Page 67 of Deviant Obsession

"All of us suffer if you keep fighting," I press on, locking down my own temper in my effort to be the voice of reason. Tears threaten again but I blink them back. "I can't... I can't handle watching you tear each other apart over this. Please don't make me be the thing that breaks you."

The silence that follows feels endless. I look between them, watching as my words slowly sink in. Dean's breathing gradually steadies behind me, his grip gentling. Ethan's stance relaxes by a degree, though his eyes remain sharp and watchful.

"She's right," Dean finally mutters, the grudging admission sounding like it's being dragged from his throat on the end of a length of barbed wire. "This isn't us. We don't do this shit to each other."

Ethan runs a hand through his hair, a rare gesture of uncertainty that makes him look softer, more human compared to his usual unruffled poise. "No, we don’t." He meets my gaze, then his brother's. "I'm sorry. For not telling you. For letting my...impulsesget the better of me. You deserved to know."

"I'm sorry too," Dean says gruffly. "For losing my shit. We can control ourselves better than this. We have to."

The knot in my chest begins to loosen as they exchange looks of reluctant understanding. It's not perfect—there's still a kind of violent energy simmering in the room—but it's a start.

"Thank you,” I breathe, resting my head against Dean’s shoulder as I heave a tired sigh. His arms tighten around me again, but it feels like a return to a soothing embrace, rather than the possessive grip he maintained while they were arguing. Ethan's expression softens almost imperceptibly as he watches us, and it’s not jealous rage I see there. If anything, it’s longing.

Trying to keep them both happy is like dancing on a knife’s edge, and my feet are sliced and bleeding already.

"Look, Ethan… if, um, if you’d be willing… I’d like you to cut a ‘D’ into my other thigh. I want to wear both your marks, but… uh, Dean doesn’t want to use a knife on me."

I twist my fingers nervously in the blanket while the twins exchange another long look, something unspoken passing between them that I couldn’t even begin to decipher. Finally, Ethan gives a short nod.

"I'll get my bag," he says, turning toward the door. As he reaches for the handle, he pauses. "Dean...we good?"

Dean takes a deep breath, his chest expanding against my back. "Yeah. We're good."

The door swings shut behind Ethan, and I shift again in Dean's lap, turning to face him. My hands find the hem of his shirt. "Take this off, please?" I ask tentatively. "I... I want to feel your skin while he does it. Want to be close to you."

As if despite himself, the smallest hint of a smirk tugs at the corner of Dean’s mouth as he gazes down at me. Without a word, he pulls the shirt over his head, revealing the muscled planes of his chest. I can't help but run my fingers over his warm skin, a luxury I still haven’t had nearly enough of, despite the intensity of this dynamic we’ve fallen into.

"Come here," he murmurs, lifting me as he scoots back to sit against the headboard. The feel of his bare chest against mine makes me sigh contentedly as I settle again, straddling his lap. He wraps his arms around me beneath the blanket, one hand sliding up to cup the back of my neck as he draws me into a deep, languid kiss. There’s barely any heat in it, his hands don’t roam despite my state of total undress. It feels more like an apology, and a tender reconciliation all in one. When he finally pulls back, his lips brush mine as he whispers, "Thank you."

"For what?" I ask, though I think I know what his answer will be.

"For wanting my mark, too. For trying to keep us together instead of letting us fall apart." He clears his throat as if he struggling to force the words from his lips. "For beingours."

I can’t think of a response profound enough to explain what his words are doing to me, so I just press closer, nuzzling into his neck and breathing in his intoxicating scent. We stay like that, skin to skin, hearts beating in sync, until we hear Ethan's returning footsteps in the hall.

"Where do you want her?" Dean asks over the top of my head, his deep voice rumbling against my chest. I hear Ethan rustling behind me, that telltale zip of his bag alerting me that I’m really about to get my dark wish.

"Turn her around for me."

Dean pulls the blanket from my shoulders and tosses it to the side, planting another tender kiss on my forehead before doing as Ethan asks.

“Spread those legs, little one.”

I’m once again hypnotized by the glinting of Ethan’s knife as he climbs onto the bed in front of me. Eagerly dropping my knees to the mattress, I lean back onto Dean’s chest and let myself fall into that dreamlike space where nothing matters but surrendering…

Surrendering completely to the two men who own me, body and soul. If they didn’t know it before, I’m sure they do now.

Chapter 22

Professor Shaw

I check my watch again,the steady tick of the second hand seeming to mock my impatience as I pace the length of my office. The beating sun slanting across the hardwood floor turns the smooth surface into stark contrasts. Much like the woman I'm waiting to see.

Her essay lies front and center on my desk, a sea of red annotations marring what should have been exemplary work. I've read it five times now, each pass revealing new disappointments, new evidence of her declining standards. The intuitive, analytical voice I've come to expect from her best writing is suffocated beneath scattered thoughts and rushed conclusions.

It wouldn’t bother me so much if I didn’t know what she’s capable of. But, having caught my attention so instantly in that first lecture, her now glaring negligence has me itching to scold her. Punish her, even. Just for drawing me in and then fucking disappointing me.

My fingers drum against the back of my chair as I complete another circuit of the room. The memory of our last conversation plays on repeat in my mind—the way she'd practically vibrated with nervous energy, how she’d tripped overher words when I'd pushed for answers. As much as she wants to pretend everything is fine, the changes in her these past weeks have been unmistakable.

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