Doya: She knew what she was doing

It was a calculated move from her, to sit on the chair near the kitchen table wearing nothing but a white t-shirt and a white thong.  It was calculated to do so when Dean came back from his errand, thirsty for a beer and perhaps, ready to cook something for both Oya and him. Oya knew what she was doing. It didn't even take a second for him to notice her in the room. She was posed like a model and his emerald eyes couldn't help but travel from her shapely calves to her legs, to the string of her thong looking like a string of pearls against her ebony skin.  Did she oil her skin too? Dean couldn't stop looking at her, wondering if she did it on purpose just for him. He could feel his throat turn dry and his lips parched up for a thirst that had nothing to do with beer anymore. His eyes kept moving up, averting from her thong to the wet and sensual skin of her taut stomach, to the hem of her white t-shirt. 

It was so snug around her chest, so fitting, and yet it only outlined her chest. Oya rarely wore white, although the color was complimentary to her skin. So when she did wear white, Dean couldn't help but be struck by the perfect combination that was.  His eyes averted from her chest to her face and here she was, his beautiful wife. Oya's face was a work of art and if he had not seen her in action, he would have not believed she was a hunter. She was gorgeous and powerful. She was a skilled hunter just like him, a badass pint-sized woman who could give him a run for his money should she decide to. Her curly black locks crowned her doll face perfectly, so much so that when Oya turned her head to look at him, her hazel eyes stared at him, Dean swallowed a lump. 

Oya was perfect, every which way Dean looked at her, he couldn't help but marvel at his wife. He loved everything about her, how fierce her gaze was, the beautiful smile she always had on her face when she was looking at him, the scars on her skin (especially the scars on her arms). Everything about her was perfection, everything down to her attitude. She hooked her finger and motioned for him to come closer to her, to have a better view of the work of art she was and he indulged her request, taking it as a command.  As he drew closer, he noticed that yes, she did oil her skin from head to toe. She painted her nails to enhance her beauty and was wearing her wedding ring as the sole jewel on her body. Her thong and shirt were soaked by the oil and clung to her body, betraying each delicious curve she was hiding underneath. His mouth opened but he couldn't think of something clever to say, so he abstained.  She kept asking him to close the distance and slowly but deliberately said in her adorable accent "Have a seat." To which he complied and took a seat in front of her. Oya's face lit up as she had Dean exactly where she wanted him to be and Oya climbed the desk, sitting in front of him with her legs spread wide enough for him to sit his head between them. He watched as her hand slowly stroked its way down her stomach and she slowly pulled on the fabric of her thong. "Now now... Be a good boy." And a good boy he would be. 

-TBC-