Making Sacrifices by Jove, the somewhat-revised version (MF first time?? rom??)


"Jonathan, stop the car," Amy demanded, her features resolute.  "Right
now.  This minute."
	His head swiveled around.  "Are you insane?  It's two in the
morning," he pointed out incredulously.  His grip on the steering
wheel tightened until his knuckles were white.  "I'm not going to let
you walk home from here."
	Amy inhaled deeply, mentally counting to ten.  Then to twenty.
It didn't help.  Her eyes fairly burned.  "I'll call a cab from a
payphone or something.  Just stop the car and let me out.  I don't
want to spend another second with you.  I-I don't understand how you
can be such--Ugh!  Just take stop this car.  Please."
	Jonathan glowered at her, but it was useless.  Her mind was
made up and he knew she was more obstinate than anyone of his
acquaintance.  Jonathan slowed down the car and came to a stop next to
a phone booth.  Amy emerged from the car, slamming the door angrily.
She called for a cab, but refused to wait in Jonathan's car for it to
come.  She stubbornly remained in the lit phone booth, her face set in
angry lines.  Jonathan thought better of attempting to coax her back
into his car.
	The wait for the cab seemed to take forever, but it eventually
came cruising down the road.  Without a word to Jonathan, Amy quickly
got out of the phone booth and into the back of the cab.  Stale smoke
and various other odors left behind by the previous occupants
assaulted her senses.  Amy wrinkled her nose, as if trying to get the
smells out of her nostrils.
	"Where to, miss?"
	Amy paused for a moment, not sure where she wanted to go.  She
had no desire to go home just yet.  In her present state, she would
wake her roommate and there would be questions.  Questions which she
didn't feel up to fielding tonight.  A name flitted through her mind.
Before she could think twice, Amy gave the driver the address,
fighting desperately to hold the scalding tears at bay.


Dean grunted and sleepily rubbed his hands over his face.  Who the
hell would be knocking on his door at this hour?  He peered through
the peephole.  Amy?  A frown wrinkled his brow.  Dean stepped back and
opened the door.  And the petite, dark-haired waif launched herself
into arms.
	"Hey!"  Taken unawares, Dean staggered for a moment.
Fortunately, he swiftly regained his footing.  Dean wrapped one arm
around the woman clutching him tightly and closed his front door with
the other.  Used to the role of big brother with her, he stood there a
while, letting her take comfort from him, gently stroking from her
waist-length hair down to the small of her back.  He could feel the
hot wetness of her tears dampening his chest.  Dean sighed, wondering
what his idiot baby brother had done this time.
	When her sobs dwindled to sniffles, Dean gently finger combed
her damp hair back from her tear-ravaged face.  His darkened eyes
traveled over her face, his concern evident.  "Feeling better?"
	She didn't say anything; she simply nodded, inhaling a
shuddering breath.  And pressed her left cheek against his
hair-roughened chest, seeking comfort.
	"Do you want to move to the living room so you can sit down?"
	Once again, she nodded.  But she made no move to release him.
Dean chuckled.  Amy, pressed up against him as she was, could feel the
vibrations of his chest.  A small smile curved her lips.  The smile
turned into a grin and a startled laugh when Dean slipped an arm under
her knees, scooping her up against his chest.  Amy instinctively threw
her arms around his neck.  Dean deposited her on his black leather
La-Z-Boy.  Amy forgot to untangle her arms from around his neck until
he gently removed them.  But she wasn't embarrassed.  This was Dean.
He had seen her in much more embarrassing situations.
	Amy kicked off her shoes and curled into a ball, knees drawn
up and tucked under her chin.  Her head found the perfect notch in one
thickly padded corner.  This had always been her favorite seat.  The
ultra-plush, creamy-smooth chair seemed to envelop her, soothing her.
	"Comfortable?" he queried, amusement laced in his deep voice.
	"Hmm."  Amy smiled lazily at him, feeling ready now to drop
off into a nice, deep slumber to forget everything that had went wrong
earlier in the evening.
	"I'll be right back," Dean said, satisfied that she would be
able to cope without him for a few brief moments.  He dropped a box of
tissues on top of the end table next to her.  "That's just in case you
need it."
	Dean returned shortly with a warm, damp facecloth and a glass
of water.  An amused smile touched his lips.  Amy, apparently too
comfortable in his favorite chair, had closed her eyes and was dozing.
Her long, flyaway hair had fallen forward and was once more covering
her face.  Dean, taking great pains not to disturb her, lifted a long
fall of sable hair to wipe her face.
	Amy stirred.  Her lashes slowly lifted.  Dark eyes met clear
gray ones.  Surprised to see him so close, her eyes widened and were
held by his.  In that fleeting moment in time, she took in the eyes
she had always thought were too beautiful for a man; the hard, sensual
mouth; and the black stubble on his tanned face.  Tall, lean,
athletic, he looked sexily disheveled, like someone who just emerged
from his bed.  Which he had, Amy thought cheekily, but she found no
amusement in that.  She swallowed, not sure if she liked the direction
her wayward thoughts had taken.
	Seeming to snap out of whatever it was, Dean drew back
swiftly.  "Here," he said, unceremoniously holding out the facecloth.
Amy took it, still reeling from the sudden turn of events.  She shook
her hair back and wiped her face.  Her cheeks were pink by the time
she finished, but her eyes were clear.  Dean took the facecloth from
her hand and replaced it with the cool glass of water.  "Drink this.
Your throat's probably dried out from all those tears."
	"Thank you."
	"Want to tell me what happened tonight?" he asked, falling
back on the sofa across from her, quite at ease in his boxers and
nothing else.
	Amy, still busy drinking, held up her index finger, telling
him to wait one moment for her to finish swallowing.
	"Sorry."  Dean ran both hands through his dark hair and
settled back into the sofa.
	Amy finished the glass of water and set it down.  "That's
alright."  She sighed and closed her eyes.  "It's a little late for
this, but I want to apologize for bursting in on you like this."  She
smiled ruefully, and offered, "You can kick me out now and I'll
understand."
	He frowned.  "I'd never do that you, Amy.  And you know I'm
always here for you."
	Her eyes opened and a slow smile curved her lips.  "I know.  I
just hate taking advantage of you this way."
	"Amy, I don't mind in the least."
	"You're my best friend, you know that?"
	He grinned.  "I'm honored," he quipped, only half joking.
Then his expression became serious.  "Are you through dodging my
initial question?"
	"Yes."  He knew her so well, Amy thought.  She opened her
mouth, ready to tell him about the disastrous chain of events that
eventually led her to his door.  However, the words wouldn't form on
her tongue; they remained lodged in her throat.  What had happened was
beyond embarrassing.  It was mortifying.  She couldn't just sit there
and tell it to him face to face.  Even though there were no lights on,
the moonlight streaming through the sliding, glass doors leading to
the balcony eerily lit the room.  She was a coward, she admitted.  She
needed the protection of darkness.  Or, at least, facelessness.
	Dean, seeming to have read her mind, understood the strange
play of emotions on her face.  He knew the dilemma she faced.  He
extended his hand.  "C'mere."  Amy eagerly accepted, allowing him to
pull her onto his lap.  His arms were linked loosely about her.  "Want
to tell me about it now?"
	"Yeah."


<i>"Oh, Amy," Jonathan moaned weakly when they both came up for air.
Their gasps for air filled the interior of the 1992 Dodge Ram.  Then
the sounds were muffled once again when their lips crushed together.
Jonathan thrust his tongue deep into her mouth, seeming to aim for the
back of her throat.  His greedy hands pulled her shirt from her jeans,
wanting to feel the warm flesh covered with lace underneath.
	And Amy froze.  Ice water replaced the blood flowing her in
veins.  Then she was mindlessly pushing and shoving Jonathan away.
Utter fear took over when she thought he wouldn't heed her and stop.
	But he did.  Finally.
	But it still took too long.
	Jonathan pulled back to his side and twisted in his seat to
better glare at her.  "I don't understand you, Amy," he bit out
angrily, frustration evident in his tone.  "We've been together for
almost a year now and you..."  He trailed off, seeming to choke on his
own words.  "Why?"
	Amy, trembling, wrapped her arms protectively around herself
and swallowed hard, making a concerted effort to control her foolish
fear.  "I-I can't explain it, Jonathan.  I just can't.  You have to
understand.  I-I just need some time."
	Jonathan slapped his hand against the dashboard.  "I've given
you a year!  How much fucking time do you need?"  He blew out a
breath, frustrated and confused beyond his belief.  Was something
wrong with him?  Was there something about him that turned her off the
moment he tried to remove her clothes?  Was this some warped game she
was playing?  Dammit, what the hell was wrong with her?  "The guys
were right.  You are frigid."
	Amy's lips tightened, anger beginning to warm her.  She
welcomed it; being angry was a hell of a lot better than being afraid.
"Is that the only reason you went out with me?"
	That threw him off stride for a moment.  He recovered swiftly.
"No, of course not," he denied hotly.
	But his cheeks were flushed.  Amy knew he was lying.  "Take me
home, Jonathan," she quietly demanded.
	"Dammit, Amy, I'm sor--"
	Amy waved a dismissive hand.  "Forget it.  I just want to go
home now and chalk this night--and this relationship--up as a big
mistake."
	"Amy--"
	"No," she stated in a chillingly detached tone.  "It's over
between us, Jonathan.  If you can't accept me that-- I just can't
handle this anymore."  Amy squeezed her eyes shut, as if she could
deny this was happening.  "I can't believe I'd misjudged you so
badly."
	Jonathan kept quiet, knowing it would be useless to argue with
her when she was in this mood.  He would be wiser to wait until
tomorrow or the next day to apologize.  Jonathan made a mental note to
come calling with flowers tomorrow.</i>


"Then he said something stupid again and I made him pullover and let
me call a cab," she finished.  "He thought I was playing some idiotic
mind game."
	"It's okay, Amy," Dean soothed, stroking her back.  The
rhythmic touches putting her at ease, allowing the words to flow
freely, as well as her long pent-up emotions.  He tenderly cupped her
cheek, forcing her to meet his eyes.  Something clenched around his
heart when he saw the silvery tracks of tears running down her cheeks.
Throat tight, he brushed his thumb over her cheekbone, smoothing away
the silent tears, and repeated, "It's okay."
	"Thank you."  Acting on impulse, Amy turned her head and
planted a soft kiss in the centre of his palm.  And immediately
regretted the move when she felt his body tense beneath her hands.
"I'm sorry.  I shouldn't--"
	"Don't be," Dean interrupted, a finger pressed over her lips
to halt the wavering speech.  There was a flash of insight, and
everything made sense to him, awful, horrific sense.  Ice slowly
formed in the pit of his stomach, stealing all his warmth.  Finally,
he looked at her steadily and carefully chose his next words.  "I'm
not going to misconstrue your intentions and turn into a ravening
beast, Amy."
	Amy could feel the blood draining from her face at his words.
Her skin chilled, and a quiet, maddening, helpless rage swept through
her at the memories--no, nightmares was a more apt depiction.  It was
a quiet rage because even had she yelled, no one would have heard, no
one had ever heard.
	Dean could see her throat muscles working as she tried to
check her emotions.  Burning fury on her behalf made him see red.
What he wouldn't give to have her attacker in front of him at this
moment!  He tightened his hold on her until she was crushed to him.
But Amy didn't mind.  She gratefully welcomed a man's touch for the
first time in twelve long years.
	Amy, overcome, burst into fresh sobs.  She buried her face in
the side of his neck, not caring that she had broken her vow countless
times this night not to cry in front of an audience.  But this wasn't
just anyone.  This was Dean.  It was his name that she thought of when
she had been so lost earlier.  And he was hearing what she had kept
inside for so long without her having to say a single word.
	Amy, noting the angry tension in him, found herself trying to
soothe him even as she cried.  She nearly laughed at the reversal of
roles.  And she would've, had she not been so touched and overwhelmed
by him.
	"It's alright, Dean," she whispered.  "It was over a long time
ago."
	"No, Amy."  He pulled her back to gaze directly into her eyes,
as if willing her to understand the depths of him and what he was
feeling at that moment.  "No, it's not alright; no, it's not over.
It's not over if you're still feeling like this.  If you still can't
be intimate with a man because of it."
	Amy thought that by now she would have no tears left, but her
eyes proved her wrong as they filled up again.  Dean didn't say
anything.  He merely cradled her to him, wanting to do more but happy
to do even this much.
	The silence of his apartment was broken only by her dying
tears and his comforting, nonsensical sounds.  One hand cupped the
nape of her neck and the other rubbed the small of her back.  Dean
leaned his head back against the sofa and squeezed his eyes shut,
wanting to know what to do to make her stop hurting so his pain would
go away.  Inside, he felt as if everything was torn and bleeding.  And
each of her tears was another lash against a newly opened wound.
	The tears stopped long after the point he thought he couldn't
take anymore.  Dean somehow managed to reach over and grab the box of
Kleenex without stirring the bundle in his arms.  Amy, sniffling and
hiccuping, took a few tissues and mopped up her tears.
	"I was seven," she began, "and it was my mother's second
husband..."


<i>Amy hid in her bedroom, wanting to get away from all the yelling
and screaming and flying projectiles of the other room.  She wanted to
slap her hands over her ears to keep out all the noise, but that was
too childish for her.  Instead, she sat on her bed, clutching her
comforter to her small body.  Soon there was the sound of the screen
door banging shut and angry feet stomping down the front steps.  Not
given to tears, Amy sat there thoughtfully, staring at nothing in
particular.  Then she did what she always did when depressed; Amy
curled on her side on the bed, pulled the comforter over her head, and
slept.
	She was woken minutes later by large, rough hand rubbing back
and forth on her shoulder and male voice saying, "Shh.  Be quiet,
Amy," over and over again.
	It was her step-father.  Amy wished he would go away and let
her sleep.  But he didn't go away.  Instead, he pushed her onto her
back and laid down on top of her, crushing her into the mattress,
still telling her to keep quiet.
	Amy, confused and not just a little scared, didn't know what
to say.  Then his mouth covered hers and Amy instinctively rolled her
lips inward and kept them sealed, not wanting his disgusting tongue
inside her mouth.  She kept her little body rigid and silently fought
this intruder, but it was futile, absolutely, completely so.  She
couldn't fight the wander hands or the suffocating weight.  But she
didn't cry.  She needed all her strength and, besides, no one who
cared was here to hear her...</i>


"Jesus!"  Dean hands clenched, imagining a neck caught in its fatal
grip.
	Amy, caught in her own nightmare, didn't notice and went on,
lower lip trembling slightly: "He tried to...touch me again, but I
always made sure never to be alone with him.  And I even took to
keeping my uncle's Swiss Army knife under my bed.  But I couldn't tell
anyone...


<i>"Amy, you can't tell anyone what happened.  Okay?  It's our
secret."
	Amy tried to control the trembling of her lower lip, but
couldn't.  All she could do was cower in the corner with her blanket
wrapped securely about her.  She knew it wouldn't stop the monster in
front of her, but it gave her false illusion of comfort and security.
Her mommy would be home soon.  Her mommy would protect her...
	"Amy, do you understand?  You can never tell anyone what
happened.  No one would believe you, Amy.  You liked what I did,
didn't you, Amy?  Amy?"
	Amy flinched away from the touch on her cheek.  She clenched
her eyes shut, wanting to shut him out.  But he was still there, his
voice not leaving her alone.
	"Amy, you mustn't tell anyone..."
	Amy nodded.  But it was only to make *him* go away.  She
wanted that more than anything else.  No, she wanted her mommy to come
home even more and protect her.</i>


"But I never told my mother.  I wanted to, but I was so afraid that
that bastard was right and my mother wouldn't believe me."  Her voice
softened, and it tore him up even more.  "I wanted to tell her, tell
anyone, but every time I tried, my throat would close up and no words
would come out.  It was trapped inside of me and I just couldn't tell
anyone," she whispered, her voice breaking on the last word.
	Amy took a calming breath.  "I had no one to go to," she
continued, more composed.  "I never knew my biological father and my
relatives were all pretty much useless.  My mother thought I was an
ingrate because I hated her husband to such a degree."  Her laugh was
rough and raw.  "It choked me to take things from him that I got a job
as soon as I was old enough to.  I started paying for everything but
rent by the time I started high school.  I would've moved out, but my
mother always stopped.  One time, she even locked me in my room to
keep me from going.
	"I chose to attend a university away from home even though it
was a hell of a lot more expensive because that was the only way out
for me."
	Her breath shortened in remembered anger and Dean could see
her jaw muscles clenching.  "My mother and I were constantly fighting.
One day, I was so angry that I blurted out why I...loathed her damned
husband so much and she didn't believe.  That son of a bitch was right
all along.  My mother called me a liar.  She told me that I was either
making it up or that I remembered it wrong because I was so young when
it happened.  Damn her.  I remember exactly what happened like it was
yesterday.  I wish to God I didn't, but it's there."  Amy wiped
angrily at her tears.  "Nothing I do ever makes it go away.
Absolutely nothing at all."
	Her rage had built with each memory, choking her with the
futility and her remembered helplessness.  Dean reacted somewhat
similarly.  He wanted to hit something with his bare knuckles.  He
wanted to meet her bastard of a step-father in a dark alley and leave
him beaten to a bloody pulp on the trash-littered ground where he
belonged.  He wanted the man--no, animal--in a jail cell with two or
three inmates desperately needing a way to get off.  He wanted to yell
at her mother and shake the damn woman until she snapped out of her
selfish denial.  He wanted to go back and prevent Amy from ever being
a victim.
	Instead, all he could do was sit here and hold her, picturing
what he would like to do to avenge her and protect her from future
hurts.  Dean took a deep breath.  That wasn't what she needed now.
What she needed was to continue with her recovery.  She had managed
thus far on her own, but he intended to be with her the rest of the
way.
	"It might never disappear completely from your life, but
you've gone so far already," he said passionately.  "You're not shy
around men; in fact, you usually handle them pretty well."
	"I know that not all men are like my mother's husband,
but...oh, I don't know.  I'm nineteen, Dean, and Jonathan's my first
real boyfriend," she told him hesitantly, as if confessing a shameful
secret.  "I thought with Jonathan it would--"  Amy broke off, not sure
she wanted to go there.  She tried again.  "You have no idea how much
of an effort it was to convince myself to go out with him, to let him
even put his arm around me, let alone kiss me."
	"Amy, it amazes me more than you'll ever know that you've even
managed that much."
	The smile she gave him was sad, yet it was more beautiful
because of that quality.  The gentle curve of her lips touched him in
corners of his heart he didn't even know existed, and stirred him in
ways and with such intensity he hadn't thought possible for him.  Then
Dean knew what he wanted to do.  Perhaps he had known from the very
first.
	"I still freeze up whenever it goes beyond kissing,
though--when they start groping my breasts, removing my clothes.
That's when it all comes back to me and I start panicking."
	"You're sitting in my arms right now.  You're touching me and
I'm touching you."
	Amy silently studied him for a moment.  Finally, she said,
"With you it's different.  I'm at ease."  She cocked her head.
"Besides," she added, "you're not trying to get me on my back."
	Dean found he couldn't smile at her weak joke.  He took a leap
of faith--more like hope, actually.  "Kiss me, Amy."
	Amy blinked and pulled back.  "W-what?"
	Penetrating gray eyes studying her carefully, trying to gauge
her reaction, he said, "You say you're comfortable with me."
	She nodded, bemused.  "For the most part."
	He did smile briefly at that, a quick twitch at the corner of
his mouth.
	"But it's not kissing that I have trouble with.
It's...everything else," she said, bemusement replaced with wariness.
	Disappointment settled over him.  Dean, trying to think of
another tactic, closed his eyes, and didn't see the kiss coming.
	Amy's mouth settled over his as soft as a butterfly's kiss.
He wouldn't have even felt it if he hadn't been so sensitive to her.
	Dean held still, afraid she might draw back like a shy doe if
he didn't.  He suffered the self-imposed torture of not responding to
the burning feel of her mouth on his, moving delicately over it.  Her
soft sigh swept over him before the tip of her tongue tentatively
flicked out to taste him.  Her hands lifted to bury themselves in his
hair, sifting through the cool strands, as if holding him steady for
her innocently tormenting touch.
	Erection evident and straining, hands fisted at her sides,
Dean fought against the onslaught of lust.  He valiantly fought and
lost.  His hands were suddenly clutching her hips, bringing her hard
against him.
	"No!"  Amy jerked away from him and fell backwards.  Her wide
eyes stared accusingly at him from where she had landed on the floor.
Dammit, why was she reacting to him this way so suddenly?  Because, an
insidious voice in her head hissed, you know where it's going to lead
to this time--pain, humiliation, utter helplessness at a man's hands.
	Dean rubbed a hand over his face.  "Oh, God.  I'm sorry, Amy."
	Her eyes drifted shut.  "I overreacted."
	"No--"
	"Please don't."
	Dean didn't.  He stood up and helped her off the floor,
careful to keep his hands as far from temptation as possible.
Standing face to face, he sharply realized their contrasts in size.
Barely reaching his clavicle, she made him feel all the more
protective of her.  She was small and sweet 
and so innocent despite all she had been through, making him feel all
the more protective of her.  He was her total opposite.  All he had
going for him was the fact that she had sought shelter from him.
	He was completely unprepared for her next request.
	Amy,  marshalling all the courage she could muster, took one
of his fists in both her hands.  She uncurled his fingers and pressed
his palm against her warm cheek.   Heart racing, pulse pounding, she
took a deep breath and forged ahead.  She knew this was what she had
wanted from the first moment she thought of him.  "Dean, I-I want you
to make love to me."
	Her voice was so small, he barely heard it.  But hear it, he
did, and no other request could've stolen his breath so completely.
It took a required effort to draw air into his lungs.  "Are you sure?"
he finally managed to ask, hoping beyond hope that she wouldn't come
to her senses anytime soon.
	Amy swallowed but nodded.  It was time she got on with her
life.  She would not give in and run from men and intimacy for the
rest of her days.
	Dean gave her a measured look, and inevitably nodded, agreeing
to her request.  As if there was any chance of him saying no to begin
with!
	"Alright," he murmured, and bent down to take her lips.
	It was a soft, gentle mating of mouths.  He didn't probe at
the seam of her lips with his tongue.  Not yet.  Instead, he rubbed
his lips over hers, allowing the tingling warmth to spread down and
outwards, wanting her to feel some of what he was.
	Dean ignored her fingers digging into his hand, knowing that
she wasn't even aware of her actions.  He brought his other hand up
and settled it on her waist.  And swallowed an oath when she went
taut.  Dean drew back and closed his eyes against her round, fearful
ones.  He wasn't an unfeeling brute, but, dammit, they couldn't go on
unless she trusted him!
	"I'm sorry, Dean.  I know it's not my first--"
	His eyes snapped open.  This time he did curse.  "Amy, don't
apologize.  It is your first time.  Your rape doesn't count, honey.
That was a violent, criminal act committed by a piece of filth.  In no
way will it resemble what you and I will share."  A hint of a smile
appeared on his face.  "Even if it kills me in the process."
	Amy chuckled softly.  "You're too nice, you know that?"
	"No, I'm not," he disagreed, instantly serious, his hands
coming to rest on her slim shoulders.  "This is not a sacrifice for
me, Amy.  I can't deny I want you and I don't want to.  Don't look at
me that way, honey.  If I didn't want you, it wouldn't work."
	"I know."
	"Do you?"
	She nodded.  "Yes."
	"Good.  Give me your hand."
	She did and he led her to his bedroom.  He pushed her in ahead
of him.  The room was dark, but there was just enough light from the
outside world sneaking past his curtains for Amy to make out the
king-sized bed.  It was the rumpled sheets on the bed that brought it
home to her.  Her breath quickened as she realized the magnitude of
her actions.
	"What's wrong?" he queried from behind her.
	"Nothing."
	"Positive?"
	"Uh-huh."
	He accepted that.  "Do you want me to turn on the lamp?"
	Amy spun around to face him.  "It is necessary?"
	"Only what you want is necessary.  Tonight is yours."
	"Do you want it on?" she asked instead.
	"Yes," he answered bluntly.  "I want to be able to see you.
It's one hell of a turn on for me."
	Amy sucked in a breath, not sure why his words had the back of
her neck hot all of a sudden.  "Oh.  Okay.  Leave it on."
	Then she noticed the items in his hand.  He had two silk
scarves, one white and one navy blue.  She gestured towards them.
"Uh, what are they for?"
	His smile was lazy, sensuous, and just a tad wicked.  It
started a slow burn in her belly.  Amy could feel her cheeks flushing
and that only embarrassed her all the more.
	"It's for you to tie me up with," he explained, eyes gleaming.
	"I beg your pardon?"
	He came towards her until only an arm's length separated them.
"Every time I put my hands on you, you tense up.  You don't trust
me--"
	"Yes, I do, Dean."
	He shook his head.  "No, not really," he corrected.  "This
goes against my very nature, but I'm going to let you tie me to the
bed.  That way you know I won't be able to grab you at any time.  You
can do anything you want; you can look at me anywhere; you can touch
me all over.  Anything, honey."
	He expected an objection, she was silent for so long, breath
caught in her throat.  But Amy surprised him again.  Solemnly, she
said, "Alright.  How do you want me to do it?"


Amy sat back and scrutinized her handiwork.  Dean was sprawled on the
bed, both arms stretched out and each one secured with a silk scarf to
his headboard.  He had reassured her time and again that no, the knots
weren't too tight and yes, he was comfortable.  She had been
mesmerized by the smooth, rippling play of his muscles and hadn't been
able to stop herself from running her fingers over him as she tied him
up.  And his abs amazed her with its hardness.  She had always thought
he was lean, but with his clothes off, that mistake was corrected.
However, he wasn't entirely naked; he still had on his boxers.  Next
to him, Amy felt discomfortingly overdressed.
	Reading the look in her expressive eyes, Dean suggested, "Take
your jeans off at least, honey."
	"I--"
	"Your jeans are rough and they might scratch," he lied.  Well,
she would feel more relaxed without them, and he really wanted to see
those slender limbs.  And that was as good an excuse as any, he
justified to himself, inwardly smiling.
	She fell for it and stripped off her jeans, but kept on her
shirt and panties.  Amy climbed on the bed and sat at his side.
	"What would you like me to do now?"
	Dean almost groaned.  Several suggestive and not-so-subtle
replies came to mind.  It was such an open invitation!
	He admirably resisted temptation and said, "Anything, honey.
I told you."  She still looked uncertain, so he added, "Think of what
would feel good to you and do it to me."
	Amy absorbed that piece of guidance.  Before long, she
recalled that she never got the chance to finish kissing Dean, and
that was what she wanted to do.
	Amy cradled his face in her hands, leaned down, and pressed
her mouth firmly to his.  She sighed.  The friction from moving her
lips over his created frissons of heat that shot throughout her frame.
Amy shuddered delicately.
	Her tongue slipped past his lips and slid over his slick
teeth.  She eagerly explored his mouth, seeking every crevice, tasting
every texture.  He drew her in deeper, curling his tongue around hers.
It was a request for a deeper mating.
	Amy moaned.  Then it seemed only natural that she straddle
him.  It was a more comfy position and allowed her easier access to
him.  Then it was even more natural that she trail her lips over his
face--over his cheekbones, whisking across his closed eyelids, his
feathery lashes teasing her.  She nuzzled just below his ear and
eventually followed the tendon down his neck, nibbling along the path.
Amy sighed her toe-curling delight when she reached the hollow at his
neck.  She nipped him gently and quickly looked up, gauging his
reaction.  Even though his eyes were at half-mast, she could see the
burning intensity in them, and, for the first time in her life, Amy
felt a deeply gratifying sense of female satisfaction.  Jonathan and
his friends were wrong about her.  She wasn't frigid.
	On some level, Amy heard Dean's strangled moans of
encouragement as she kneaded his wide shoulders, kissing,
open-mouthed, her way down his chest at the same time.  She was
fascinated by the erotic feel of it, rough in some places, smooth in
others, but warm and hard all over, making her want to know all of him
all at once.
	She found his nipples with her curious fingers first.  Amy,
with Dean's earlier suggestion ringing through her mind, closed her
lips over his nipple and tugged gently.  It drew a strangled moan from
him.  She took that as a good indication and continued her
ministrations.  She dampened his nipple, circled it, and flicked her
tongue over it until it pebbled.  Then she sucked it, and Dean arched
in response.  She gave it one final lick before switching to his other
nipple.  That one too quickly pebbled under her ardent attention
before she moved on.
	Her hands restlessly wandered up and down his sides as her
tongue leisurely counted each rib, and when her teeth gently scraped
the skin stretched taut over his sternum and lower.  His abdominal
muscles clenched and Amy interpreted that as a sign of encouragement.
Not that she would've cared, for she was too caught up in the
newly-discovered world of sensual indulgence without fear.
	Sweat was a film on his face and body and drenched his hair.
Dean's arms were sore and aching.  Amy, apparently, had taken his
earlier advice to heart and was slowly killing him.  She was killing
him at that moment with her inquisitive tongue on his navel.  It was a
good thing he had her tie him up.  There was no way he could've
survived this delicious agony this long if his hands had been free.
He would've shoved her on her back and taken her roughly long ago, he
was that aroused.  His painfully sensitive erection strained within
the confines of his boxers.  Dean gritted his teeth and fought the
need to move against her.  She was already doing a good job of it on
her own as she languidly progressed down his body.
	Amy reached the waistband of his boxers.  Dean muttered
incoherently.
	"Dean?"
	Eyes half-lidded, his darkened orbs gleamed at her.  She
stopped and sat up on his thighs, still straddling him.  Uncertainty
clouded her desire-flushed face.  For a moment, Dean wasn't sure he
could answer her.  He struggled momentarily and, at last, growled,
"Hmm?"
	Her mouth opened, but no sounds came out.  Only their heavy
breathing filled the four walls.  Dean grasped her dilemma when her
nails reflexively dug into his hips.  Her eyes were dark and wide and
centred on the bulge in his boxers.
	"Take it off, honey," he rasped, anticipation of her fingers
circling him, her lips sliding over him, eating at him like acid
inside.
	Amy, biting her bottom lip, edged her fingers inside his
waistband.  Dean held his breath.  And released it on a groan when she
pulled his boxers down, careful of his straining erection.  Amy
cleared his feet and tossed the garment beyond the pool of light.
	"Oh my," she breathed, her fingers not quite muffling her
words.  Amy swallowed hard.  "Um, Dean, I don't think...I don't think
this is going to work..."
	Dean swallowed a laugh.  She was, after all, a virgin in every
significant sense of the word.  "Yes, it will, honey," he insisted, a
hint of desperation in his rough voice.  "It has to, or I'm not going
to make it through this night."
	Amy didn't respond.  Her owlish eyes were still glued on the
male shaft that emerged from his dense growth of pubic hair.  Dear
God.  It seemed to grow even bigger before her eyes!
	He had to distract her quickly before she became all fearful
again.  "Amy, honey," he said, voice hoarse, "look at me."
	When her eyes met his, he ordered raggedly, "Touch yourself
for me."
	She started to shake her head.
	"Do.  It."
	Amy allowed her eyes to drift shut, knowing she would lose her
nerve if she didn't, and moved her hand down.  She lifted herself
slightly on her knees and slipped her forefinger and middle finger
inside her panties and between her vulva lips.  Rapture exploded in
tiny bursts in her brain and her inner muscles clenched, seeking more.
Her hips rotated slightly.  Amy was taken aback to note that the long,
low sound of feline pleasure filling the room was coming from her.
	Fierce need slammed through Dean's rigid frame.  Just watching
her discover the bliss of pleasuring herself was enough to make him
come.  But he held back, wanting her to take away more from this
encounter than just the joys of masturbation.
	"Are you wet, honey?" he asked, already knowing the answer,
but wanting her to admit it and the significance of it.
	Amy, sighing heavily, withdrew her fingers and nodded, but
didn't open her eyes.
	"Good."
	At his feral tone, her eyelids slowly drifted upwards.
	"That means you want me," he told her, leashed savagery in his
dark face.  "Put me inside you."
	Amy's tongue flicked out to wet her suddenly dry lips, but she
didn't protest.  She got off of him for a brief moment to remove her
damp panties.  It seemed to take an endless amount of time, but she
was soon straddling him again.  Fingers spread, she reverently ran her
palms up and down his erection.  The intense heat startled her.  She
caressed it and whispered more to herself, "It's so hard, yet so
soft...like hot marble encased in velvet."
	Drops of his pearly semen leaked out.  Without thinking, Amy
leaned down and picked up the drops with her tongue.  Salty.  Musky.
Just like the rest of him.
	Dean was positive hell couldn't compare to what she was
putting him through.  He knew his wrists would be chafed and reddened
for the next couple days, he was straining so hard against his bonds.
Dean made an agonized sound.  He was so close...but not without her.
She was only a virgin.  He didn't want to think what he would go
through had she been experienced.
	"Amy.  I have to-- Now," he pleaded brokenly.
	Amy got up fully on her knees and moved over his penis.  With
her hands, she carefully guided him between her swollen sex.  Her
breath caught painfully in her throat.  Her fingers had felt good,
extremely good; his shaft was heavenly.  Amy, mouth open to better
gasp for air, painstakingly worked his head into her vagina.  Bottom
lip caught between her teeth in hard concentration, she sank down on
him and stopped halfway.  Amy fell forward, bracing herself on her
hands, not sure if she could go further.  Her hair spilled over his
chest, cooling slivers on his heated skin.  He was filling her,
stretching her almost to the point of pain, and there was still more
of him!
	"Dean--"
	"Take all of me, honey," he implored, voice raw.  Christ, she
was tighter than a fist, and the mere thought of being inside her to
the hilt was enough to make him sweat bullets.  But she needed help to
go on.  "Pull up a little... That's it... Now come back down...just
like that... Oh, yes... That's it, honey...keep doing that...keep
doing that... That's it..."
	Dean kept up the instructions.  At the same time, his body was
arched and so tense that all that touched the mattress were his
shoulders and heels.  Amy, pain and discomfort overshadowed by
unbelievable ecstasy and this innate craving for more, eventually
found her rhythm.  She was soon driving both of them insane in her
quest for something she didn't know.  All she knew was that she was
getting closer, ever so closer, with each bounce over Dean's captive
body.
	Eyes clenched, teeth gritted, tears coursing down her face,
head thrown back, nails leaving crescents in Dean's sides, Amy finally
found what she was looking for--her pinnacle.  It was like the rapture
she had felt earlier, but this time the explosion was bigger, more
intense, more consuming, more draining, more rapturous, more deeply
satisfying.  And it was endless, or so she thought while it lasted.
However, she inevitably found herself floating down from her climax
like an autumn leaf drifting to the ground.
	Dean, feeling her vaginal contractions around his cock,
loosened up on his control and his orgasm bombarded him from all
sides, leaving him feeling battered and bruised and limply satiated.
	His brother was such an idiot, he thought just as Amy
collapsed on him, boneless and half-conscious.  Jonathan's loss.  His
gain.