Page 91 of Bittersweet Revenge
His body comes down on mine, Tiernan kissing me hard, rutting against me. I’m in my boxer briefs, but when I wrap my arms around him to grip his ass, I feel he’s naked.
I knead his cheeks while we thrust together, his cock against my cloth-covered one. We kiss and touch but don’t make any moves to go any further. One of my hands travels up his back, then threads through his hair. I grip Tiernan tightly, needing to feel him, glad nothing happened to him and he’s back with me.
Eventually, the kissing slows down, lazy but still hungry, until he pulls his lips from mine.
“Are you okay?” I ask, still playing with his hair.
“Yes. I’m always okay.”
“You don’t have to be with me.” It’s wild, the change in us. The change in me. My rough edges aren’t gone, but they are smoother with him.
“Thank you, but I’m fine. It is what it is.” Tiernan gets off me and sits beside me. I miss the weight of him instantly.
Leaning over, I turn on the light. His gun is on the nightstand, his phone beside it. When my gaze lands on his face, I tense at the bruise on his cheek.
Angry heat flushes through me, and it takes everything inside me to keep my voice steady when I ask, “Who did that to you?”
Tiernan doesn’t answer right away, just sits there, naked, with his back against the headboard. His cock, hard against me just moments ago, is already softening.
“I hate myself for not standing up to him,” are the first words he says. “There is no one in this fucking world who can make me feel weak other than him.”
My teeth grind together, making pain shoot through my jaw. His father. Of course it’s his fucking father. “You do what has to be done.”
“I could take Ash and my mom and run.”
Memories flash through my head—moving around, Mom being afraid all the time, being so fucking careful because Sloan’s power doesn’t stop at the Massachusetts state line. “That’s no life for anyone.”
“And this is?” He points to his face. “I don’t give a fuck about the rest of it. That’s who I am. It’s who I’ll always be, but this? I should fucking kill him for touching me, but I won’t. I’ll just…continue to do what he says.”
“To keep yourself safe. To keep your family safe. You think I can’t see that you do it for them? Even without the details, I know that because I know you. And it’s not so easy to get out, even if that’s what you wanted.” My father tried and died because of it.
“I killed someone tonight. I won’t sugarcoat who I am for you, and I didn’t have a good reason like I did with Jensen. I did it because my father told me to, because he wants what doesn’t belong to him. And I did it knowing that what he’s taking hurtsmy mom. That’s what disgusts me. I love her. Why do I help him hurt her?”
My heart breaks for him, at the pain and self-loathing in his voice. I’m not sure what to tell him, how to make this better. I’m not good with words or feelings. I’m actively hurting him by lying to him every fucking day. “Tiernan…”
“Draw me,” he interrupts.
“What?”
“Draw me while I’m awake this time, while I can watch you do it.”
I don’t know why he wants this, but I’ll give him any fucking thing I can. With a nod, I get up and grab my supplies before sitting on the bed again. “Relax against the headboard…cock your head slightly.” Tiernan does as I say. “Yes, like that.”
He’s got one leg bent, the other straight out. He’s completely soft now, his dick against the bent leg, his pubes dark and curly. I want to bury my face in them, maybe spend all night right there between his legs, sucking his cock and breathing him in.
I scoot back, at an angle where I hope he can see me work, set a pillow on my lap, the sketchbook on top of that, and begin to draw. Somehow, this feels like one of the most important things I’ve ever done, like I need to show Tiernan how beautiful he is to me, show him exactly what I see when I look at him—strength, pride, fierceness, loyalty, and heart.
With each movement of my pencil, I’m showing him how I feel, that I love him and want him. That he’s the fucking world to me and there’s nothing I wouldn’t burn to the motherfucking ground for him.
“You’re cute when you concentrate,” he says after a while.
“Shh.” I bite back a smile and keep going, wanting this to be something he can be proud of.
My hand begins to hurt, but I don’t stop. I would draw all day and night if I had to.
“You’re biting your lip. That’s my job.”
This time I can’t hold back my smile. “You’re distracting me.”
