Page 56 of Bittersweet Revenge
His hot, sticky load covers my face, and I let him do it,wanthim to do it just like I know he wants me in his ass. When he falls to the bed beside me, the strangest thing happens—I laugh. I don’t know why I’m laughing or what the hell it means, but I can’t stop myself from doing it all the same.
This light feeling dances around in my chest, one that’s so fucking unfamiliar, I don’t recognize that either.
Not knowing what else to do, I roll over on top of him, chase his lips with mine. Dean pretends to fight me off while I rub my cummy cheek on his, and we’re both now doing this weird, almost happy kind of dance.
He grabs my hair, fists it in his hand, and our eyes meet, all sound dying on our tongues. We just…look at each other.
Are you as lost as I am?I want to ask him but would never be able to let those words free.
As if he doesn’t know what to do or say either, Dean pulls my head down, kissing me, letting me share his cum with him, our tongues tangling together, battling for dominance.
And then…then I simply drop my forehead to his, and we breathe each other in, take each other’s air the way we’d done with the weed. The first words I’m able to find are, “You did good today…with Aislin.”
He rolls his eyes. “All I did was go to class with her.”
“It’s more than that to me.” I roll off him, unwilling to say or dissect anything more. “The computer shit, I could use that. Use your help sometimes. There are things I sometimes need to know that I can’t find. You think you can do that?”
“Yes.”
“It’s not the kinda shit you’re supposed to be doing, though. You get that, right?”
“I’m not a fucking idiot. If I had a problem with trouble, the rampant drug dealing would have chased me away. I looked up your name. I know who you are and what that means.”
“It doesn’t mean anything,” I lie, but we both know it does. He’s worked some kind of magic on me and made me trust him a little, but I can’t give him much. Not yet. Probably not ever.
Dean doesn’t speak right away, just moves slowly, climbs on top of me and holds my wrists down. “I want it…what you have. I shouldn’t, but I fucking do.”
It doesn’t make any sense, but I swear an explosion goes off in my chest, one that might end up wreaking havoc on my life later, yes, but one that feels so fucking good. So right.
“We’ll see,” I tell him.
Dean nods and gets off me. He picks upThe Count, and I gently work it free from his hands…and open it. He frowns but then settles in close, and we quietly read together.
CHAPTER TWENTY
Dean
Something is wrongwith Tiernan.
It’s Friday, the fourth night I’ve been staying at his house, but I can tell something is off with him today. He’s even more of an asshole than usual. More importantly, there’s this sharp note of danger in the air. He’s got this quiet, calculating, disconnected edge to him that’s pissing me off. I’m still not sure how I feel about Cillian, but he has it too, in a more low-key way than Tiernan. Rory is in and out, even more energetic than usual. And Aislin is quiet. It doesn’t take a fucking genius to realize something is going on and I’m the only one who isn’t in on it.
I’m used to not fitting in, to not being part of a group—any group—but it’s different this time, making that deep, black pit inside me grow, the one that so often tries to pull me in deeper. I’ve lived a lot of my life there, bathing in that anger, but now that’s not all that’s there. It’s hurt too, which does nothing but piss me off more. Do I think any of them actually give a shit about me? That they wouldn’t stab me in the back the first chance they get, or even worse, that they won’t just drop me because I really don’t matter to them? I’d be fucking stupid to believe any of that, and I hate myself for giving a shit at all.
The house is full of people because for a reason I don’t understand, Tiernan decided today was the perfect day to throw a party. I’ve hardly seen him all night. I’ll catch glimpses here and there, and each time he’s carrying a cup I know he’s filling with beer.
My ass has been planted on the same couch cushion most of the night, cup in hand that I haven’t touched while I watch the party go on around me—dancing, laughing, kissing, and lines of coke being snorted off the coffee table.
I figure them selling drugs is a big reason for this evening. It’s annoying to me. Parties, this many people, have never been my thing. I only did it the first night to get close to Tiernan.
Tiernan, whom I’ve been naked with three nights in a row, but who is ignoring me tonight.
Nah, that shit’s not gonna fly with me.
I stand, set my cup down, and push through the crowd to find him. He’s not in the living room, dining room, or the kitchen. With each step I take, the anger in me intensifies, my spine straight, my muscles tense. Is he with someone? Because if that motherfucker wants me to be his, he better not be touching anyone else right now.
I try his office, but like always, the door is locked. I’ve never even been inside it. He’s locked himself in there with Cillian more than once, each time annoying me more and more.
I’ve been practicing picking locks since I was six. It’s something Mom insisted I learn how to do. She was so tired of this lifestyle after what it took from her, but there were still things she instilled in me, like learning how to fight, partly because she wanted me to be able to take care of myself, but partly, I think, because maybe it had become more ingrained in her than she wanted to believe. Maybe it’s in our blood and there’s nothing we can do about it. That’s the way it feels for me.
