Page 81 of Bittersweet Revenge
I’m shading his far shoulder, when a soft, almost whimpering sound slips from his lips. I look down on him just as the sound fills the room again, followed by a brokenno.Please no.
“Tiernan,” I say softly. Setting aside my sketchbook, I touch the shoulder I’ve been admiring.
“Leave her alone.” His voice is more panicked now but still drenched in sleep. It’s not enough to hide the anger and fear in the words, though.
“Tiernan, baby, wake up. You’re having a nightmare.”
His eyes jerk open, and before I realize what’s happening, he’s on me, got me on my back, his forearm pressed against my neck. His breaths rush out in sharp, short pants, his eyes completely disconnected.
My heart bangs against my chest, but I don’t make any sharp movements. My concern isn’t for myself in this moment, but for him. “Tiernan, it’s me. Your little fighter.”
Something about those words snaps him out of it. He jerks away from me, landing at the end of the bed, eyes and pupils wide. “Fuck. I’m sorry. I…” He runs a hand through his hair.
“Want to get rid of me already?” I try to joke, unsure if it’s appropriate, but not wanting him to feel like this is a big deal. “I get it. I can be a lot.”
“Eh, you’re a good piece of ass, though.” He gives a small smile that doesn’t reach his eyes. He’s clearly trying to hide whatever it is he’s feeling. Old me, the me I am with anyone else, would let it go, but I can’t do that with Tiernan. Not when I already don’t deserve him.
He moves back up beside me on the bed, and I ask, “What were you dreaming about?”
“Nothing. It’s not important.”
“It didn’t sound that way.”
“Fuck off, Dean, okay?” he snaps, but I don’t get my feelings hurt. I understand those urges. I have them all the time, and it’s not as if I’m not a dick too.
“You fuck off.” I nudge his foot with mine. “I thought I was the one with anger issues?”
He gives a soft chuckle. “You are. Well, we both have them, but yours are worse.”
“Lies,” I tease, testing out this new world we’ve found ourselves in. One where I cry when he fucks me because the emotion is just too much…one where we talk and try to make each other feel better and he’s found a spot inside me. One that will only be for him.
I want to give him something because I don’t think he realizes how much he gives me…and because when this is over, I want there to be good memories too, pieces of me he has that will hopefully show him it was real for me, want him to have pieces of me that no one’s ever had or ever will.
Fuck, he’s broken me.
He’s healed parts of me.
Reaching over, I turn on the lamp on the nightstand, then pick up my sketchbook and hand it to him.
“What’s this?” Tiernan asks.
“Look at it before I change my mind.”
Tiernan frowns but turns to the first page. It’s him, of course. It’s a sketchbook I’ve gotten since I met him, and I haven’t drawn anything but him since that day.
Tiernan at the café on campus, the two of us against the tree. Tiernan reading. Holding a gun. The two of us on the couch when I hit that motherfucker. Him both naked and clothed. Tiernan sleeping in Aislin’s chair, in bed, on me and in me, my marks always on him, on us.
“Jesus,” he says, his voice breathy.
“It’s too late for you to run.”
“Are you kidding? Do you think I would be with anyone who’s anything less than obsessed with me?”
I smile. When did he make me start doing that so often?
“It’s why I hit Cillian. He saw it. Those aren’t his to see.”
“But they’re ours?”
