Page 44 of Bittersweet Revenge
Dean thrusts against me, the stiff length in his jeans sending sensation skittering through me.
When he doesn’t reply right away, I cock my head to the side so he has better access. “Do you want to mark me again? Does it make you feel powerful? I sense that in you. I can feel your desire for it. You lived a normal, boring life until you met me, didn’t you, and now you want a taste for what I have.”
Pain shoots through my neck when he bites into it. “Oh fuck.” Pleasure darts down my spine, my dick throbbing. Why the fuck does he get to me this much? I don’t understand it.
He buries his face in my neck, not biting me now, not sucking or anything. Just…breathing. “I don’t want to be like you.”
But he does. We both know that. I sensed it in him the moment I met him.
I don’t move. Hell, maybe I don’t even breathe. I’m still pressed against the door, being held there by Dean’s lean body, but not with any kind of strength this time. It’s almost like I’m holding him up.
Push him away. Push him the fuck away.
“It’s okay to want it. To need it. To fucking thrive off it.” I do, even if I hate myself for it.
“Who are you?” His voice is so soft, I’m not even sure I heard exactly what he said. The question makes sense, though. He knows something’s going on here, with us. He must. One Google search would have a million stories for him to read about a powerful family everyone knows is bad but can never prove it. That leads me to believe he either doesn’t want to look too deeply, or he’s found information and doesn’t care.
But for a reason I can’t explain, it feels like that’s not what he’s talking about.
“There. I gave you your mark. Happy?” He pulls away. When I turn, I see him adjust his erection in his jeans. The thing that really blows my mind is that Iamhappy. I do want to be marked by him, and before this night is over, I plan to mark him again too.
“I mean, I’d be happier if you sucked my dick, but I can wait until after your shower.”
“Jesus,” he curses, and something about that one word makes the corners of my mouth curl up.
I unlock the door, push it open, and turn the light on, before stepping aside and signaling for Dean to go in.
He does, not speaking as he walks around, taking it in. What does he think about my space? The black walls with shaker-style square paneling. I don’t get so much as a glance when I close and lock the door behind us. “You have a lot of books.” He walks over to one of the walls that holds shelves filled to the brim.
“This isn’t even all of them.”
With my back against the wall, the hard wood holding me up, I study him as he looks, touches, dances his fingers down the spines almost…longingly. Definitely with a reverence that no one else in my life has for books.
“You read them?”
“No, I eat them. Isn’t that what you said to me? They’re the perfect midnight snack.” I roll my eyes, and he flips me off.
He continues to browse, taking it all in while I do the same with him. He’s…frustrating and sexy, and it feels like I know him. Like inside, which makes no fucking sense, and I don’t even understand why I would think that. But it’s as if I see myself in him.
When he reaches the end of the shelves, he looks at the cross on the wall. With a half grin, he turns to me. I just shrug. “I’mIrish. Of course I’m Catholic. Next time I go to confessional, I’ll have to confess to sodomy. It’s all your fault. You’re going to make me sin.”
“Somehow, I have a feeling that’s the least of your sins.”
I don’t need to tell him he’s right because we both know it. He’s entranced by who I am, by the things he must know I do. Where most people would run and hide, Dean keeps coming back for more. “I don’t usually talk about those until the second date.”
“This is a date?” He moves toward my bed, picking up his copy ofThe Count of Monte Cristofrom my nightstand. “I don’t remember you asking.”
“I told you to stay, and you did.” It’s like my feet have a mind of their own, and before I know it, I’m right behind him, so fucking close I feel the heat of his body against mine. I wrap my arms around him and open the book. “I read up to where your bookmark is.” His breath hitches, and as if that action controls my body, I smile. “See? I’m not a total asshole. I waited for you.”
“I told you I’ve read it before.”
“Does that make me any less sweet?” This is so far from my reality, I doubt I’m in the same universe anymore. Am I sweet? Fuck no. Do I want to be? Fuck no, again. But I like teasing him like this, playing with him and feeling his body tremble in response. Still, I pull away. “You wanted to shower, right? It’s through that door.” I point to the en suite as I’m taking off my shoes.
“I don’t have any clothes.”
“Why do you need clothes? I like you better naked.” I begin unbuttoning my shirt.
“Does this typically work for you?”
