Page 55 of Deviant Obsession

Her hand finds mine in the darkness, fingers sliding between my own like they belong there. "How long was he away?"

"Two years. Felt like twenty." I squeeze my fingers a little tighter, like she’s my tether to the earth. "My stepdad is great and all, but Ethan... he’s my other half, my best friend, my protector all rolled into one. Without him, I felt fractured."

Rhea shifts closer, her knee pressing against my thigh. "Is that when you got into the, um…the scene?"

"Smart girl." I can't help but smirk. "Yeah. Needed something to fill the void, I guess. Something I could control."

"And now that he's back?"

"Now it's better. Different, but better." I run my thumb over her knuckles. "We're both different. But we shared a womb, we’ll always put each other before anything and anyone."

"You're lucky to have that." Her sigh holds a wistfulness that makes me want to pull her into my arms. “To have someone who knows all your broken pieces and loves you anyway.”

That hits too close to home. Because isn't that what's happening here? This beautiful, brilliant girl seeing straight through my bullshit to the damage beneath…and staying anyway?

“What about Nat?”

"Yeah, she’s the best friend I’ve ever had. But sometimes I think she doesn’t really get me. Her family is all wholesome and happy. You know, those people who look at you and say they sympathize, but you can tell they’ll never truly understand?”

“Yeah, I hear you. Not everyone is fucked up like us.”

She giggles softly as I watch her eyelids grow heavy, her body relaxing further into the couch. Into me. The sight does something dangerous to that scarred muscle behind my ribs.

"You should get some sleep," I murmur, but make no move to leave.

"Mmm." She nestles closer, her head finding my shoulder. "Just five more minutes."

Giving in to my base instinct, I wrap my arm around her, drawing her closer as her breathing evens out. It feels like a scene I shouldn’t be part of, like some sappy romantic flic that would be playing several screens down from the horror movie that is my life.

This wasn't supposed to happen. She was supposed to be a conquest, a challenge, another notch in my bedpost. Not this. Not this overwhelming need to protect her, cherish her, be worthy of the trust she places in me so freely.

Her fingers curl into my shirt as she dreams, holding on like she needs me as much as I'm starting to need her. I press my lips to her hair, breathing in the sweet scent of her shampoo. "What are you doing to me, Rhea?"

She sighs in her sleep, snuggling closer. And in the quiet darkness of her apartment, surrounded by her books and herwarmth and her unguarded heart, I finally admit the truth to myself…

I’m completely and utterly fucked.

I think I'm falling in love with Rhea, and there's not a damn thing I can do to stop it.

I should run. I should pull away before she becomes so vital to me that losing her would break me for good. But as I hold her close, I know it's already too late for that.

All I can do now is hope she's strong enough to handle all my jagged edges. Pray that when she sees the full extent of how fucked up I am, she'll still look at me with those trusting eyes that make me want to be better.

Chapter 17

Professor Shaw

I tryto focus on my notes as I detail my latest research on inherited trauma responses, but my attention keeps drifting to the third row. Rhea Foster's head bobs dangerously, her chin dropping toward her chest before she catches herself with a subtle jerk. The motion draws my eye to the delicate curve of her throat, and I force myself to look away, continuing my explanation of cortisol levels in abuse survivors.

When I turn back to write a key point on the whiteboard, I hear the soft clack of a pen hitting the floor. From the corner of my eye, I watch her scramble to retrieve it, her normally pristine notes tumbling off her half-desk into chaos.

What the hell is going on with her these days?

Dark shadows paint half-moons beneath her eyes, stark against that porcelain skin. She blinks rapidly, clearly fighting to focus, but her gaze keeps drifting. The sight stirs something possessive in me. Something that wants to demand answers, to shake her until she tells me what's stealing her rest. What’s been occupying her mind these past few weeks.

Her head dips again, red waves falling forward to curtain her face. This time when she snaps back to awareness, her eyes meet mine directly. A blush stains her cheeks as she realizesI've caught her, and she straightens in her seat, trying to appear alert. But her fingers tremble as she grips her pen, and when she sets it to paper, I’m almost certain she’s writing gibberish in the act of taking notes.

I continue my lecture on autopilot, discussing genetic markers while tracking every micro-expression that crosses her face. The next time she nearly dozes off, her blonde friend pokes her in the ribs while pursing her lips against the urge to laugh. Rhea yelps and defensively wraps her arms around her chest. The gesture makes her breasts push up above the neckline of her shirt, and I have to drag my attention back to the presentation slides with brutal force.

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