Jo Harvelle walks through the backdoor of the club and into the alley behind it. With a frustrated sigh, she heaves the trash into the dumpster – a monstrous task given the height of the heels she teeters on.

The case she’s been investigating was a bust. Nothing supernatural. Just a bunch of second rate strippers and Johns who thought getting handsy with the help got them out of paying for lap dances.

A smile crosses her face as she thinks of the drink she accidently dumped in a customer’s lap. Not that he learned anything from his liquor shower, drunken hands still reaching for her. She was lucky Ernie hadn’t fired her on the spot. Instead, the crusty old manager just laughed and said, “Give ‘im hell, kid! I like your fire!”

Dean Winchester stands in the dark watching her in her ridiculous outfit. The sway of her hips is intoxicating. The curve of her bottom sends a shock of electricity straight to his groin. And the thought of all the other men that have been staring at her all night? It sets his teeth on edge and makes him want to kill something.

Seeing the shadowy figure stalking toward Jo, he mumbles under his breath before launching into action. The rookie hunter doesn’t see a thing, nearly tripping over the ridiculous stiletto shoes on her feet. It angers him. Makes him mad as hell. If he didn’t know better, he’d swear smoke was pouring from his ears like in a Saturday morning cartoon. And with good reason…though Jo would never admit she was wrong.

Dean pulls the dagger from his coat and thrusts it into the lust demon’s rib cage. Red light glows and explodes from the vessel’s eyes, the body falling limp to the pavement in a lifeless heap.

Jo gasps as she watches the hunter’s movements, shocked that she didn’t recognize the flicker of the customer’s eyes from the spilled drink. He had been right in front of me…

She’s so lost, she doesn’t notice him advancing until it’s too late. He gets in her face, shielding her body from the street with his own as he backs her against the brick wall. The long fingers of one hand tangle in the loose waves of blonde hair floating over her shoulders forcing her to look at him; the other flexes against the wall to support his weight. His mouth hovers mere centimeters from hers.

“Are you out of your damn mind?” he asks sharply, concern and the need to protect creeping into his tone. “You could’ve been killed.”

She doesn’t look at him. Doesn’t make eye contact. Her gaze remains fixed on the flannel peeking from between the sides of his leather jacket, she gulps. She can smell the whiskey on his breath.

He’s trouble. Dangerous. Everything her mother warned her about. She knows she should stay away, yet she’s drawn to him like a budding leaf curling and stretching toward the sun.

Dean’s thumb strokes roughly along her jawline, forcing Jo’s gaze to meet his own. Brown eyes puddle with liquid defiance. He feels her shiver and suddenly remembers he’s assaulting her in the cold. Remembers how she’s dressed.

Fishnet stockings clinging to her legs like a second skin. Tight, satin shorts cupping her rounded bottom and making him long to mold his fingers to her curves. A pink bustier top with it’s black lace edging thrusting her small breasts upward, putting them on display.

Jo grits her teeth, preparing for the lecture. Preparing to have to defend herself to Dean one more time. But she’s startled by the desire pooling in his eyes. They’re a deep, dark shade of green that flickers with possession as he stares down at her tiny costume.

She’d only been waiting tables, but that doesn’t matter now. She might as well have been stripping right along side Candy and Bliss the way Dean is undressing her with his eyes.

“Dean, I…” she starts.

He cuts her off with a searing kiss. His mouth slants over hers, warm and slightly chapped, as his hand slides down to cup her thigh and drag it around his waist. He rocks against her, tongue caressing between her lips when she whimpers.

Jo’s head swims. He tastes like bourbon and smells like soap and leather. His big hands are rough but his touch is tender.

She’d be lying if she said she’d never thought about being with him in a moment like this. But the reality of it all? Of feeling him bulging against her core? Kissing him like there’s no tomorrow? Her fantasies hadn’t even come close.

She shudders when he nips at her lips with his teeth. He growls when her fingers dig into his hair, pulling him closer. She’s pliant, her body betraying her even as she longs to push him away and free herself. His actions are punishing, yet gentle; primal, yet passionate.

Releasing her, Dean’s hands slide down over her arms. Feeling goosebumps, he quickly strips off his jacket and yanks her away from the wall to slip it around her shoulders.