Page 49 of Bittersweet Revenge
We both freeze because what in the hell just came out of my mouth?
“What?”
“Nothing.”
“Don’t say shit like that to me.”
“Believe me, I don’t want to.”
I shoot a quick glance his way, and I swear he’s almost smiling. Definitely time to get high.
The lighter flicks to life, and I let the bud burn for a moment before pulling the pipe to my lips. My lungs fill, tingle and burn with that oh-so-familiar feeling I’ve known since I was, like, eleven. When I’ve held it in long enough, I let the billows of smoke escape, turning slightly to the side, and see Dean watching me.
He licks his lips, the bastard making me want to taste him again. Instead, I put the pipe to my lips, light the weed and inhale, then lean closer. I don’t stop until I’m right in front of his mouth. I nudge his nose with mine, see realization dawn on him.
Dean opens his mouth, and I slowly let the smoke out as he sucks it in. I’ve never shotgunned weed with anyone before, but doing it with him is making my cock twitch again. There’s no doubt in my mind he could get me hard again in no time, but his hole probably needs a little break before I rail into him again.
When the smoke is gone, I pull back. “Hold it in for a bit, then let it out.”
He does as I say, coughing slightly when he exhales.
“You hang out with the good kids in high school? None of them got you high?”
Dean scoots over, his back against my red headboard. “I don’t need friends.”
My nose wrinkles at his response. He doesn’t need friends? He’s saying he didn’t have any? That he still doesn’t? I might have lived a whole different life than most people, but I’ve always had Cil and Rory. I’ve always had people around me, though I would never trust anyone enough to call them a friend except those two.
“My sister’s your friend.” And though sometimes it makes me jealous, I’m suddenly glad he has her.
“Are we smoking or what?”
“I love that you’re a dickhead.” I take another hit for myself, then climb onto his lap and straddle him. We’re both still naked, and the room smells like sex. I settle against his thighs, pulling the weed into my lungs, then getting closer again. His breath is warm against my face, his hands on my hips as Dean opens his mouth and I give him the smoke.
We keep going like that, and when the bowl is dust, I set it on the nightstand but don’t leave my spot.
“You’re a groweranda shower.” He picks up my soft cock where it’s resting between my legs, then lets go, and it flops back down again.
“Jesus fucking Christ.” I roll my eyes but have to fight myself not to laugh.
“Should a good Catholic boy take the Lord’s name in vain?”
“There’s a whole lot of shit a good Catholic boy shouldn’t do, but that never stops me.”
This time, he reaches out and plucks my nipples.
“What are you doing?”
“You feel different when I’m high. Are you real?”
It’s impossible to hold back my laugh. Honestly, it’s not something I do often—just laugh. With Cil and Rory sometimes, or with Ash, but never with anyone else. “Note to self, when my little fighter is being a dick, get him high.”
“Then I’d always be high.” He looks around the room, his head flopping a bit. “I feel like I’m floating…but you’re sitting on my lap, so I can’t be floating. Oh, do you have any ice cream? Vanilla is my favorite.”
“Of course it would be. That’s fucking plain, and no, I don’t. You’re a lightweight. Remind me not to give you so much next time.”
I go to climb off him, but Dean flips me to my back. I let him, curious to see where this will lead until… “Ahhh. What the fuck?Did you just give me a raspberry?” He looks up at me from where he’s hovering over my stomach. “I changed my mind. You’re never getting high again. Fucking amateur.”
The soft, warm feel of his tongue in my belly button makes my dick perk up. Dean licks his way up the center of my chest, to one nipple, then the other, and okay, I take that back. He’s getting high every day.
