Page 19 of Bittersweet Revenge (Sins of the Father #1)

Tiernan

T he moment Dean shuts down, I feel the wall between us, see the light in his eyes dim.

I’m not supposed to care. With anyone else I wouldn’t.

It’s so unfamiliar that I do—like this strangeness, a discomfort in my chest. It takes me a moment to realize it’s less because I’m not sure what to do with experiencing these feelings myself and more that I don’t like to see it from him.

After all, it’s my job to take care of what’s mine.

“Why are you pouting? I know I fucked you hard enough, so that can’t be it.”

Dean’s eyes narrow, only not in that sexy-hateful way, but in the real hateful one. Right. So apparently, I said the wrong thing. I’m shit at this.

“I’m fine.” He rolls over and tries to get out of bed, but I grab him and pull him back down. He goes easily, which tells me he doesn’t really want to leave this bed.

“Listen, my default is asshole. I don’t know how to be anything else, and I don’t want to learn.”

“I didn’t ask you to.”

“So what’s wrong?”

“Nothing. We fucked. What else are we supposed to do?”

I frown. Do I want him to fucking cuddle me and tell me all the secrets of his heart? Hell no. “Good point. This is usually where I kick the person out, so I guess we just…lie here.”

“Or I could go sleep on the couch.”

I roll my eyes. “Not happening. I said I would fuck you all night. I can’t do that if you’re not in my bed.” I flop down on my back beside him and look at the ceiling, Dean doing the same.

The room is silent, and we’re both just lying here. My leg starts twitching, and the quiet grates on my nerves, which doesn’t typically happen, so I blurt out, “Do you want to smoke a bowl?”

“I’ve never done that.”

“Wait, what? How are you eighteen and never gotten high before?”

“Nineteen.”

I frown. “You’re a freshman.”

“Just turned nineteen this summer and started school late.”

Oh, that makes sense. Still, “How are you nineteen and never gotten high before?”

“Because, asshole, not everyone lived the same fucking life as you. Jesus, you can be a prick.”

“Yeah, well, that’s why I get your dick so hard. I’m getting you high.”

Reaching over, I press the code into my drawer, open it, and tug out the box with my stash of weed, papers, and pipe.

It automatically locks when I close it. I sit up on the bed, and since taking the time to roll the perfect joint isn’t really what I want to do right now, I find a good bud and pack it in the bowl.

“Sit up.”

“Ask nicely.”

“Sit the fuck up.” At his death glare, I relent. “Please.” Then, “Jesus, you’re fucking cute.”

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 grower and a 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.

I snake my hand along the back of his head, feel his prickly short hair against my palm and pull him in for a kiss. Before our lips can touch, he jerks back and says, “I’m hungry. What about chips?”

I bang my head against the mattress a couple of times. Fucking newbies. “Stay here. I’ll go get us something.”

“Okay. Hurry.”

“You’re a lot more agreeable when you’re high.”

“You wouldn’t pay me a second thought if I was agreeable all the time.”

No, no I wouldn’t. Still, I quirk a brow. “You’re not too high to know that?”

He flops onto his back, throwing an arm over his face. With a sigh, I get out of bed and tug on a pair of boxer briefs. It’s not until I’m at the door that I think about the fact that I’m leaving him alone in my room.

I shouldn’t do that.

I never do that.

“Fuck,” I curse softly, then hurry downstairs. Luckily, I don’t run into anyone as I grab a couple of bottles of water, a bag of chips, and a package of cookies.

Dean is still in the exact same spot when I get upstairs, only he lifts his head slightly. “Wow, for an asshole, you’re not so bad.”

“Right back at you.”

I kick the door closed and strip off my underwear before joining him again. Dean digs into the food like a starving man, which is good for him, actually. He needs a little meat on his bones. He’s strong but too fucking skinny.

He inhales the food, and honestly, I watch him more than eat anything myself. I’m still trying to figure out how fucking him has apparently transported both of us to a whole new world where we’re…this, instead of at each other’s throats. Though this is fun, I still want the other too.

When the food is gone, he downs the water.

Dean lies on his back, his throat beautifully bruised from my mouth, and damned if I don’t want him to mark me up more too.

He picks up the book from the nightstand and begins flipping through the pages. “Do you know why I like The Count ?”

“No.” I settle in next to him, lying down, our faces close.

“Dantès does what needs to be done to those who betrayed him. He doesn’t let them get away with hurting him.”

I can respect that. “Revenge is sweet. But you don’t have to worry about that. If anyone hurts you, I’ll fucking kill them.” The vehemence in my words, in my tone, doesn’t surprise me. “Until I’m done with you, you don’t even have to worry about anyone looking at you wrong.”

Reaching up, I place my hand on his throat, squeezing slightly.

Dean’s pupils flare. The book tumbles from his grip, and he’s pulling me down, bruising my lips with a kiss.

His tongue sweeps my mouth hungrily, and then his lips travel to my chest and finally my throat, sucking and leaving his signature behind, this proof that Tiernan fucking O’Shea has let Dean claim him.

Does he know that no one has ever done this but him?

“I’ll kill anyone who touches you too.”

I laugh off his claim. Of course he wouldn’t take this seriously. He’s never taken a life, and he won’t ever have to…but he could. Somehow, I know he could. “That’s sweet of you, little fighter, but I don’t need anyone to take care of me.”

“Doesn’t mean I won’t do it.”

It’s the high talking, both of us saying shit that doesn’t make sense, shit that can’t or won’t be real once it fades.

Without another word, he rolls onto his side and closes his eyes. I study him for a moment, the way his eyes move under his lids, the way his mouth is slightly open, how many breaths he inhales and exhales in a minute, then turn the light off.

And for the first time in my life, I go to sleep beside someone I’m screwing…and sleep like a fucking baby.