Page 61 of Deviant Obsession

"Ethan," Rhea's voice breaks on the word, tears making her eyes glitter in the low light. "Please kiss me."

Hearing the raw need in her plea is how I imagine it would feel to shoot heroin straight into my blood stream. I’m completely dazed, and this is the last moment I can afford to lose my mind. This is the most dangerous part of any knife scene—when the endorphins are flooding her system, when the psychological impact of being marked permanently threatens to overwhelm. I need to ground her, bring her back to reality, but my own control is hanging by a thread.

I just want her to need me.

I carefully place the knife on the nightstand, making sure she sees me set it down. The ritual of putting away implements is crucial, marking clear transitions in headspace. But my hands aren't quite steady as I do it.

Get it together, Ethan. She can’t trust you if you lose control.

Her glistening eyes never leave mine as I climb onto the bed, positioning myself between her spread thighs. She's so beautifully bound, completely at my mercy, but there's no fear inher expression. All I see is trust and desperate heat. I hover over her, drinking in every detail—the flush spread across her chest, the slight tremble in her bound limbs, the way her tongue darts out to wet her lips in anticipation.

"You've been so good for me," I praise her, one hand coming up to cradle her jaw.

A soft whimper escapes her plush lips. I know she's flying high right now, probably floating in that blissful space where pain and pleasure blur together. It would be so easy to take advantage of that altered state. To push her limits further. But that's not what this is about. Not anymore.

When my lips finally meet hers, the kiss is anything but gentle. I pour everything I can't say into it. I let loose all the dangerous feelings I'm trying so hard to lock down, the possessive need to keep her to myself, break her apart and put her back together. Her mouth opens eagerly beneath mine, and I swallow her desperate moan as our tongues meet.

She tastes like sweet surrender. My fingers tangle in her hair, holding her exactly where I want as I devour her mouth. Her body arches forward as much as the ropes allow, seeking contact with my bare skin. My need is just as strong. I pull her to me, plaster my chest against hers and bathe in her warmth.

I’ve never needed anybody so fiercely, it’s as if I could carve open her ribs and climb inside and we still wouldn’t be close enough.

I've never lost control like this. I’ve never let myself get so emotionally invested in a sub. It goes against everything I thought I knew about myself and what I wanted. But there's something about Rhea that breaks through every wall I've built. The way she’s so desperate to please me, the perfect chemistry between our kinks.

It's as rare as it is intoxicating.

My free hand slides down her throat, feeling her pulse throb beneath my palm. She's making these tiny, needy sounds that are driving me insane. I want to mark every inch of her. I want everyone to know she belongs to me. I need to pull back, but in this moment, with the taste of her on my tongue and my initial carved into her flesh, I can't bring myself to care.

I break the kiss only when we're both gasping for air. Her emerald eyes are glazed with pleasure, pupils blown wide. "Mine," I sigh, brushing the tip of her nose, and this time it's not just about the physical mark.

And from the way she shivers in my arms, breathing "Yours" like a prayer, I know she feels it too.

When I finally let my hand drift between her spread thighs, I find her absolutely drenched. A groan escapes me at the evidence of how much the knife play affected her. She's practically dripping, her clit swollen and impatient for attention. I circle it slowly with two fingers, relishing the way her hips try to buck up again into my touch.

"So wet for me," I purr against her mouth between kisses. "Getting cut turned you on this much. Such a perfect little pain slut."

I increase the pressure of my fingers, working her like it’s second nature while continuing to feast on her mouth. Every moan, every gasp, I swallow them all. Her body writhes beneath me as much as the ropes allow, chasing the pleasure I'm giving her. I slide two fingers inside her while my thumb continues working her clit. She's so wet I meet no resistance thrusting into her tight little pussy.

Her moans get higher, morphing into desperate cries as I increase the pace of my fingers. She's close—I can feel it in the way she clenches around me, how she shamelessly grinds down on my hand. My cock throbs almost painfully, but I ignore it. This moment is about her.

"Come for me," I order her. "Show me how good it feels to be mine."

She shatters beautifully, crying out into my mouth as her body twists and convulses in the ropes. I give her everything she needs, and I take just as much in return, basking in the feel of her pressed against my skin.

When she finally stops shaking, I slowly withdraw my fingers. Her eyes flutter open, and there's complete contentment in her expression as she looks up at me. It’s a trust I'm not entirely sure I deserve, given how much I'm starting to want her for myself.

I bring my fingers to my mouth, tasting her while her wide stare tracks my every move. Even utterly spent, she responds so beautifully to every little dominant gesture.

Perfect.She's absolutely perfect.

I gently brush her lips once more with my own as I begin methodically untying her bonds. Each silken rope easily comes loose while I carefully check her circulation, massaging life back into her limbs. The marks left behind are stunning, an intricate pattern that feels like yet another claim I’ve engraved in her skin.

But it's the initial on her thigh that draws my attention as I toss the last rope aside. The ‘E’ stands out angry and red against her flesh. Not deep enough to need stitches, but definitely enough to scar. The guilt that twinges in my gut seems minuscule compared to the primal satisfaction I feel at seeing her bear this symbol of our most intense scene.

“You okay?” I cup her flushed cheeks in both hands, brushing away any lingering tears with my thumbs.

“Better than okay,” she breathes, and I believe every word.

I gather her trembling form into my lap, cradling her against my chest as I reach for the first aid supplies I'd prepared earlier. She nuzzles into my neck with a contented sigh that makes my heart do backflips.

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