hands found your hips, clinging desperately, and you started to move.

Up and down, slow and deep, taking him all the way to the hilt before rising again. Sam's eyes rolled back in his head. He could hear himself making sounds, desperate little whimpers and moans that were muffled by your panties, but he couldn't stop them. You felt so good. You always felt so good.

"Look at you," you breathed, and your voice was strained now, the first crack in your perfect composure. "So beautiful like this. So desperate for me."

Sam nodded, his eyes fluttering open to meet yours. You were watching him with that hungry, possessive gaze, the one that made him feel like the most wanted person in the world.

"Good boy," you whispered. "My good boy."

The words sent a shiver of pleasure down Sam's spine. His hips bucked up instinctively, driving himself deeper inside you, and you made a sound of approval.

"That's it," you encouraged. "Fuck me, Samuel. Fuck me like you mean it."

He did. He fucked you like his life depended on it, his hips slamming up into yours with every thrust. Your hands were on his chest, nails digging into his skin through the thin fabric of his shirt.

"Close-" you gasped, and that was the only warning he got before you were coming, your body clenching around him in waves that sent him over the edge with a muffled moan.

Stars exploded behind his eyes. His hips kept moving, chasing the feeling, pumping into you through your orgasm and his. It felt like it lasted forever, wave after wave of pleasure crashing through him until he was limp and trembling on the desk, you collapsed on top of him.

For a long moment, neither of you moved. The only sound in the room was your ragged breathing, and the distant hum of the building's heating system. Sam's heart was pounding so hard he could feel it in his throat.

Finally, you stirred, lifting your head to look down at him with a soft, satisfied smile. You reached into his mouth, gently pulling the wadded panties free, and Sam took a deep, grateful breath.

"Good boy," you repeated, and you leaned down to press a kiss to his forehead. "You did so well for me."

Sam smiled, feeling a warm glow spread through his chest. "I always want to be good for you."

"I know." You kissed the tip of his nose. "That's why I keep you around."

Twenty minutes later, Sam was back in the elevator, his hair still slightly mussed and his shirt only halfway tucked in. His legs felt like jelly and he was fairly certain his face was still flushed, but at least he didn't look like a complete disaster.

The doors opened on the nineteenth floor, and Dean stepped in.

"Well, well, well," Dean said, his eyes sweeping over Sam with obvious amusement. "Look who finally made it back. You look like you've been through the wringer, tech boy."

Sam opened his mouth to reply, but nothing came out.

Dean just laughed, shaking his head. "You know, I've been working here for a long time. Seen a lot of things. But I gotta say, the COO's taste in men is... interesting."

"Dean, I don't know what you're implying, but-"

"Relax." Dean clapped him on the shoulder. "I'm not implying anything. I'm just saying, she's got a type. Big, tall, kinda pathetic, eager to please." He grinned. "You fit the bill pretty well."

Sam's face went red. "I don't- we're not-"

"Hey, I don't care what you're not doing." Dean held up his hands. "Far be it from me to judge. If I had a boss like that, I'd probably be right there with you. I'm just saying, you might want to be a little more discreet." He gestured vaguely at Sam's face. "You walk out of her office looking like that and people are gonna start talking."

Sam swallowed hard. "Right. Of course. I'll be more careful."

"See that you are." Dean's eyes glinted with something that might have been genuine amusement. "And for what it's worth? Good for you. She seems like a fun one."