Page 63 of Deviant Obsession

“If I wanted to give you cause for concern, baby, you’d know about it.”

She giggles at that, a lighthearted sound I hear so rarely, and I want to pull it out of her again and again.

I’m bracing myself to explain, to give her some indication of why I’d rather chill on her couch than cuff her to a bed tonight, but then I catch the slight wince when she shifts position.

"What's up with you?" I smirk, letting my eyes rove over her slowly. I’m looking for any signs that Ethan has left fresh welts on her skin. God knows my brother loves to leave a mark, and Rhea’s pale skin bears them so beautifully.

"Nothing, I'm fine." The response comes too quickly, too guarded, her eyes darting away.

Well, that’s fucking suspicious.

We’re all aware of what goes on in this weird little dynamic we have going. She’s usually beaming with pride when she shows me her welts, her dark bruises. I’m not a sadist, but I can appreciate that Rhea and Ethan share similar hungers. It’s never been something she’s wanted to hide from me.

"Rhea." Just her name, but weighted with command. "Show me."

She hesitates, fingers plucking nervously at her shorts. "It's healing, it's not a big deal..."

"Now." The order comes out as a growl.

With reluctantly slow hands, she pushes the fabric up, revealing the inside of her right thigh. My vision goes red at the edges. There, carved into her porcelain flesh in precise strokes, is a scabbed "E".

"He marked you with his fucking initial?" The question tastes like acid.

"Dean, please don’t freak out. We got carried aw?—”

"When?" I cut her off, fingers digging into her thigh just below the mark. She hisses. "When did he do this?"

"On...on Thursday. He took me to the club after my shift at the diner." She shrinks back into the couch with each word. "He said he wanted to try knife play with me, and one thing led to another..."

The rage builds in my body like a gathering storm, until my hand tremors where it grips her leg. Those cuts will scar. My brother's initial permanently etched into my—into Rhea’s—skin.

All plans for a quiet night in fly straight out the window.

"Get up."

"Dean—”

"Now." I'm already on my feet, yanking her up by the arm. She stumbles against me, eyes wide with what I could guess is genuine fear. "Did you think I’d be cool with this? Did the two of you figure I’d be chill with him marking you like his property?"

"No, I?—”

"You need a lesson in ownership, sweetheart." My fingers tangle in her hair, jerking her head back. "A reminder of who really controls this body."

Her mouth gapes a little as she stares up at me, breath coming in short pants. Her brows are drawn together in genuine confusion. I can tell she’s unsure where the Dom persona ends, and my actual rage begins.

Good. Let her wonder. I want her head so fucked she doesn’t know which way is up.

The semi-rational part of me knows I should stop, should calm down and discuss this calmly. I should explain where the line was crossed and why I’m feeling the impulse to punish her. But that part is drowned out by possessive fury. We can do the responsible shit later.

It’s not like they were thinking ofmewhen they did this.

"Dean, please," she whispers, but whether she's begging me to stop or continue, I don't care. Until I hear a safe word, she can beg all she likes, I’m the one in charge.

"Get your keys and coat." I release her hair but keep my grip on her arm. "We're going to the club. And by the time I'm done with you, you'll never forget who you truly belong to."

The drive passes in tense silence, my knuckles white with my grip on the steering wheel. Every few seconds my eyes drift to her thigh, imagining that traitorous "E" beneath her shorts. Each glimpse feeds the jealous beast clawing at my insides.

I practically drag her through the club's back entrance, not bothering with the usual social niceties. The private room door slams behind us like a death knell.

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