Page 80 of Bittersweet Revenge
There’s nothing I wouldn’t do to keep him, no one I wouldn’t fight for him. I would turn the world to rubble if Dean needed me to, and I’d enjoy every fucking second of it.
Our bodies slap together as I take him, show him who he is to me. I lick and bite and suck at his neck. Dean drops his head back against my shoulder, giving himself to me, and I know how big of a deal that is to him. He doesn’t talk about his past, not in detail, but I know he’s lost a lot, know he’s never let anyone inside him the way he has me. Not the sex, that’s not what I mean, but in his head, his chest, in every single solitary inch of his insides.
“Don’t come,” I say close to his ear. “I’m gonna breed your tight little hole, but you’re not gonna come until it’s in mymouth. Your ass is gonna swallow all my release, and then you’re gonna feed me yours, okay?”
“Yes. Do it. Breed me.” Those last two words are a zap to my balls, the kind that’s all pleasure and won’t allow me to hold back anymore. My nuts lift, cock twitching inside him as the world spins out of control. I shoot into him, give him spurt after spurt of my load, making sure every drop is exactly where it belongs.
He whimpers when I pull out and drop to my knees. Dean turns around, eyes fiery with hunger. He tilts my head back and pushes his dick into my throat, the same way I’d done with his ass. He doesn’t go easy on me, and I don’t want him to, want my throat bruised on the inside the way it is with his marks on the outside.
His hand tangles in my hair as he fucks my face, making my eyes water and my lips stretch. I’m so fucking hungry for him, need him to empty his balls inside me.
“Look at you…my little fucking lord on his knees for me. Craving my cock. You are so fucking beautiful, Tiernan. You’ve wrecked me, own me. I can’t… I…” The words die on his tongue as the first spurt of his cum hits the back of my throat. I swallow him, crave more, feel his cock swell and shoot again inside me, over and over until there’s nothing left.
That was…intense. When I look up at him, his eyes are glassy and red. A tear slips free and runs down his face. Everything inside me freezes.
“What’s wrong?” I’m on my feet now but don’t even remember getting there. “Did I hurt you?” I swipe my thumb beneath his eye, collect another tear and suck it into my mouth.
“Nothing. I’m fine.” He shakes his head. “I should be asking you that after the way I lost control on your mouth.”
“I wanted it.” He tries to push out of the shower, but I don’t let him, box him in, drop my forehead against his. My chest aches with such an unfamiliar sensation that I’m afraid to putinto words. “I’m sorry. Whatever I did…” There are very few people in this world I would apologize to, and they’re all in this house except my mother. The only people in the world I would never hurt on purpose are in this house. I love my uncle, and Conan, but I would do what I had to do if it came to them. But not my people. Not Dean.
“You didn’t do anything, T. I just hate myself. I don’t deserve this.”
That makes me roll my eyes. “You think I fucking do? I’vekilledpeople, Dean, and you fucking know it. I can pretend to have secrets from you, but I know you’re not stupid. Jensen wasn’t the first, and he won’t be the last, and most of the reasons aren’t as good as it was with him. I’m not a good person, but I will fucking burn down the world for you if you ask, and I want you exactly how you are. We can take on this world together, just like we did tonight.”
He grabs my face and pulls me in for a kiss, one that feels like he’s trying to pour his whole damn soul into me through his lips.
Yes. He’s mine. I dare anyone to try and take him away from me.
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
Dean
Ican’t sleep.
Tiernan is passed out beside me, lying on his stomach, one arm over his head. He’s naked like I am, neither of us having taken the time to get dressed after…whatever the fuck that was in the shower. It wasn’t just sex. It felt like…fuck…inevitable. Like the universe completely rearranged itself so that one moment in time could exist, this thing I’d be powerless to stop even if I wanted to.
And I don’t. I don’t ever want it to stop, but all that does is remind me I’m betraying him. The first person to make me feel anything, and I’m betraying him. I make myself sick, and that weight is getting harder to bear, harder to quiet the voice that tells me I don’t deserve this. Aislin, Cillian, and Rory, but especially him.
My fingers itch to dance along the soft skin of his shoulder, to trace the scar he has there… I wonder what it’s from… But if I touch him, I’ll wake him, or maybe I’ll wake up from my own dream and realize he’s not really here.
Jesus, what the fuck is wrong with me? It’s like I’m overwhelmed with all this shit inside me that I don’t know how to handle. What I want and what I should want. What I’m doing and what I should be doing. Avenging a man who loved me and my mom and would do anything for us. All the ways she would hate who I am, and the parts of me that want more. All that is entwined with him and my…obsession? Yes, there’s that, butbeneath it, entangled with it, is something I didn’t know I was capable of feeling.
I don’t understand why I feel it for him, just know that I do. Maybe the not knowing is something that’s broken inside me, something that’s always been broken, but whatever it is, I think Tiernan has it too.
I slip out of the bed, go to my backpack, and pull out my sketchbook and a pencil.
We didn’t close the blinds, so the moon and the light they have surrounding the property sneak inside, casting a yellow glow on his skin.
I start with his shoulder because I’m suddenly obsessed with that scar. Was it an accident? Done on purpose? If so, I’ll find and kill whoever did it.
I draw his arm, then his open hand, and wish I could fill it with mine.
His neck with my marks and his beautiful face that’s relaxed in sleep—the same face that looks at some people with the hate and anger I always feel, with disinterest at others, and fierce loyalty when it comes to Aislin, Cillian, and Rory.
The loyalty is for me too. I know it just like I know I need to breathe to survive.
I draw his hair, messy from my hands, his other arm clenched on the pillow. His muscled back, and though the blanket covers him from the waist down, his tight, firm ass is etched into my mind, so I do my best to draw that from memory.
