Page 30 of Deviant Obsession

Once I convince her to come back, that is.

Chapter 10

Rhea

The bellabove Ramona Coffee's door chimes as I push inside, immediately hit by the rich scent of freshly ground beans. The promise of caffeine is a welcome wake-up call as I mentally sift through my lengthy to-do list, separating out the various assignments I wanted to get started on before my classes this afternoon.

But every carefully organized thought dissolves in my mind like cotton candy in a puddle when I seehim.

Dean stands at the counter, one hand casually braced against the polished surface as he waits for his order. My stomach does a violent flip. It’s been three days since the club, since he introduced me to a world I never knew I needed to explore, and I still can't shake the way my body responds to his mere presence.

Before my brain can catch up with my feet, I'm walking toward him. The memory of his hands on my body, his voice in my ear ordering me to come, has every assignment I’d been mulling over tossed into a metaphorical trash can. I force my voice to stay light, playful even as I plant myself right next to his towering frame.

"Stalking me again?" I tease, trying to mask how quickly my nerves have skyrocketed just being near him. "Will I ever beable to go anywhere again without seeing your face around every corner?"

He turns slowly, those piercing eyes raking over me with a kind of clinical detachment beneath raised brows. The temperature in the room seems to drop ten degrees. Gone is the arrogant frat bro who tried to seduce me among the beer kegs and solo cups and gone is the commanding Dom who had me writhing in his hands. In his place, stands a stranger, cold and distant.

"I don’t know what you’re talking about," he says, voice clipped and sharp enough to cut glass.

Heat floods my cheeks as his words land like a vicious slap. The dismissal in his tone makes me feel an inch tall, stupid for even daring to approach him. How could I seriously think what happened between us meant anything beyond a fun scene and a quick blowjob? He'd made that clear enough when he'd bluntly dismissed me from the room afterward, hadn't he?

My fingers twist anxiously around the strap of my bag. The barista plants his order on the counter beside him—black coffee, of course—and he turns away from me to retrieve it, as if I'm not worth another word. The casual disregard stings worse than any implement he might have used on me.

"Of course you’d say that," I throw back, battling with all my strength against the humiliation burning through me. My words don’t come out nearly as stern as I’d hoped, brittle instead with wounded pride. "Acting like you haven’t been chasing me like some crazed dog. Well, don't bother seeking me out anymore. I mean it this time. What happened at the club was a one-time thing. It won't be happening again."

Something shifts in his expression then, so subtle I almost miss it. The cold mask slips just slightly, revealing a flash of curiosity in the way he raises that eyebrow this time. His eyes rake over me slowly, head to toe, for what must be the hundredthtime since we first met, and I struggle not to squirm at the feeling that he’s mentally undressing me.

The infamous smirk returns, coupled with a dark heat blooming in his steely eyes. It’s the same darkness that had me willingly following him into that private room and letting him introduce me to pleasures I never knew existed. In what could only have been seconds, his entire energy morphs, as if the memories of the last time we saw each other have suddenly come flooding back.

The predator in him has scented blood in the water, and I've already said too much, revealed too much with my defensive response.

I take an instinctive step backward, my muscles tensing as if my body is bracing to run from the building, and pretend this confrontation never happened. However, the damage is done. Dean has seen right through my attempted bravado to the truth underneath—that I haven't stopped thinking about him since that night.

The few other customers in the coffee shop fade to background noise as he sets his drink down again, untouched. His looming presence seems to grow, filling the space between us until I can barely breathe. This is the Dean I remember, the one who commanded my submission with nothing more than a knowing look.

My back hits the pastry case, and I realize I've been retreating without even meaning to. Dean follows, each step measured and deliberate. The shop suddenly feels too warm, too small. My skin burns with awareness as other patrons mill around us, completely oblivious to the tension crackling in this little bubble of space. They have no idea that just three nights ago, this man had me begging, trussed up naked, and completely at his mercy.

And from the dangerous smile playing at the corners of his mouth, he knows exactly where my thoughts have gone.

“Won’t happen again, huh? Well, I don’t know about that.” Dean leans in close, his breath ghosting across my ear. "You know what I see when I look at you?" His deep growl makes my knees weaken, the fight draining from my body with every inhale of his overwhelming presence. He plants one hand on the pastry case behind me, effectively caging me in all over again.

"I see potential. So much untapped potential." His voice drops lower, meant only for me. "You've barely scratched the surface of what you could handle. What I could show you."

"I…" My protest dies in my throat as I think about just how far we went already—the blindfold, the restraints, the way he played my body like an instrument. The promise of more? It beckons me like heroin to a helpless addict.

"You’re wound so tight, little one. Remember how you trembled under my touch?" His words paint vivid pictures in my mind. "How sweetly you begged? How perfectly you submitted?"

I can barely choke down a full breath. "I wasn’t in my right mind that night. I was..."

"You were magnificent," Dean purrs. The praise sends that familiar warmth pooling low in my belly. "And you could be again. Tonight."

I shake my head, trying to clear it. "I can't. I shouldn't."

"But you want to." It's not a question. His fingers brush my hip, feather-light but deliberate. "I can see it in your eyes."

He's right. God help me, he'sright. Every nerve ending in my body is singing, crying out for more.

"The things I could teach you. The pleasures I could introduce you to. You enjoyed our last scene, but that was just the beginning."

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