Page 21 of Deviant Obsession

What am I doing? This is insane.

And yet I can't make myself turn around.

"Nervous?" he murmurs close to my ear, his breath stirring my hair and making it stand on end.

"No," I lie, though my voice trembles traitorously.

His soft chuckle tells me he sees right through me. "If you say so."

The curtains part under his touch, and I catch my first glimpse of what lies beyond. Bass-heavy music pulses through the air like a heartbeat, and despite every rational thought screaming at me to run, I let him lead me through the threshold.

Into the dark.

The heavy curtains fall closed behind us with a whisper of velvet, and I'm immediately enveloped by the throbbing beat and dim, reddish light. Dean's hand remains firm against my back as he guides me forward, his fingers splayed possessively across my spine. I hate how my body responds to his touch, hate how easily he assumes control—and I hate myself even more for letting him.

"Welcome to Deviant," he speaks louder this time, necessary to be heard over the music, though he still leans close to the flushed skin of my cheek. I have to resist the urge to turn to those lips, hovering so close to mine. It has to be the wine in my bloodstream. There’s no other explanation for the pathetically helpless way I’m letting him sweep me away.

This isDean.This is the same arrogant asshole who's been making my life difficult for days, I try to remind myself. The same man who seems to take perverse pleasure in pushing my buttons.

But I’m already here.

And though I hate myself a little, I don’t hate the feel of his impossibly large body invading my personal space once again.

The main club space sprawls before us like something out of a fever dream. The ceiling soars two stories up, dotted with crystal fixtures that cast prismatic light across the crowd below. The dance floor pulses with bodies moving to the rhythm, but this is unlike any club I've been to before. The dancers wear everything from elegant evening wear to...practically nothing at all.

My feet falter as I spot a woman in nothing but leather straps, being led on a chain by a man in an expensive suit. The sight sends a surprising jolt of heat through me that I desperately try to ignore.

"Shocking?" Dean's thumb strokes small circles against my back. The gentle touch contrasts sharply with his usual arrogant demeanor, and I struggle to reconcile these two versions of him. Neither of which I know well enough to follow into a sex club…

"I..." I swallow hard. "It's different."

His chuckle vibrates through me. "That's diplomatic of you." The condescension I’m sure I hear in his tone makes me bristle, but before I can step away, he's already guiding me forward.

We skirt the edge of the dance floor, past private booths where shadows move in ways that make me blush and avert my gaze. The music seems to travel straight through my body, matching the thunder of my pulse. I tell myself I'm only here out of curiosity.

Academic interest, nothing more.

The vague recollection of seeing what I thought was Professor Shaw’s car in the parking lot has me momentarily stiffening. If I were to actually run into him here…with Dean by my side…I’d have to flee the state.

"The main floor is relatively tame," Dean explains, probably assuming my jolt was a reaction to the overwhelming scene onthe club floor. He easily steers me toward a curved staircase instead. "Members can socialize, dance, have a drink. Get comfortable." The way he sayscomfortablemakes it sound like he thinks I wouldn’t becomfortablehearing the details.

The stairs are lined with a deep burgundy carpet that muffles our footsteps. As we ascend, the view of the club below becomes even more surreal. I should be appalled by what I'm seeing, should be running for the exit. Instead, each scene we pass only stokes the heat building in the pit of my stomach.

"The VIP sections are up here." He gestures to a series of curtained alcoves. Some are open, revealing plush seating and intimate gatherings. Others are firmly closed, though the sounds emerging from behind them leave little to the imagination. His hand slides slightly lower on my back, not quite daring me to push him away, but promising more.

My mouth goes dry as we pass one particular alcove where a woman's cry of pleasure rises above the music. Dean's hand tightens slightly on my back, and I hate how my body arches subtly into his touch.

"Curious?" he asks, and I can hear the smirk in his voice without looking up. I want to wipe it off his face, though I'm suddenly not sure if I want to do that with my fist or my lips.

"I'm not..." But I can't finish the denial. My whole body feels like it's humming with electricity, betraying my attempted lie.

We turn down a quieter corridor, the music fading to a distant pulse. Dark wooden doors line both sides, each bearing a small, numbered plaque. The air feels heavier here, my breathing turned sluggish as we find ourselves alone.

"These are our private rooms," Dean reveals. "For members who prefer...discretion." The word rolls off his tongue like silk, and I hate how it makes me shiver.

I try to keep my movements steady as we walk past door after door. Some have red lights glowing above them, others green.Each step feels like I'm moving deeper into a web of my own making. I know I haven’t had nearly enough alcohol to claim otherwise.

"The things that happen behind these doors..." He lets the sentence trail off suggestively with a deep chuckle. "If I didn’t know better, I’d say you’re intrigued, Rhea. Your whole body's trembling."

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