Page 22 of Deviant Obsession

I want to tell him he's wrong. I want to remind him how much I despise his arrogance, his assumption that he can read me so easily. But he's right… Iamtrembling, caught between desire and defiance.

He stops suddenly at door number thirteen—because of course it would be thirteen—and turns to face me. His hand slides from my back around to my hip, holding me in place. The heat of his palm seems to brand me even through my jeans.

"Tell me something," he says, studying my face intently. "Was the bathroom story complete bullshit, or did you really just stumble in here by accident?"

Heat floods my cheeks. "I..."

"Because if you're actually looking for a restroom, I'll point you in the right direction." His other hand comes up to brush a strand of hair from my face, the gesture surprisingly tender. "But if you're here for something else..."

The touch of his fingers against my cheek wears down even more of my crumbling resolve. I should tell him to show me to the bathroom. I should thank him politely and leave. I should remember all the reasons I can't stand him. But instead, I find myself swaying closer, drawn in by the darkness in his eyes.

“At that party…” I murmur, trailing off when I can’t quite force my thoughts into a coherent sentence.

“Yeah?” He grins, the look written all over his face screaming that he thinks he’s won this round.

I just might think that too.

“You…uh…you said you could show me a thing or two.”

“I did…” For all his demonic features, Dean waits with the patience of a saint as I try to choke out some indication of where my head is at.

“Was that…you know…all talk? Or…you meant here?”What am I doing?

“It can mean whatever you want it to mean, kitten.”

“Would you be, um…would you be gentle with me?”

Just like that night at the party, in that moment where I thought he might want to apologize to me, Dean’s arrogant smirk softens a little. I feel his grip tighten almost imperceptibly on my hip, as if he’s worried I’ll bolt.

As if he’s urging me to stay.

Those featherlike fingers sweep under my chin, tilting my face up until I’m forced to meet his gaze. I can’t seem to stop my eyes from darting this way and that. It feels like holding onto a shard of ice with bare hands trying to return his intense stare.

But Dean just waits. Waits until I force myself to get a grip, to face those glacial eyes head on.

“I won’t hurt you,” he insists, all the sincerity of that statement etched into his chiseled features. “And once I’m through with you…You’ll beg me for more.”

God damn me if I don’t believe every word.

“Alright then,” I whisper. “Show me.”

That monstrous smirk returns. "Show you what, baby?"

"Everything." The word comes out barely audible, but his sharp intake of breath tells me he heard it. In this moment, I don't care about how cruel he’s been or how much he infuriates me. Lust has completely clouded my judgment.

Dean reaches into his pocket and produces a key card. "Last chance to back out," he offers, holding it up to the electronic lock. The warning in his voice only makes me more certain.

I shake my head, beyond words now. Beyond thinking. Beyond everything except the heat of his body next to mine.

The lock beeps, a green light flashing. Dean pushes the door open, revealing a room that steals my breath.

"After you," he says softly.

With my heart in my throat and my pride in shreds, I step over the threshold.

My eyes sweep across the room, trying to process each new detail while my head is still swimming. The space is larger than I expected, illuminated by dim lighting that casts everything in sensual shadows. One wall is dominated by what look like medieval torture devices, though the gleaming metal and polished leather speaks more of luxury than a dungeon. Thick metal rings are mounted at strategic points along the walls and ceiling, some already sporting heavy ropes that make my stomach flip.

The centerpiece is a massive four-poster bed draped in black silk, but it's the accessories surrounding it that make my breath catch—padded benches with mysterious attachments, an ornate wooden cross like a giant ‘X’ whose purpose I can only guess at, and more racks displaying implements that make me simultaneously want to run away but also lean in for a closer look.

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