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    Summary

    He had to admit that the rough gravel voice of the lead singer as he sang out The Black Crowes’ Hard To Handle was heating something in his lower belly that Dean didn’t want to think too much about. He held out a moment longer, keeping his eyes on Jo as she started to dance along to the beat.

    And then he looked up and holy fucking shit. Dean was eating his words, because he was definitely looking right now. The guy with the voice like sex dipped in sin looked even better than he sounded. Which really shouldn’t have been possible, because Jesus, that voice was grating down his spine in the best possible way.

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