Page 23 of Deviant Obsession

If it weren’t for Dean’s steady hand returned to the small of my back, I might just keel over. The air in here feels thick with anticipation, carrying traces of leather, beeswax, and pure indulgence.

In the furthest corner opposite the door, an elegant chaise lounge sits beneath what can only be described as a suspension rig and I hope beyond hope that he doesn’t intend to hang me from the ceiling. I’m not quite ready for any of that. I don’t know if I’d ever be. Next to it, a cabinet stands open to reveal neat rows of toys, dildos, and things I don't even have namesfor. Everything is immaculate, carefully arranged, speaking to a level of precise control that sends an involuntary shiver down my spine.

This isn't some amateur's playpen—this is a serious space for serious play. And suddenly, I'm acutely aware of how far out of my depth I really am.

"Before we begin," Dean's voice holds that edge of authority that makes me weak, "we need to establish safe words." His fingers trace my collarbone as he explains, making it hard to focus on my surroundings. "Traffic light system. It’s simple, and easy to remember even when you're...distracted."

He grips my chin again, forcing me to meet his gaze. "Green means keep going. Yellow means slow down, or you need me to check in. Red means everything stops immediately. Repeat them back to me."

"Green for go," I whisper, stuttering a little as his other hand slides down my side. "Yellow for slow. Red for stop."

"Good girl," he purrs, and the praise sends liquid heat pooling between my thighs. "What's your color now?"

"Green," I breathe without hesitation. "Very green."

He treats me to one final, triumphant smirk before turning to open the top drawer of the closest cabinet.

That’s the last thing I see before the black, silken blindfold descends, plunging me into darkness that heightens every other sense. His cologne surrounds me, musk, leather, and a hint of cigarette smoke making my head spin. The brush of his fingers raises goosebumps as he slowly peels away my clothes, then my underwear, until I'm bare and trembling.

“Cold? Or nervous?” Dean murmurs, his soft lips back at my ear.

“I’m fine,” I insist, forcing as much strength into the claim as I can manage. I’m not cold at all, every inch of my skin is ablazein his presence. And I sure as hell don’t want him to know how nervous I am. Or how self-conscious I feel.

He huffs a low chuckle. “Alright then. Come here.”

He snakes an arm around my waist, pulling me across the room until he gently tells me to stop. Next thing I know, he’s turning me around and pushing me back until the bare skin of my spine comes into contact with a cool, smooth surface. I’ve had sex. I’m notthatnaïve.

But I’ve never done this.

“I’m going to restrain you now.” The calm authority in his tone is miles away from the arrogant frat bro I thought I’d come in here with. I could almost pretend he’s someone else entirely—and maybe I will for the sake of Natalie not murdering me. “Give me a color.”

“Green.”

The padded cuffs are buttery-soft around my wrists and ankles, but completely unyielding as he spreads me open against what I assume is that big, wooden X. Testing them only confirms how helplessly imprisoned and exposed I am to whatever he has planned.

"Beautiful," he murmurs, hands mapping my body with possessive intent. "You have no idea how bad I've wanted to see you like this..."

I try desperately to turn off my racing thoughts, to lose myself in pure sensation. Dean makes it devastatingly easy, his touch alternating between gentle caresses and a firmer kind of appreciation.

His fingers trail along my exposed flesh with agonizing slowness, tracing every curve and hollow as if committing them to memory. I shiver against my restraints as his hands glide up my sides, barely ghosting over my ribs before cupping my breasts.

"So fucking beautiful," he breathes again, thumbs circling my already hardened nipples. "So responsive...I've barely touched you and you're already squirming."

A whimper escapes my lips as he pinches lightly, then soothes the sting with gentle strokes. His touch is reverent, like he's claiming every inch of me through these leisurely explorations.

"Please..." I breathe, though I'm not even sure what I'm begging for.

"Shhh," he soothes, one hand sliding down my stomach to cup between my thighs. "Don’t rush me. I want to savor this."

The blindfold intensifies every sensation. I can't anticipate where he'll touch next. I can only gasp and writhe as his fingers dance across my flesh. His lips replace his breath, hot and demanding against my throat, and I let out a wanton moan I didn’t know I was capable of.

When his fingers first slide through my slit, we both groan at how wet I already am.

"Such a hungry little slut," he rasps, circling my clit with maddening lightness. "Already dripping for me..."

All at once his touch disappears. I can’t find it in me to feel ashamed as I whimper pathetically, already missing the delicious contact. I’m fuckingdesperateto have it back.

But then I hear it—a click followed by a soft mechanical hum. Before I can process what it might be, something firm and buzzing touches my inner thigh. I jerk in surprise, my gasp coming out more like a strangled squeak.

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