#florida!!!

And you? You’re topless, skin still slick from the pool, your bare tits pressing against Dean fucking Winchester like you’re trying to climb inside his ribs, nipples hardening to aching peaks with every scrape against the damp cotton of his shirt. 

The kiss lingers like lightning in humid air – slow, searing, and inevitable. His mouth is hot and greedy on yours, tongue sliding deep, tasting like the beer he never got around to drinking and pure, pent-up desperation. 

His hands roam – big, calloused palms sliding down your bare back, following the trail of water droplets down your spine, mapping your waist with reverent hunger, thumbs brushing the undersides of your breasts as if memorizing scripture written in skin.

You pull back just enough to grin against his lips, wicked and a little sun-drunk, your voice a velvet dare wrapped in saltwater sweetness. “Strip, Winchester.”

Dean blinks, lips kiss-swollen, breath stuttering, those forest-green eyes – now as dark as storm-tossed mangroves – drifting across the empty parking lot. His gaze roams the cracked pavement and Baby gleaming under the lights. There are no guests, no souls stirring, and even Kyle the gator has retreated into the shadows.

“Here?” he croaks, his deep voice sounding like gravel dipped in raw want, cheeks flushed under freckles that scatter his skin like starlight.

You nod, biting down on your bottom lip, water still dripping from your hair down your tits. “Right here,” you confirm, smirking. “Unless the Sunshine State’s finally made you shy. But trust me, Florida’s not gonna judge us.”

He barks a laugh that sounds half-drowned, a mix of disbelief and surrender swimming underneath. “Sweetheart, Florida stopped judging the second that dude grilled fish on his hood.” 

He then reaches behind his neck, grabbing the hem of his tee and yanking it over his head in one fluid motion. And Jesus fucking Christ, the sight of him makes your mouth water. 

Moon-silver and neon-glow illuminate the broad planes of his chest and shoulders, littered with cinnamon freckles across tanned skin, tracing the soft give of his stomach and the light trail of hair arrowing downward and disappearing inside his jeans like an invitation.

Boots thud against concrete next. Then his belt. He pops the button on his jeans slowly, eyes locked on yours like he’s daring you to look away, but you never would. His stare alone causes liquid heat to pool low in your belly. The denim then slides down those thick thighs and bow legs, and fuck, the outline of his bulge in his black boxers is already obscene – impossibly hard, straining painfully, and completely ready for you.

The second he kicks the jeans aside, you barely manage to wait and surge forward, crashing your lips back to his. Tongues tangle, wet and messy. Your bare breasts press against his bare and warm chest now, nipples pebbled from the cool night air and the way his hands cup them, thumbs brushing over the sensitive buds until you moan into his kiss.

And then, with a playful grin and a wicked laugh, you shove.

Dean’s eyes go wide as he stumbles backward, arms windmilling for half a second before he hits the pool with a spectacular splash. Water explodes around him in bursts of turquoise fire and diamond spray. 

When he surfaces, water streams down his gorgeous face as he pushes wet strands of hair from his forehead. You can’t help but giggle when he looks at you equally shocked but stupidly turned on as well.

“You little–” he starts, but you’re already launching yourself in after him, bikini bottoms still clinging to your hips. 

You hit the water smoothly, gliding over to him, and the second you’re close enough, his arms band around you, hauling you against him. You wrap your legs around his waist, grinding down against the hard line of his cock through his soaked boxers. He groans, low and wrecked, hands palming the globes of your ass as you kiss him again – filthy, open-mouthed, all teeth and tongue and years of finally, finally, finally.

Your teeth tug cheekily at your lower lip as your thumbs hook into the sides of your bikini bottoms, shimmying them down your legs underwater. You make a show off it, making sure he catches every second of it as you toss the soaking-wet fabric onto the concrete by the lounge chairs. 

Dean’s jaw goes slack, ravenous juniper eyes devouring every naked inch of you. “Fucking hell, sweetheart…”

Your smile curves like the crescent moon above. “Your turn, Winchester. Fair’s fair in Florida.”

He doesn’t argue or even hesitate, shoving his underwear down his hips and kicking it somewhere toward the shallow end. Even through the aquamarine blur of pool water, you recognize the sheer size of his cock – perfectly long, thick, and heavy, tip flushed a deep rose. 

God, you’d kill to take him into your mouth and see how far he’d get till you choke around him. Maybe if Sam doesn’t return anytime soon, you still might find some time to try in the motel room later. 

For now, though, you just pull him close and wrap your legs around his waist again, naked skin meeting naked skin underwater. You claim his plush lips, slow and deep, tongues dancing like the palm fronds above in the ocean breeze. His cock slides hot and heavy against your belly, and Dean hisses at the contact, forehead dropping to yours.

“Fuck, baby… you sure?”

He’s never called you baby before. In fact, you can’t remember if you ever heard him call anyone baby before, except for his beloved car, and your heart flutters a little at the thought. 

You still can’t believe you did this. Maybe you did get hexed or possessed down here in Florida after all. God knows you never behaved like this in any of the other forty-nine states. But there’s an undeniable electricity vibrating through your blood that you’ve never felt before, and you’re still not sure if Florida is truly to blame or if it’s all just Dean Winchester’s fucking fault. 

You answer by reaching between you, wrapping your hand around his length and stroking him slow and tight, your fingers not even closing fully around his massive girth. He’s rock-hard, velvet over steel, the head already leaking. 

“Been sure for years,” you whisper against his lips, his little grunts of pleasure like the most beautiful song in your ears. “Now shut up and touch me.”

Dean doesn’t wait to be told twice, letting his hands explore with exquisite and maddening patience now, no longer rushing. Calloused palms wander up your ribs, groping your tits with worshipful weight, rolling your nipples between fingers till sparks explode behind your eyelids. 

His mouth trails kisses down your throat, sucking gently at the fluttering pulse there, then lower and lower, lips closing hot and wet over one sensitive peak, teeth scraping skin. You arch into him with a throaty moan that echoes softly through the empty motel lot.

One hand then slips between your thighs, fingers parting your folds and finding you soaked – hotter than the Florida night, slicker than the pool. Two thick digits circle your entrance teasingly before pushing inside your pussy with barely any warning. 

When he curls them just right, deeply stroking that perfect spot with devastating accuracy, you cry out, head tipping back. The water laps at your tits as he pumps them in and out before his thumb finds your clit, drawing lazy, firm circles that make your hips jerk against his hand and scream for more. 

“Look at me,” he murmurs, voice husky and commanding. 

His green eyes are hooded now, pupils blown wide with lust, swallowing the color until only a thin ring of emerald fire remains. He watches every flutter of your lashes, every parted gasp, as he pumps his fingers faster, scissoring them, pressing deeper. The water splashes around your joined bodies in rhythmic waves, cool against the burning heat building inside you.

“Goddamn,” he growls against your neck, sucking a mark there that will surely bloom in more beautiful colors than the Florida sunsets have to offer. “So fucking tight. This what you’ve been hiding from me? This pretty little pussy dripping for me all this time?”

You clench around his fingers, rocking your hips harder against his hand. “Dean–… Oh God–”

Your nails dig into his shoulders, thighs trembling around his wrist. He doesn’t relent even for a second, adding a third finger that stretches you beautifully while his mouth claims yours again, swallowing every desperate sound. 

The coil in your belly tightens and tightens – sharper, brighter, hotter – until it shatters. 

You come hard on his fingers – clenching, pulsing, a broken cry spilling into the night. Unfathomable pleasure crashes through you in golden, syrupy-sweet waves, leaving you boneless and gasping against his shoulder as you cling to his chest like you’d drown without him.

But Dean’s nowhere near done. 

He pulls his fingers free, spins you around gently yet firmly, and presses your front against the cool tile of the pool wall. Your elbows brace on the edge, tits deliciously squished against the slick surface as you still try to catch your breath. 

Dean crowds in behind you, his massive frame enveloping you, cock sliding hot and heavy between your thighs. He teases relentlessly – dragging the thick, velvety head along your drenched slit, nudging your swollen clit with every pass, coating himself in your release.

“Dean,” you whimper, pushing back, chasing friction. “Please…”

He leans in, lips brushing the shell of your ear, his breath scorching against your skin. “Want to feel every inch, baby. Want you dripping for it.” 

Those lust-drunk eyes stay locked on your face as he notches the head at your entrance, pressing in the barest fraction before pulling back, again and again – torturous, perfect torment.

Only when you’re shaking, begging in broken whispers and moans, does he finally thrust forward – slow, inexorable, stretching you open inch by inch around his considerable girth till he’s buried to the hilt, balls-deep in the tight heat of you. The fullness is fucking harrowing in the best way possible, bordering on overwhelming, a delicious burn that melts into liquid bliss.

“Fuck, yes,” you moan, the sound echoing off the motel’s stucco walls. He feels enormous like this, the blunt tip pushing against your cervix. 

“Son of bitch, sweetheart…” Dean’s groan is guttural, animalistic as his forehead drops to your shoulder, the scruff on his cheeks and jaw scraping your skin. “You’re practically strangling me.” 

Then he begins to move – deep, rolling strokes that send water splashing in time with his hips. He pulls back and slams in again and again, and the angle is destructively perfect – his cock dragging against that spot inside you that makes stars burst behind your eyes like supernovas. 

One hand then snakes around to rub your oversensitive clit while the other grips your hip tighter, anchoring you as he fucks you against the wall – harder, faster, hotter. The pool water sloshes wildly around you, cool against overheated skin, and every thrust sends ripples outward like you’re the center of some filthy hurricane. 

Dean’s mouth is on your shoulder, teeth grazing and biting skin, deep voice rough in your ear. “That’s it, baby. Take it. Been dreaming about this pussy for years. Fuckin’ years. You and me in this stupid state… finally losing our goddamn minds together.”

You push back against him, meeting every merciless thrust, the coil in your belly winding tighter and tighter again. “Give it to me, De. Want you to ruin me.”

He snarls – actually fucking snarls – and fucks you like the world might end tomorrow (which to be fair, it always could in this life). The night spins in watercolor blurs of neon rose, chlorine blue, and moonlit silver. Your second orgasm builds slower but deeper, a gathering storm fed by every filthy praise growled against your ear and the relentless slap of wet skin on wet skin.

His strokes are deep and punishing till all you see is buzzing neon and twinkling stars above. His fingers work your clit faster, pinching and rubbing until your thighs shake. 

It hits you like a tidal wave, stronger than the first, vision breaking into prisms of color as you clench hard around him, crying out his name into the humid Florida night.

Dean fucks you through it, hips stuttering, chasing his own release. “Fuck, baby, gonna–… where–”

“Inside,” you barely manage to gasp. “Come inside me.”

He buries himself deep and follows with a choked moan, throbbing hot and thick inside you, ropes of cum marking your fluttering walls and filling you to the brim as pleasure wracks his powerful frame. 

His forehead then drops back to your shoulder, breathing ragged, strong arms wrapping around your waist like he plans on never letting go. The water settles slowly around you both, lapping gently now, as if even Florida is giving you a minute to breathe.

For a long moment, there’s just panting and the buzz of the motel sign then, cicadas humming a lullaby as the two of you stay locked together, not wanting it to end. 

Then, Dean begins pressing soft, reverent, open-mouthed kisses along your neck and shoulder before scoffing an amused laugh against your damp skin. “Florida’s still a goddamn circus, but I think I just found the main attraction.”

You laugh breathlessly, turning your head to catch his lips in a lazy, sated kiss. “Told you. Sink or swim, Winchester.”

He chuckles against your lips. “Well, Florida can still eat my ass.”

You grin broadly and wiggle your brows. “Pretty sure that’s my job now.”

Hope you enjoyed this smutty little summer treat, friends! I'll see you guys back next Friday for another smutty treat with Russell Shaw that will get your heart rate up 😉❤️‍🔥

On July 31, we're then diving back into Glitch 🔮 (If you can't wait that long, Interlude II, Chapter 7, and Chapter 8 are already on Patreon, with Chapter 9 coming this Sunday 🤓)

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