Page 26 of Deviant Obsession

Dean's hands are surprisingly gentle as he helps guide my limp limbs back into my clothes. The fabric feels strange against my sensitized skin, but his steady movements ground me as he methodically works each button closed. The blindfold remains in place, keeping me suspended in that hazy space between reality and fantasy while he puts me back together piece by piece.

His fingers brush against my throat as he straightens my collar. Each touch reminds me of what those skilled hands are capable of, how thoroughly they mapped every inch of me.The memory makes me shiver, my thighs pressing together unconsciously.

When he finally removes the blindfold, I blink rapidly in the sudden light, my gaze automatically sweeping the room before seeking his face. Evidence of what transpired here sits innocently around us: the cross that held me so helplessly and the toys that drove me to heights I never imagined possible.

Well, and Dean.

Impossibly handsome Dean. He’s still fully clothed, dark curls impeccable styled, and looking like he’d not been involved at all.

But that smug smile playing at the corner of his lips belies the truth. I open my mouth, but words fail me completely. Another ‘thank you’seems simultaneously inadequate and excessive. Running away from him also seems equally impossible on legs that feel like jelly. My mind spins, trying to come to terms with what I just did, what I just let him do to me—what Iwantedhim to do to me.

Just hours ago, I was desperate to get rid of him. Now I'm...what?The question sends my nerves into a tailspin. What does this make me? What does this makeus?The walls I’d thrown up against his advances lie in ruins around me, demolished by his expert touch and wicked toys.

"You're welcome," he says, smoothly cutting through my internal chaos. His thumb swipes again across my still-wet lips, the casual possession in the gesture making me bristle. My tongue tingles with phantom taste, remembering how eagerly I swallowed his load.

I fight with every fiber of my being to not automatically surrender myself to…

Shame.

As if sensing my silent battle, Dean turns away, releasing me from his magnetic gaze as he moves to unlock the door. "If you'restill looking for the restroom," his voice holds barely contained amusement, "take two rights and a left. Though I suspect that was never your actual destination."

My cheeks burn at his knowing tone. He's right, of course. I never intended to find the restroom. Hell, even all thoughts of Professor Shaw’s car evaporated entirely the second Dean guided me through that den of writhing bodies. I followed him in here deliberately, drawn by something I couldn't name. Now that unnamed desire stands exposed, as bare as I was just minutes ago.

He continues as if he hasn't just completely dismantled my world, "Debbie at the front desk will call you a cab home. Don't worry about the fare. I'll handle it."

I remain frozen, watching as he leans casually against the doorframe. At first, I’m a little stunned that he doesn’t say ‘I told you so’or demand a glowing Yelp review for an evening well spent. But I shouldn’t be surprised, all the arrogance in that familiar stance tells me he knows exactly how much I enjoyed that, my incoherent blubbering probably all the satisfaction he needed.

He got exactly what he wanted from me.

“You good, kitten?” he asks, cocking an eyebrow while I remain rooted to the spot.

“Yeah… I’m fine,” I mumble, forcing my feet to remember how to move.

That satisfied smirk never falters for a second as I slowly make my way past him. The dismissal stings a little, but I don’t know what I was expecting. Dean doesn’t seem like the type to cuddle.

The corridor passes in a dark blur as my mind catalogs new sensations: the slight ache in my jaw, the lingering sensitivity between my thighs, and the phantom rub of leather cuffs around my wrists.

I pause at the first corner, his directions echoing in my head. Right. Then right again. Then left.

But I'm not really looking for the restroom.

I never was.

What I was looking for—well, what I found—is something far more dangerous. It’s something that makes my careful, controlled life feel suddenly hollow. Something that makes me wonder what other depths of desire lie waiting to be discovered.

But why did it have to beDean?

I’m ashamed suddenly, but not because he reduced me to a begging, desperate mess. My stomach knots up at the thought of actually admitting what I did to anyone, Natalie included. But that’s not even the worst part…

The worst part is knowing that if he asked, I'd probably let him do it again.

Chapter 9

Dean

My boots scuffagainst the concrete outside the club as I light a cigarette, trying to shake off this unfamiliar weight in my chest. The way I dismissed her...fuck. Not my smoothest move. The memory of her face—that flash of hurt before she masked it—keeps replaying behind my eyes.

I take a long drag, watching the smoke curl into the night air. Usually, I prefer clean breaks. I get them hooked, get them off, and then get them gone. But Rhea... The thought of not tasting her submission again makes something dark and possessive twist in my gut.

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