Page 73 of Bittersweet Revenge
“I want to help you,” he changes the subject.
Are we back on this again? I don’t want to talk about tonight. “Nothing to help with.” I pluck the lighter from my box.
“I hacked his bank account.”
“Jesus, Dean.” I run my free hand through my hair. “You’re going to get yourself in trouble.” I made him stay with Cillian to keep him safe from that.
“No one can track me. I’m fucking good. I’ve lived in a goddamned computer or a book my whole life. I know what I’m doing. I’ve always been a natural. My brain just fucking works that way, but that’s not the point. I can transfer a hefty amount. Make it look like he just wanted to disappear.”
“He did,” I lie. “We had nothing to do with it.”
He rolls his eyes. “Fine, yeah, okay. But I need to do this. I need to pull my weight. I’ve never had this.” He waves his hands in the air. “I’ve spent my life alone, and now I’m here with you assholes, which I have to admit is torture, but I still need to contribute.”
I chuckle. “Torture my ass. You fucking love it.”
“I’m being serious, Tiernan.”
It’s the second time he’s used my name tonight, and I like the sound of it on his tongue. “You don’t call me by my name very often.”
He frowns, his forehead bunching together in thought, like he’s just realized he’s using my name and doesn’t know how he feels about it.
“Say it again.”
The ornery look on his face says he wants to do anything but, that he wants to hold back just because I told him to say it, but then he opens his mouth and says, “Tiernan.”
My chest feels strangely bubbly. It’s good but scary and confusing at the same time.
“You won’t get caught?”
“I won’t sell you out.”
“I’m not worried about that.” I should be, but everything with him just feels right, something inside me telling me I can trust him.
“No.” He shakes his head. “I won’t get caught.”
“Fine. Do it.” I shift, hoping I’m not making a mistake.
“I can discreetly get the money to you. I just—”
“It’s yours.”
“It’s a lot of fucking money.”
But I don’t need it, and despite Dean not talking about it, I have a feeling he could use it. He sure as shit isn’t going to want charity from me, though. “When people work for me, they get compensation. You’re doing the work, you get the money.”
He watches me for a moment, then slowly nods. What’s going on in there?
As if my hand has a mind of its own, I reach out and dance my fingertips along his temple. Dean’s breath hitches, but he doesn’t move, doesn’t pull away. It surprises me when he leans in and takes my mouth. It’s another one of those unfamiliar slow kisses, one where the point isn’t to lead to fucking or orgasms, just a lazy exploration of each other’s mouths. Like we’re getting to know each other, savoring each second where our tongues tangle together, because real pleasure and comfort isn’t something either of us have had much in our lives, but it’s found us in these moments together.
When he pulls back, a growl slips past my lips, and Dean gives me one of his rare smiles. My heart thumps like a stampede of wild horses in response.
He takes the box with the weed off my lap, then straddles me. Now it’s Dean who takes out the lighter and the blunt, singeing the end with fire, before pulling smoke into his lungs. When he leans in, I automatically open my mouth, breathe in what he exhales, hold it in my lungs, then let it out.
“I thought this was my job,” I tell him.
“Not tonight.” He takes another hit, then ghosts his lips so fucking close to mine, giving me that one too.
This is…not me. I don’t understand it, but I don’t want to stop it either. I want to have it, hold on to it, savor it for as long as I can.
