The door clicked shut behind us, and suddenly his body was pressing me against the wood, every hard line of him aligned with every soft curve of me.
"Tom is—" He shut me up with a hard kiss, mouth crashed into mine, swallowing my protest.
His tongue swept past my lips, claiming, possessing, while his hands tangled in my hair hard enough to make me gasp.
When his hips rolled against me, and I felt him already hard, grinding into my stomach, the heat of him devoured me even through the layers of fabric.
“Charlotte?” Tom’s voice came from right outside the door, muffled but too close. “Charlotte, I saw you went in there. Please, baby, just talk to me. Stop avoiding me!”
Dean's lips curved against mine in a wicked smile and then his lips trailed down my jaw, teeth nipping at my throat, finding that spot beneath my ear that made my knees buckle.
His breath was hot against my skin, voice a low, taunting growl.
“Your boyfriend’s calling, birdie,” he murmured, his tongue flicking over my pulse point. “Maybe you should answer.”
“He’s not my—” I bit back a moan as his hands slipped beneath my sweater.
His rough palms sliding up my ribcage, cupping my tits through my bra. His thumbs brushed over my nipples, teasing them into hard peaks, and I arched into his touch.
“Charlotte, come on!” Tom’s fist connected with the door, rattling my spine. “I know you’re still upset and didn’t really forgive me… But I’m sorry, okay? I’m sorry about everything, I swear… Just let me explain!”
Dean didn't even slow down. Instead, he pressed closer, his thigh sliding between mine, rocking against me with deliberate pressure that made my head fall back against the door.
"Dean—" I gasped as his mouth traveled down my collarbone, teeth grazing, tongue soothing.
"Shh." His fingers worked the button of my jeans with devastating efficiency, then slowly, torturously, pulled down the zipper. "Don't want him to hear those pretty sounds you're about to make. Unless you want him to."
"Charlotte, I'm really sorry!" Tom's voice cracked with desperation. "About Sarah, about Mindie, about all of them. Just please…"
Dean's hand slipped inside my jeans, fingers brushed over my panties, and found me already embarrassingly ready for him. He groaned low in his throat, the sound vibrating through his chest into mine.
"Fuck, birdie," he chuckled softly against my mouth. "You're already so wet for me. All these pretending you hate me and this is what I do to you?"
I whimpered, my hips bucking against his hand and thighs trembling as he slid his fingers beneath the fabric.
I squeezed my eyes shut, clenching around nothing as he rubbed slow, torturous circles. When he slipped a finger inside, I couldn’t stop my legs from shaking while his thumb—God, his thumb—found exactly where I needed it.
My nails dug into his shoulders through his shirt as heat coiled tighter and tighter low in my belly.
"Charlotte, please!" Tom was practically sobbing now. "I know you're in there. I know you're listening. We can work this out!"
"He's begging for you," Dean murmured, his lips against mine, swallowing my gasps. "And here you are, about to come on my fingers instead."
I couldn't answer, couldn't think, could only hold on as he played my body like an instrument he'd been practicing on for years. My hips moved against his hand without my permission, chasing something that felt like falling and flying at once.
“Fuck…” I moaned quietly.
“That’s it, birdie,” he growled against my lips, his fingers curling inside me, hitting that spot that made me see stars. “Come for me. Let him hear how much you don’t fucking care about him.”
My orgasm hit me like a truck as I came apart in his arms. He swallowed my cries with his mouth, his fingers still working me through the aftershocks, grinding against my thigh.
"Dean," I whispered, my hands shaking as they found his belt. "Please…"
He caught my wrists, pressing them against the door above my head with one hand, and then kissed me again. Deep and full of promise, while Tom's fists grew weaker against the door.
"Charlotte..." Tom's voice was fading, defeated. "I love you. Please remember that… I love you."
Dean pulled back just enough to meet my eyes, his own dark with possession and something deeper, more dangerous.
"Answer your boy, birdie," he said, even as his hand still moved slowly, gently, making me gasp again. "Tell me you want him instead."
But I only jerked my hands free and grabbed his face, pulling him down to me. Pouring everything I couldn't say into that kiss—two years of anger and longing and sleepless nights spent hating myself for wanting someone who acted like I was invisible.
"I hate you," I breathed against his mouth, even as my body was already responding to his touch again.
"I know," he said, and suddenly lifted me, my legs wrapping around his waist instinctively. "And I'm going to spend all night making you forget why."
* * *
I woke to gray winter light and empty sheets. Dean's warmth had already faded from the mattress beside me, leaving only a slight indentation where his body had been.
I lay there for a moment, cataloging the pleasant aches and soreness. The way my heart felt cracked wide open and terrifyingly vulnerable.
Then I smiled.
Actually smiled, like some lovesick fool in a romantic movie.
I dressed quickly, finger-combing my tangled hair and straightening my rumpled clothes as best I could. My reflection in the bureau mirror looked different—softer, somehow.
Like something fundamental had shifted in the night.
Voices drifted up from downstairs as I crept toward the staircase. The party had ended hours ago, but someone was still in the kitchen. Several someones, from the sound of it.
"—fifty bucks each, boys." Dean's voice floated up, casual and triumphant. "Told you I could nail the rich chic. She was so desperate she practically climbed me like a tree."
I froze mid-step. Every muscle in my body locked into place as the words registered, as they carved themselves into my brain with surgical precision.
"Holy shit." Derek's laugh was sharp, delighted. "Her dude is going to lose his mind when he finds out."
"Man, you gotta give us details." Kyle's voice now, eager and crude. "Was she as uptight in bed as she is everywhere else?"
I waited for Dean to shut them down.
To tell them it wasn't like that. That last night had meant something. That I wasn't just a conquest to be dissected over morning coffee.
"Let's just say all that attitude disappears real quick when you get them horizontal." Dean's laugh cut through me like shrapnel. "They are all the same. Acting superior but they're desperate for someone to put them in their place."
I could feel myself crumbling—my heart, my hope… Every tender feeling I'd allowed myself to have shattered into pieces too small to ever reassemble.
But I didn't run. Charlotte Evergreen didn't run.
Charlotte Evergreen walked into that kitchen with her spine straight and her chin lifted, armor already sliding into place over the catastrophic damage beneath.
"Wow." I leaned against the doorframe, voice dripping honey-coated poison. "This is even more pathetic than I expected. The maintenance boy is so overwhelmed by a pity kiss that he's spinning elaborate fantasies for his friends."
Dean's head snapped up. Something flickered across his face—surprise, confusion, maybe even hurt—before it hardened into that familiar mask.
"And while I'm flattered that seven minutes in a closet has you this worked up, I spent last night with my actual boyfriend.” I examined my nails with practiced boredom. “You know, someone who doesn’t smell like a lying rat."
His steel-blue eyes searched mine, and for one horrible moment I thought he might call my bluff, might say something that would destroy this fragile shield I was building.
"Charlotte?" Tom appeared in the doorway behind me, looking rumpled and hungover and desperately hopeful. "Are you... are you okay?"
"I'm perfect." I turned to him with a smile that felt like broken glass in my mouth. "These boys seem confused about where I was last night. Want to clear that up for them?"
Tom's arm came around my waist, solid and familiar.
"She was with me," he said slowly, his hangover-fogged brain catching up. "We, uh, we worked things out. We were together. I mean, we're back together, right? Like you said?"
"Exactly." I pressed a kiss to his cheek, selling it. Selling all of it. "Like I said."
I tugged Tom toward the door but paused at the threshold, looking back at Dean one last time. Our eyes met, and in that moment, I let him see everything—the devastation, the betrayal, the absolute annihilation of whatever stupid hope I'd carried.
Then I smiled, bright and false as costume jewelry. "Better luck next time, Sawyer. Maybe aim for someone more... attainable."