“You mean, ‘Yes, sir,’ ” Dean corrects me. My cheeks flame and I feel an intense impulse to tell him to fuck off. But that would be suicidal. “Yes, sir,” I hiss through gritted teeth. “Good girl,” Dean says softly. His low purr sends a thrill through my body. Am I completely fucked in the head that I feel a flush of warmth at his approval? Maybe it’s just relief that he might not have me murdered in the immediate future.
