Page 40 of Deviant Obsession

"And yet," Dean says softly, taking a slow step toward me, "here we are."

He moves like a predator stalking prey, each step deliberate as he advances into my space. I press harder against the door, but there's nowhere left to retreat. My pulse thunders in my ears as he stops barely a foot away.

"You're angry," he observes, that infuriating smile dropping as he considers me seriously. "That's fair."

"Angry doesn't begin to cover it," I snap, finding my conviction at last. The surge of indignation gives me courage to push off from the door, though I immediately regret it when I realize how close that brings me to his broad chest. "Yourtwinlied to me."

"No." Ethan's response almost startles me all over again, as if I’d suddenly forgotten there are two of them now. "I just didn’t correct you when you assumed I was Dean. There's a difference."

A bitter laugh escapes me. "Oh, well, that makes it so much better." I turn to face him fully, hands clenching into fists at my sides. "What you did was wrong, and you damn well know it. What are you even doing here? How did you get my address?"

"Does it matter?" Dean asks from behind me. I can practically feel the heat radiating off his body, though he hasn't touched me yet.

"Of fucking course, it matters! You can't just show up at someone's home uninvited. That's…" I cut myself off as Ethan pushes away from the window, his sudden movement catching me off guard, robbing me of my train of thought.

"Intimidating?" he suggests, moving towards me with as much animalistic grace as his twin. "Overwhelming? Or perhaps...exciting?"

My mouth goes completely dry as they move in tandem, boxing me in but still not laying a finger on me. I should be terrified. I should be reaching for my phone, calling for help. Instead, I'm pressing my thighs together all over again.

"You don’tactuallyseem all that angry that we’re here, kitten," Dean presses, his breath ghosting across my neck. I hadn't realized he'd gotten so freaking close.

I jerk away from him, or try to, but Ethan is right there in front of me. My hand comes up instinctively, pressing against his chest to keep some distance. The solid warmth of him beneath my palm shouldn’t be so enticing.

"You tricked me," I accuse Ethan, glaring up into those piercing blue eyes. "You let me believe... You made me think..."

"I let you think what you wanted," he corrects me again, his own hand coming up to wrap around my wrist where it rests against him. He doesn't move my hand away, just holds it there, his grip firm but not aggressive. "Would you have given yourself permission to play tonight otherwise? To discover a few new desires you hadn’t considered before?"

I want to tell him I wish the whole thing had never happened, but the lie is stuck in my throat. I try to pull my hand back, but his fingers tighten fractionally. "That wasn't your decision to make."

"No, it wasn’t. I’m sorry for that." Ethan’s thumb strokes over my pulse point, and I hate how my body responds to that simple touch. "But I haven’t heard you tell us to leave, Rhea. Tell us you don't want this."

Yet another falsehood that dies on my tongue.

Behind me, Dean shifts closer, he keeps his own hands to himself but he’s near enough that I can feel the promise of contact like an electric current dancing across my skin.

"Tell us," Dean murmurs, "that you haven't been thinking about us since you left the club. Tell us you haven't been replaying every moment in your mind."

I close my eyes, trying to steady my breathing, trying to find the willpower to deny it. But we all know I won’t convince any of us.

"It’s not a crime towant, Rhea," His voice rumbles behind me. "This little hiccup doesn’t have to derail everything you were only just starting to uncover. You can let yourself indulge in what you want. You just have to let go.”

Heat floods my cheeks. Will the day ever come whensomeoneisn’t preaching to me about ‘letting go?’ I want to argue. I want to tell him he has no idea what he’s talking about. But my mouth doesn’t move.

When did I lose control of my own freaking tongue?

The only response I manage is a frustrated exhale. Ethan's grip on my wrist remains steady, anchoring me as Dean's enticing words continue to wrap around me like silk.

"We could give you so much more," he continues, his voice dropping lower, trading out that teasing lilt for his deep, commanding tone that has me thinking of leather cuffs and silk blindfolds. "Both of us, we could give you everything you've ever fantasized about. Everything you're too afraid to ask for."

I wet my lips, battling to regain control of my ability to speak. "You don't know what I want."

"Don't we?" Dean moves closer again, finally close enough that I feel the brush of his shirt against my back. "I think we’ve proven we have a pretty good idea so far. Your body doesn't lie, Rhea," he murmurs so close to my ear. "Look howyou're responding right now, just from being near us. Just from remembering."

I hate that he's right. My skin feels too tight, too hot. Every nerve ending is alive with awareness of them both. Ethan's thumb hasn't stopped its maddening circles on my wrist, and Dean's proximity is making it hard to think straight.

"We could take you apart piece by piece," he promises, painting vivid pictures in my mind. "Push you right to the edge of what you can handle, then push a little further. Make you beg. Make you scream."

A small sound escapes me before I can stop it. Ethan's grip tightens again, like he’s absorbing my every response.

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