Deviant Obsession

Chapter 4

Dean

The neon sign flickers overhead, casting intermittent red shadows across the half-empty parking lot. I take another long drag of my cigarette, letting the smoke sit in my lungs as I watch her through the streaky windows. Even in that drab, badly fitted uniform, she moves with an unconscious fluidity that makes my cock twitch.

Rhea .

The food was cheap crap, but at least I got a name on a shiny employee pin to go with that sickeningly angelic face. When Brett said last night he thought he recognized her from coming here, I couldn’t resist paying a little visit of my own. Usually, I wouldn’t be caught dead eating in a place that’s barely better than a truck stop. But to see that face again? In less than twenty-four hours, little Rhea's gotten so deep under my skin I can barely think straight.

The memory of her emerald eyes sparkling with defiance last night burns through my mind. The way she'd squared those tiny shoulders, chin lifted in challenge as she'd told me exactly where I could shove my attitude.

Christ . No one rejects me like that. No one except her, it seems.

I should have taught her a lesson right there. Should have shown her exactly what happens to mouthy little girls who don't know who they’re dealing with. Instead, I'd just stood there, getting harder by the second as that pink flush crept up her porcelain neck.

The restaurant door chimes, and I melt further into the shadows, watching one of the busboys exit. He looks barely old enough to drive, acne-scarred face buried in his phone as he heads for a beaten-up Honda.

"Hey," I call out, keeping my tone casual. "Closing time soon?"

He glances up, then quickly away when he catches my stare. Smart kid. "Yeah, 'bout fifteen minutes."

I don't bother responding, just let my lips curl into a tight smile as he scrambles into his car. Through the window, I can see Rhea wiping down tables, bending over just enough to make my mouth water.

Where the fuck did she get an ass like that? People in this state pay tens of thousands for a sad imitation of that perfect curve.

The cigarette burns down to my fingers, and I crush it under my heel, already pulling out another. The night air carries a hint of winter, just enough bite to make her shiver when she steps outside to toss the trash onto the sidewalk. I imagine wrapping her in my jacket, claiming her with my clothes, with my scent. Then I imagine getting my lips on that pretty throat and marking her in a very different way.

Finally, the lights dim inside. I straighten, every muscle coiled tight as I watch the staff filter out in twos and threes. Rhea emerges last, pulling her thin cardigan tight around her shoulders. Even from here, I can see her scanning the parking lot before she sets off down the street.

Good girl. Smart girl.

But not smart enough to drive to work or catch a ride home.

I give her a thirty-second head start before I follow, keeping to the deeper shadows, my footsteps silent against the concrete. She has no idea I'm here, no idea how carefully I'm studying every detail of her solitary walk home.

Fuck, I love it.

The way she keeps glancing over her shoulder. The nervous speed of her stride. The gentle bounce of her ponytail with each step. My fingers itch to wrap all that red hair around my fist and pull until she gasps.

A car passes, headlights sweeping across the street, and I duck into a doorway. When I peek out, Rhea has quickened her pace even more. The thud of her heavy work shoes seems to echo off the buildings, a frantic beat that makes my pulse race to keep time.

Two blocks ahead, a group of drunk guys spill out of a bar. I clench my jaw as their hungry gazes follow Rhea's progress. She crosses the street to avoid them, arms wrapped protectively around herself. The sight of their leering faces sets my blood boiling.

Mine.

She's fucking mine.

I have to force myself to stay back when one of them calls out some slimy comment. Rhea hurries past without acknowledging them, but I can see the fear in the set of her shoulders. Fuck, I can practically smell it from back here. Part of me wants to step out of the shadows, teach those fuckers a lesson about just who has their eye on her.

But that would ruin the game.

And I'm enjoying this far too much to end it now.

She turns down another street and I hang back at the corner for a moment, watching as she fumbles with her keys at the entrance to a slightly run-down apartment block. It’s not hard to see why she slaves away for so many hours at that depressing diner, if this is all her paycheck gets her. The security light flickers on, bathing her in harsh fluorescence. Before she heads inside, she pauses in the doorway and looks back, scanning the darkness where I stand perfectly still.

Does some animal instinct warn her she's being watched? Can she feel my eyes devouring every inch of her body?

My cock throbs painfully against my zipper at the thought.

The door clicks shut behind her and I count to sixty before approaching the building. Third floor, corner unit. I memorize which windows ignite with the return of a resident. Dim light spills from them now as she moves through her apartment, a tantalizing glimpse of her shadow against the curtains.

Soon, baby girl. Soon I'll know exactly what you look like moving through those rooms. Soon you’ll invite me in, and I'll have you spread out on every surface, begging for my cock. Screaming my name as I make you come over and over again.

But not tonight. Tonight was just about watching. Learning. Planning.

Reluctantly, I turn away from the high rise and begin the walk back to my car, already rock hard from imagining all the ways I'm going to make that little doe-eyed creature come apart.

The journey is a slow torture, each step stoking the fire in my veins. My pulse pounds with the vivid images of her, so close I could have strolled up and touched her. I could have grabbed her and dragged her into the shadows. I could’ve pressed her up against another wall. Caged her.

I pause at the corner where she'd crossed to avoid those drunk fucks, inhaling deeply as if I might catch her lingering scent. Sweet prey, running from the wrong predator.

If she only knew who was really hunting her.

However, I get the feeling she already knows she’s caught my attention. It was written all over her face as I taunted her during dinner. She knows I’m playing a game, but she can’t figure out why. Adorable really, she doesn’t seem to have any idea just how mouthwatering she is. What I wouldn’t do for the chance to sink my teeth into her.

And many other things.

The street stretches empty before me, but in my mind, I'm replaying every detail of her nervous walk home. The way her hips swayed with each step, how her breath caught when she glanced over her shoulder. Fuck, she’s such a cautious little thing. It only makes me want to shatter that careful control all the more.

Maybe I'll start slow. I can wear her down bit by bit until she's questioning her own sanity. Leave little signs that I've been watching—notes at the restaurant, gifts to her apartment, and make her feel my eyes on her until she's jumping at mere shadows. Then, when I finally make my move, she'll be primed and ready, already half-broken from the anticipation.

Or maybe I'll charm her instead. I could play the reformed bad boy, all sincere apologies and careful distance. I could make her think she's special, different from all the others. The one who made me want to change. I'd be so fucking gentle at first, until she melts for me completely. Then, I'd show her what I really want to do to that delicious body.

By the time I reach my car, I'm painfully hard and halfway losing my mind. The leather seat creaks as I slide behind the wheel, gripping it until my knuckles go white. I try to steady my breathing and push away the consuming need to head straight back to her apartment right now.

Fuck, all I can think about is her. Those soft, pink lips that would look perfect stretched around my cock. That pale, elegant throat I want to mark with bruises. Those defiant, green eyes that I need to see filled with tears as she begs for more.

"God fucking dammit," I snarl, yanking my zipper down. My cock springs free, already leaking. I wrap my hand around it with a groan that sounds more animal than human.

In my mind, she's on her knees in front of me, trembling as I fist that pretty ponytail. "Open that sweet mouth for me, baby girl," I growl, starting to stroke myself faster. "Show me what you want. Show me what a desperate little slut you can be."

Fantasy-Rhea resists at first, trying to maintain that stubborn pride. But I watch her defenses break down piece by piece, making her admit how wet she gets when I tease her. Making her beg for the privilege of choking on my cock.

"That's it," I pant, hips jerking up into my fist. "Take it all like the needy whore you are. You love this, don't you? Love being used like my little fucktoy."

I imagine her tears, mascara running down those flushed cheeks as she gags herself on my length. I imagine the way she'd whimper and moan around me, eager to prove how badly she wants it. I'd make her thank me for every brutal thrust, make her beg for more even as she struggles to breathe.

"Gonna ruin that pretty throat," I growl, pressure building at the base of my spine. "Gonna mark you inside and out until everyone knows who you belong to. Make you feel so good, no one else will ever match up."

The fantasy shifts and now she's face down on my bed, fisting the sheets as I pound into her. I can almost hear the broken little sounds she'd make, feel her tight pussy clenching around me as I use her exactly how I want. How I know she needs. I can get her off so many times she won’t be able to walk for a week.

"Mine," I snarl, strokes becoming erratic as I near the edge. "Nobody could please you like I could. My perfect little slut, Rhea. ”

I barely get my other hand up in time as my orgasm slams into me. Cum splatters across my palm and all over my jeans as I grunt through the aftershocks, Rhea's imaginary pleading echoing in my ears.

Reality crashes back as I slump against the seat, panting hard.

Jesus fucking Christ. I'm acting like some horny teenager who's never seen a pair of tits before. What the hell is this girl doing to me?

I grab napkins from the glove compartment, cleaning myself up with hurried, angry movements.

“This is pathetic,” I mutter to myself through gritted teeth. “I don't chase pussy. Pussy chases me. Since when do I let some prissy little cock tease turn me into this desperate mess?”

But even as I berate myself, I know it's already too late. She's under my skin now, an itch I won't be able to ignore. I need to have her, need to break her, and need to make her want me and only me. That’s the only way I’ll be able to move on.

The engine roars to life as I adjust myself, already planning my next move. I may be acting like an obsessed adolescent, but that doesn't mean I can't enjoy the hunt.

"Soon, baby girl," I promise the empty car, tasting the words like aged whiskey on my tongue. "Soon you'll be begging to be my perfect little whore. For everything only I can give you."

I peel out of the parking lot, tires squealing against asphalt as my thoughts race faster than the speedometer. The lamplit streets blur past, but all I can see is Rhea. Rhea walking home alone. Rhea glancing over her shoulder. Rhea safe in her apartment where I can't touch her.

Yet.

The decision solidifies as I take a corner just a little too fast. It’s been too long since I’ve had a fun game to play. There's only one way this ends—with her surrendering everything to me.

I start to consider all the ways I could snare her. I could show up at the restaurant again, but this time I could be all charm. Order coffee, tip well, act like a perfect gentleman. Let her think she imagined the cruelty she saw in me before. I could come back every day, wearing down her defenses bit by bit until she starts to wonder if maybe she judged me too harshly.

Then I could turn up the heat. Little compliments. Lingering looks. Make sure she feels my eyes on her even when she's not at my table. I'd have her so wound up she wouldn't know whether to run from me or spread her legs right there in front of the dinner crowd.

And when she finally lets her guard down? When she finally convinces herself I'm not the demon she thought I was?

That's when I'd show her exactly what kind of demon I can be.

The bright lights of my own apartment building come into view as I turn onto my street, a much more appealing sight than the sad state of the place Rhea calls home. I park and climb out. Making my way to the door, all I can think about is being near her again. I want to see her face when she realizes I'm back. Want to watch that pretty flush creep up her neck as she tries to figure out what game I'm playing.

But she won't figure it out. Not until it's far too late.

We both know how this is gonna end.

With her at my mercy. With her begging for my cock. With her finally understanding that she was mine from the moment I first saw her.