Page 21 of Bittersweet Revenge (Sins of the Father #1)

Tiernan

M y exam in Constitutional Law is long and boring, but I reward myself by going to my World Literature class afterward. It’s my favorite one this semester.

Rory came home before I left because Michael Jensen has a full day of classes, so we figured there’s not too much damage he can do in the middle of the daytime when he’s busy there.

It’s important we do our best to act normal.

Even though the rules everyone else has to live by aren’t the same for us, we don’t want to draw any attention to ourselves right now.

We have connections, of course. Dirty cops and politicians who keep shit from coming our way, but we all have to play our part.

Dean is going to be a problem this weekend. I shouldn’t be keeping him at our house. Really, he has no business being there, but I want him, and I’m not good at not having what I want.

The problem is he’s smart and pays attention.

He won’t like being pushed on Cil Saturday night.

I don’t know if it’s likely the cops will talk to him after the fight, but I want him to have an alibi.

I want to protect the cocky motherfucker, which is a wild thought.

Him being out with Cillian, though, is a message to anyone who wants to fuck with him—cops included—that Dean is connected.

When class is out, I return to the house. It’s empty when I get there, and before I do anything else, I text Aislin.

Me: All good?

Aislin: Yes, my babysitter hasn’t left my side, though I’m sure my professors don’t like it.

Me: The benefit of being us is that they don’t have to like it, they just have to accept it. Let me know if he gives you any shit about coming back to the house.

Aislin: You really like him, don’t you?

I do. Clearly, I fucking do, and I don’t like that. I’m also not getting into it with her right now, or you know, ever.

Me: Bad connection. Can’t talk.

Aislin: We’re not talking, asshole.

I laugh and ignore her, going to my contacts and pressing Conan’s name.

He won’t answer if he’s not alone. I know why he’s so good to me, though I’d never bring it up to him.

He works for my father, he’s a loyal soldier and would do anything for the O’Shea family, but he’s also in love with my mother.

It took me a long time to figure it out, but I see the way he watches her, the way his body stiffens when my father treats her like shit.

He’s different from the others—still ruthless as fuck, of course, and he does what needs to be done, but he doesn’t fuck the same way others do, and he’s never married like my father or Uncle Rian.

Cil’s mom died when we were thirteen, and though Uncle Rian has never gotten serious about anyone else, even he hooks up.

Not Conan, though. I would assume he does occasionally, but if he does, no one knows about it.

I remember once when my father taunted him with the whores at my family’s club.

A lot of our money-laundering activities go through the club.

My father made this woman strip and grind against Conan, but he never touched her.

My father likes to put people in situations that make them uncomfortable.

He’s done it to me too many times to count.

But when it comes to Conan, I think he loves me and Aislin so much because he loves our mom, which is more than I can say for my father.

“Hey, kid,” he answers. “Everything good?”

“Yeah. You got a minute?”

“Always.”

I smile, wondering what it would feel like to have my father speak to me this way, but thankful that I have it from Conan.

“I’m not sharing all the details, but we’re taking someone out. I need it to fly under the radar.”

“So…he’s gonna disappear?”

“Exactly. He comes from money, so some heat could come down on us, but I’m hoping that won’t be the case.

Can you keep an ear to the ground for me?

” Conan’s father was a cop. He’s retired now and disowned Conan a long fucking time ago—before I was born—because he’s been nothing but trouble since he was a teenager.

He was drawn to power, and not the kind you get being one of Boston’s finest; the kind organized crime could get you.

Our family is his family because he lost his, but those connections we have, the dirty cops working with us, all that shit goes through Conan.

“Yeah, you got it. You want me to come help? If I need to get away, I will.”

“We’re killing him. This is personal.” Conan is a lot of things, but I don’t think he would like me allowing Aislin to be there.

“I’m using the Pit Stop.” It’s a house about an hour away, between Ashford and Boston, owned by our family.

The tracks are well covered on most of our properties, so they can be used as hideouts, safe houses, or places to torture and kill.

“Can I call you afterward and you can make him disappear?”

“Yes. Done. I gotta go.” The call ends, telling me someone must have come around who couldn’t hear what we were talking about, or who he was talking to. A better man than me wouldn’t get Conan in these situations. My father would kill him if he found out, but I’ve never claimed to be a good man.

I check in with my father next, pretending everything is business as usual. His call is quick because apparently there’s a problem at the docks, where the drugs we push come in.

There are a million things I should be doing right now, but instead, I go upstairs, pick up The Count , and lie in bed, enjoying a few moments of peace.

The security camera app on my phone alerts me when Aislin and Dean get home, and I watch them as she unlocks the door.

They’re speaking, and when Dean laughs at something she says, jealousy gnaws at me again.

It’s so fucked up, but I don’t care. I like that I want to possess him, that he feels like he belongs to me—one of the few choices I’ve ever had.

When I hear footsteps on the stairs, I set my phone down and pick up the book again. My lips automatically try to curl into a smile when there’s a knock at my bedroom door, but I don’t allow myself to do that. “Come in.”

Dean opens the door with two bags in his hand.

I feign surprise. “Oh, you’re back.”

“Good observation.”

“You know it gets me hard when you’re a dick, right?”

He ignores my question and gives me one of his own. “Where do I put my shit?”

“Wherever.” I shrug. “Come blow me. I cleaned my dick off for you after and everything.”

“Fuck off.”

“But you like my cock so much. You wanted it last night.”

“You’re such an asshole.”

“Yes, you’ve told me.”

He drops his bags, closes the door, and walks over to me. I set the book on the mattress beside me, and he watches it, this longing in his eyes as if it’s precious to him.

Does he think I won’t take care of it? Because I will. Books are my prized possessions. I’ve loved reading for as long as I can remember, love the escapism, but this one, I’ll be even gentler with because it’s his. “I’m waiting.”

Dean unbuttons and unzips my jeans, hooking his fingers in the band and tugging them down with my underwear. Just seeing him got me throbbing, but the second he walked over and I knew he was going to do what I said, I went hard in an instant.

He wraps a hand around my shaft, giving me a long, slow stroke.

“It gets me hard when you’re a dick too.

Know what else does?” Dean climbs onto the bed.

He’s still wearing my clothes, and I fucking love that.

I shouldn’t have told him to go home and get his things, so he would have no choice but to walk around wearing my things.

“What?”

“How much you fucking want me.” He leans down and nips at my lip. “That you were up here waiting for me. That you want me in your house because you crave me.”

I don’t need the rest of his words. I need his mouth. His prickly, buzzed hair pokes at my palm when I tug him closer. We’re ravenous for each other, like we’ve been denied something we needed our whole lives and now we have it.

I push my tongue into his mouth, kissing him deeply while he strokes me.

Dean doesn’t let me enjoy his mouth for long before he rips it away. My complaint dies on my tongue when he bends over and takes my cock to the back of his throat.

My hand holds firm at the back of his head while Dean bobs on my dick.

The wet suction of his mouth is to die for.

Seeing him so fucking hungry for me is the best aphrodisiac, but even more than that, it makes me feel more powerful than anything I’ve ever done.

Than people who do everything I say, or walking into a room and knowing I can get away with anything.

Dean is more potent than all of it combined.

“Let me fuck your pretty mouth,” I tell him, holding the sides of his head now and thrusting my hips forward. Dean takes it, gags on it, for it, his fingers digging into my hips like he doesn’t want to let me go.

I don’t stop him when he pulls off. He buries his face in my balls, licking and sucking on them, while I pet his head. “You’re so good at taking my cock. You hate it, but you want to be my good boy.”

I cry out when he bites my thigh, but then a laugh falls from my lips. He’s unpredictable, and that shouldn’t be a good thing, but with Dean, everything seems to be.

“Or maybe I just want to possess you the way you want to with me.” He swallows my dick again, using his hand and his mouth in tandem to make me race higher and higher.

He’s not even naked, and he’s the sexiest person I’ve ever seen.

All anger, sadness, strength, and vulnerability that reaches me on levels no one else has found.

The blowjob just started, and I’m already seconds away from shooting, want to see him take down my cum so I’m marking him on the inside the same way I do with his skin.

“That’s it. Take my dick, little fighter. You want it, don’t you, want all my cum. Bet you’d let me come in that sweet little ass of yours too, wouldn’t you?”

He looks up at me through hooded, lust-filled eyes. His pupils flare. Jesus, he fucking wants that. Wants me to take him raw, and if I do that, he really will belong to me.

My hips pump forward at the thought. Colors dance behind my eyelids as my balls draw up, the fight not to come already lost. I fill his mouth, Dean swallowing me down until he’s milked me dry.

He shoves onto his knees, ripping down his shorts— my shorts —and working his cock furiously.

I lift my shirt for him, giving him my abs to paint because I’m sure as shit not wasting his load anywhere except on or in me.

Just as he’s about to come, veins bulging in his arm and bruised neck, he changes positions, gets closer to my face in time for the first spurt of his cum to hit me in the cheek. The next is on my mouth, and the cocky motherfucker grins.

His hot, sticky load covers my face, and I let him do it, want him 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 up The 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.