Page 31 of Deviant Obsession

My resistance is crumbling, and he knows it. His thumb traces small circles on my hip, each touch breaking down my resolve piece by piece.

"Tonight," he says again, before I can form any kind of weak protest.How is he doing this?He makes it sound inevitable. "Come back to the club. Let me show you more."

I should say no. Should walk away. But then I remember… Nat's working late at the bar tonight. No need to make excuses, no awkward questions to dodge.

"I..." The sound comes out pathetically breathless. I clear my throat, try again. "I’ll think about it.”

His answering smile is pure sin. "Ten o'clock. I'll be waiting in the reception." He steps back, breaking the spell he's woven around us. "Don't you dare be late."

Just like that, his dominant demeanor vanishes. He retrieves his coffee, nods politely as if we've just had a casual conversation about the weather, and strides toward the door.

I'm left half-collapsed against the pastry case, heart racing, and body humming with anticipation.

What have I just agreed to?DidI agree?

But even as doubt creeps in, I know I'll be there. The memory of pleasure, submission, and of floating in that blissful headspace... It's too powerful to resist.

And Dean knows it.

He knew it the moment I tried to take the power back into my own hands. He knew how to break down my defenses. And the realization should frighten me.

Instead, it has me clenching my thighs together with need.

***

Dean's fingers press into the small of my back as he guides me down the hallway. Adrenaline courses through my veins like a heady drug, every cell in my body remembering our last encounter behind one of these identical doors. But this time he leads me further, past the room where he first introduced me to his world of pleasure and control.

"In here." His voice is low, different from the teasing drawl I’m so used to. There's an edge to it now that scares me as much as it draws me in.

The door clicks shut behind us with a finality that raises the hairs on the back of my neck. Blue light pours from LED strips lining the walls in this new room, casting strange shadows across various implements mounted on the walls. My eyes struggle to adjust to the dim lighting, but I can just about make out the silhouettes of each wicked object. Some are familiar, and others completely foreign.

Dean circles around to face me, and the playful smugness I saw in the coffee shop has vanished entirely. In its place is something harder, more intense. His blue eyes bore into mine with such focus that I have to resist the urge to look away.

"Tonight will be different than before," he says, each word deliberate and measured. "I want to explore your limits with pain." He pauses, studying my face. "How does that make you feel?"

My mouth goes instantly dry. I try to school my features into something resembling composure, but my racing pulse betrays me. "I... I'm interested," I manage to whisper.

"Interested?" One dark eyebrow arches upward. "Or scared?"

"Both," I admit, feeling utterly naked though I haven’t removed one item of clothing.

His lips curl into the ghost of a smile. "Good. I need you to always be honest with me. I’ll never force you to do something you don’t want to, but I can’t read your mind." He steps closer, close enough that I can feel the heat radiating from his body. "Before we begin, let’s review the most important part."

My breath catches as his hand comes up to grip my chin, forcing me to maintain eye contact. "The traffic light system isn't just a suggestion, little one. It's non-negotiable. I need to know you understand exactly what each color means."

There's steel in his voice, and something in my core liquefies in response. "Green means continue," I recite, mercifully sounding steadier than I expected. "Yellow means slow down or check in. Red means stop everything immediately."

"And you'll use them?" The pressure on my chin increases slightly. "You'll tell me if anything becomes too much?"

"Yes."

He studies me for another long moment, as if trying to read the truth in my eyes. Whatever he sees there must satisfy him because he finally releases my chin with a small nod.

"Good girl," he murmurs, and those two simple words send pure electricity crackling through my veins. "Then we can begin." He takes a step back, and suddenly the air feels colder without his closeness. The change in his posture is subtle but unmistakable; his shoulders squaring, his chin lifting slightly. When he speaks again, his voice has taken on that silky-dangerous quality that makes my knees weak. "Strip for me."

My fingers tremble as I reach for the top button of my blouse. Dean's unwavering stare follows each movement, and the weight of his attention makes every nerve ending spark to life. The fabric whispers against my skin as it falls away, followed by my skirt pooling at my feet. I hesitate for just a moment before unhooking my bra, letting it join the growing pile of clothing.

When I'm finally bare before him, Dean appraises me with hooded eyes. He doesn't speak, simply gestures toward the bed with a slight tilt of his head. It’s a clear command. The sheets are cool against my heated skin as I lie back, trying and failing to control my breathing.

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