Page 47 of Deviant Obsession

Before I can freak myself out enough to turn around, I push through the door and stride down the hall to the lobby. Dean stands there waiting for me, looking entirely too tempting in a navy T-shirt and dark jeans. His eyes rake over me slowly, as if he’s having the exact same thought about me.

"You're late," he chides me, but there's a hint of that usual smile playing at his lips.

"I'm sorry, I?—"

He cuts me off with a kiss, hard and possessive. "Save it for inside," he murmurs against my lips, before taking my hand and pulling me with him. Dean's grip is firm as he drags me through the lobby, past the desk and toward that familiar velvet curtain.The simple contact feels so normal, like he's staking his claim and thinking nothing of it. I can't help the little thrill that runs through me at the thought.

We head through the club and up the stairs without saying another word. As usual, the second we reach the corridor of playrooms, the atmosphere shifts immediately. The air seems to heat, my breathing getting sluggish as I try to brace myself for another plunge into the unknown.

Dean turns to me as we come to a halt outside a door, his expression a sinister sort of glee.

"You ready, kitten?"

I nod, not trusting myself to form a coherent sentence right now. He unlocks the door with his master keycard and ushers me inside.

The room is fairly similar to the others we’ve played in before. Dimly lit, shadows dancing on the walls, various implements of pleasure and pain waiting to be put to use. But, new to me is the sturdy wooden bench standing in the dead center, and the giant mirror that takes up almost the entire wall to my left. I swallow hard.

Dean shuts the door, the locking mechanism clicking into place and sealing us in a world of our own. When he turns back to me, his whole demeanor has changed. Gone is the playful smirk, along with the guy from the lobby who kissed me and held my hand like we were some regular couple. In his place stands the Dom, stern and unyielding.

He reaches out, grasping my chin firmly between his thumb and forefinger. "Do you have any idea how disappointed I am?" he asks with a softness that is far more threatening than it is comforting. "I waited for you, Rhea. I don't like to be kept waiting."

"I'm sorry," I offer again, though I know there’s not much point in asking for forgiveness. "Nat came home from work early, and I?—"

"Enough." The single word, spoken quietly but with unmistakable authority, silences me instantly. "I don't want to hear excuses. You’re going to have to earn my forgiveness."

His words sting a little, but curiosity about my punishment rears its head again, reigniting my arousal. My eyes dart around the room, considering which weapon he might choose to teach me a lesson.

"Look at me," Dean commands, and I obey instantly. His icy eyes bore into mine, searching. "You understand why you need to be punished, don't you?"

I nod, unable to look away. "Yes."

A small smile tugs at the corner of his mouth. "Good girl. Now, take off your dress."

I’m all fingers and thumbs as I reach for the zipper, that familiar cocktail of fear and excitement rushing through my veins like a potent spirit. I bask in Dean’s heated gaze, fixed on me as I slowly peel the fabric away and let it pool at my feet.

His sharp intake of breath is audible in the deadly silent room. "Christ, Rhea," he groans, his composure slipping for just a moment. "This dangerous scrap of lace is the best purchase I ever made."

I bite my lip, fighting back a smile. Even in the midst of my impending punishment, it's gratifying to know I can affect him like this. When he speaks again, his voice is back to that commanding tone that makes me straighten my spine on impulse.

"Get on all fours, over the bench," he orders, gesturing to the center of the room.

I move immediately, my heart pounding so hard against my ribs I'm sure Dean must be able to hear it. The wood is cool andsmooth beneath my scantily clad torso as I position myself. Dean hums his approval, pacing in a slow circle and drinking in the sight of me bent over and vulnerable.

"Beautiful," he breathes, and despite the slightly uncomfortable position, pride blooms in my chest at his praise. "Now, let's see about teaching you the importance of punctuality, shall we? Hands forward.”

I stretch my arms out, gripping the front legs of the bench as if the anchor might offer me some comfort for what I’m sure is about to be a rough ride. Cool leather encircles my wrists as Dean secures the cuffs, pinning my upper body in place.

He moves to my legs next. I hear the clink of metal and feel the familiar rigidity of a bar between my ankles. Dean adjusts it, spreading my legs wider until it’s almost painful. The position leaves me feeling beyond exposed but incredibly turned on. The things he could do to me splayed out like this…

"Perfect." He sounds like the cat who got the cream as he trails his fingers up the back of my thigh. Then he steps away again, robbing me of the teasing touch.

Soft fabric brushes against my face as he secures the blindfold over my eyes. The world goes dark, and like a switch being flipped, every nerve ending in my body sparks to life. My breath quickens, anticipation building with every second he has me immobilized and completely at his mercy.

"Color?"

"Green," I respond without hesitation.

He chuckles at my obvious eagerness. "Good girl."

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