Deviant Obsession

Chapter 8

Rhea

I smooth my sweaty palms down the front of my jeans, barely conscious of my feet carrying me further into the unknown. The glossy marble floors of Deviant BDSM club echo with each thud of my boots as I approach the sleek reception desk. Everything about this place screams money, from the crystal chandeliers to the dark leather furnishings to the abstract art pieces that probably cost more than my entire college education.

I am wildly underdressed.

A stunning woman who could be anywhere between thirty and fifty sits behind the curved desk, her platinum blonde hair pulled into a severe bun that must be giving her a headache. Her red-painted lips curve into a warm smile as she looks up from her computer screen, pale blue eyes assessing me with clinical precision.

"Can I help you?" Her perfectly manicured nails tap against the polished surface, creating a staccato rhythm that matches my racing pulse.

"I...um..." My throat constricts. The confidence that carried me through the front door evaporates under her curious scrutiny.

What was I thinking, coming here?

She arches one precisely plucked eyebrow. "Are you a member?"

"No, I?—"

"We're a private establishment." Her tone carries just enough edge to make me flinch, as if her hospitality ran out the moment she concluded that my outfit likely reflects my disposable income. "Members only. If you'd like to apply for membership, there's an extensive screening process, including a background check and financial verification. The annual dues start at…"

My cheeks flame as she continues listing requirements I could never hope to meet. This was a terrible idea. A monumentally stupid, reckless idea. I take a step back, ready to bolt for the relative safety of the street outside…

"Well, well… isn't this a surprise?"

Every muscle in my body freezes at the sound of that familiar voice. Deep, smooth, dangerous. Like whiskey laced with poison. I don't need to turn around to know who it belongs to, but I do anyway, my body seemingly moving of its own accord.

Dean leans against the wall, all the casual confidence of a prince in his palace. Or a demon in the innermost circles of Hell. His dark jeans and t-shirt fit close to his toned body like sin itself, and the way he crosses his bulging arms over his chest has me furiously battling the urge to bite my lip.

How does someone so repulsive get to look that good?

"I...I was just..." Words fail me completely as he pushes off the wall and stalks closer, his movements fluid and purposeful. Each step sends my heart leaping higher in my throat.

"You were just...?" The corner of his mouth quirks up, amusement dancing in his icy eyes. He stops barely a foot away from me, close enough that I have to tilt my head back to meet his towering gaze.

"Looking for a restroom!" The excuse tumbles out in a rush. "I got turned around, and I thought maybe...I mean, I saw the building and..." With every word I dig my way deeper into this hole of embarrassment.

"A restroom?" He doesn't even try to hide his skepticism, rolling the words around like he's tasting their falseness. "In a members-only club tucked away on a street lined with bars?"

I scramble for an exit strategy, attempting to salvage some dignity while he has me thoroughly cornered. "What are you doing here?"

His smirk widens. "My ex-stepdad owns the place."

" Oh ." The sound comes out as barely more than a squeak. Of course he has connections here. Everything about Dean screams privilege and power…and debauchery.

"Debbie," he spins me back towards the receptionist without taking his eyes off me, "I'll take care of our...lost visitor." The pause before 'lost' speaks volumes about how much he believes my flimsy excuse.

The woman gives a curt nod, but I barely notice. Dean's hand has found its way from my bicep to the small of my back, and even through the fabric of my shirt, his touch burns like a brand against my skin.

"Since you're looking for the facilities, allow me to show you the way. Though I suspect that's not really why you're here, is it, Rhea?"

This is the moment I should decline. I should make my excuses and leave. I should remember all the reasons why coming in here was a terrible idea. But his hand is warm against my back, and there's something in his eyes that makes me want to follow him straight into hell.

"I... Okay ." The word falls from my lips before I can stop it.

His smile is pure, dark triumph. "Right this way."

I'm acutely aware of Debbie's eyes on us as Dean guides me toward a set of heavy velvet curtains in deep burgundy. My breathing is so shaky I'm sure he must be able to feel it through his palm.

What am I doing? This is insane.

And yet I can't make myself turn around.

"Nervous?" he murmurs close to my ear, his breath stirring my hair and making it stand on end.

"No," I lie, though my voice trembles traitorously.

His soft chuckle tells me he sees right through me. "If you say so."

The curtains part under his touch, and I catch my first glimpse of what lies beyond. Bass-heavy music pulses through the air like a heartbeat, and despite every rational thought screaming at me to run, I let him lead me through the threshold.

Into the dark.

The heavy curtains fall closed behind us with a whisper of velvet, and I'm immediately enveloped by the throbbing beat and dim, reddish light. Dean's hand remains firm against my back as he guides me forward, his fingers splayed possessively across my spine. I hate how my body responds to his touch, hate how easily he assumes control—and I hate myself even more for letting him.

"Welcome to Deviant," he speaks louder this time, necessary to be heard over the music, though he still leans close to the flushed skin of my cheek. I have to resist the urge to turn to those lips, hovering so close to mine. It has to be the wine in my bloodstream. There’s no other explanation for the pathetically helpless way I’m letting him sweep me away.

This is Dean. This is the same arrogant asshole who's been making my life difficult for days, I try to remind myself. The same man who seems to take perverse pleasure in pushing my buttons.

But I’m already here.

And though I hate myself a little, I don’t hate the feel of his impossibly large body invading my personal space once again.

The main club space sprawls before us like something out of a fever dream. The ceiling soars two stories up, dotted with crystal fixtures that cast prismatic light across the crowd below. The dance floor pulses with bodies moving to the rhythm, but this is unlike any club I've been to before. The dancers wear everything from elegant evening wear to...practically nothing at all.

My feet falter as I spot a woman in nothing but leather straps, being led on a chain by a man in an expensive suit. The sight sends a surprising jolt of heat through me that I desperately try to ignore.

"Shocking?" Dean's thumb strokes small circles against my back. The gentle touch contrasts sharply with his usual arrogant demeanor, and I struggle to reconcile these two versions of him. Neither of which I know well enough to follow into a sex club…

"I..." I swallow hard. "It's different."

His chuckle vibrates through me. "That's diplomatic of you." The condescension I’m sure I hear in his tone makes me bristle, but before I can step away, he's already guiding me forward.

We skirt the edge of the dance floor, past private booths where shadows move in ways that make me blush and avert my gaze. The music seems to travel straight through my body, matching the thunder of my pulse. I tell myself I'm only here out of curiosity.

Academic interest, nothing more.

The vague recollection of seeing what I thought was Professor Shaw’s car in the parking lot has me momentarily stiffening. If I were to actually run into him here…with Dean by my side…I’d have to flee the state.

"The main floor is relatively tame," Dean explains, probably assuming my jolt was a reaction to the overwhelming scene on the club floor. He easily steers me toward a curved staircase instead. "Members can socialize, dance, have a drink. Get comfortable." The way he says comfortable makes it sound like he thinks I wouldn’t be comfortable hearing the details.

The stairs are lined with a deep burgundy carpet that muffles our footsteps. As we ascend, the view of the club below becomes even more surreal. I should be appalled by what I'm seeing, should be running for the exit. Instead, each scene we pass only stokes the heat building in the pit of my stomach.

"The VIP sections are up here." He gestures to a series of curtained alcoves. Some are open, revealing plush seating and intimate gatherings. Others are firmly closed, though the sounds emerging from behind them leave little to the imagination. His hand slides slightly lower on my back, not quite daring me to push him away, but promising more.

My mouth goes dry as we pass one particular alcove where a woman's cry of pleasure rises above the music. Dean's hand tightens slightly on my back, and I hate how my body arches subtly into his touch.

"Curious?" he asks, and I can hear the smirk in his voice without looking up. I want to wipe it off his face, though I'm suddenly not sure if I want to do that with my fist or my lips.

"I'm not..." But I can't finish the denial. My whole body feels like it's humming with electricity, betraying my attempted lie.

We turn down a quieter corridor, the music fading to a distant pulse. Dark wooden doors line both sides, each bearing a small, numbered plaque. The air feels heavier here, my breathing turned sluggish as we find ourselves alone.

"These are our private rooms," Dean reveals. "For members who prefer... discretion ." The word rolls off his tongue like silk, and I hate how it makes me shiver.

I try to keep my movements steady as we walk past door after door. Some have red lights glowing above them, others green. Each step feels like I'm moving deeper into a web of my own making. I know I haven’t had nearly enough alcohol to claim otherwise.

"The things that happen behind these doors..." He lets the sentence trail off suggestively with a deep chuckle. "If I didn’t know better, I’d say you’re intrigued, Rhea. Your whole body's trembling."

I want to tell him he's wrong. I want to remind him how much I despise his arrogance, his assumption that he can read me so easily. But he's right… I am trembling, caught between desire and defiance.

He stops suddenly at door number thirteen—because of course it would be thirteen—and turns to face me. His hand slides from my back around to my hip, holding me in place. The heat of his palm seems to brand me even through my jeans.

"Tell me something," he says, studying my face intently. "Was the bathroom story complete bullshit, or did you really just stumble in here by accident?"

Heat floods my cheeks. "I..."

"Because if you're actually looking for a restroom, I'll point you in the right direction." His other hand comes up to brush a strand of hair from my face, the gesture surprisingly tender. "But if you're here for something else..."

The touch of his fingers against my cheek wears down even more of my crumbling resolve. I should tell him to show me to the bathroom. I should thank him politely and leave. I should remember all the reasons I can't stand him. But instead, I find myself swaying closer, drawn in by the darkness in his eyes.

“At that party…” I murmur, trailing off when I can’t quite force my thoughts into a coherent sentence.

“Yeah?” He grins, the look written all over his face screaming that he thinks he’s won this round.

I just might think that too.

“You…uh…you said you could show me a thing or two.”

“I did…” For all his demonic features, Dean waits with the patience of a saint as I try to choke out some indication of where my head is at.

“Was that…you know…all talk? Or…you meant here?” What am I doing?

“It can mean whatever you want it to mean, kitten.”

“Would you be, um…would you be gentle with me?”

Just like that night at the party, in that moment where I thought he might want to apologize to me, Dean’s arrogant smirk softens a little. I feel his grip tighten almost imperceptibly on my hip, as if he’s worried I’ll bolt.

As if he’s urging me to stay.

Those featherlike fingers sweep under my chin, tilting my face up until I’m forced to meet his gaze. I can’t seem to stop my eyes from darting this way and that. It feels like holding onto a shard of ice with bare hands trying to return his intense stare.

But Dean just waits. Waits until I force myself to get a grip, to face those glacial eyes head on.

“I won’t hurt you,” he insists, all the sincerity of that statement etched into his chiseled features. “And once I’m through with you…You’ll beg me for more.”

God damn me if I don’t believe every word.

“Alright then,” I whisper. “Show me.”

That monstrous smirk returns. "Show you what, baby?"

" Everything ." The word comes out barely audible, but his sharp intake of breath tells me he heard it. In this moment, I don't care about how cruel he’s been or how much he infuriates me. Lust has completely clouded my judgment.

Dean reaches into his pocket and produces a key card. "Last chance to back out," he offers, holding it up to the electronic lock. The warning in his voice only makes me more certain.

I shake my head, beyond words now. Beyond thinking. Beyond everything except the heat of his body next to mine.

The lock beeps, a green light flashing. Dean pushes the door open, revealing a room that steals my breath.

"After you," he says softly.

With my heart in my throat and my pride in shreds, I step over the threshold.

My eyes sweep across the room, trying to process each new detail while my head is still swimming. The space is larger than I expected, illuminated by dim lighting that casts everything in sensual shadows. One wall is dominated by what look like medieval torture devices, though the gleaming metal and polished leather speaks more of luxury than a dungeon. Thick metal rings are mounted at strategic points along the walls and ceiling, some already sporting heavy ropes that make my stomach flip.

The centerpiece is a massive four-poster bed draped in black silk, but it's the accessories surrounding it that make my breath catch—padded benches with mysterious attachments, an ornate wooden cross like a giant ‘X’ whose purpose I can only guess at, and more racks displaying implements that make me simultaneously want to run away but also lean in for a closer look.

If it weren’t for Dean’s steady hand returned to the small of my back, I might just keel over. The air in here feels thick with anticipation, carrying traces of leather, beeswax, and pure indulgence.

In the furthest corner opposite the door, an elegant chaise lounge sits beneath what can only be described as a suspension rig and I hope beyond hope that he doesn’t intend to hang me from the ceiling. I’m not quite ready for any of that. I don’t know if I’d ever be. Next to it, a cabinet stands open to reveal neat rows of toys, dildos, and things I don't even have names for. Everything is immaculate, carefully arranged, speaking to a level of precise control that sends an involuntary shiver down my spine.

This isn't some amateur's playpen—this is a serious space for serious play. And suddenly, I'm acutely aware of how far out of my depth I really am.

"Before we begin," Dean's voice holds that edge of authority that makes me weak, "we need to establish safe words." His fingers trace my collarbone as he explains, making it hard to focus on my surroundings. "Traffic light system. It’s simple, and easy to remember even when you're... distracted ."

He grips my chin again, forcing me to meet his gaze. "Green means keep going. Yellow means slow down, or you need me to check in. Red means everything stops immediately. Repeat them back to me."

"Green for go," I whisper, stuttering a little as his other hand slides down my side. "Yellow for slow. Red for stop."

"Good girl," he purrs, and the praise sends liquid heat pooling between my thighs. "What's your color now?"

"Green," I breathe without hesitation. "Very green."

He treats me to one final, triumphant smirk before turning to open the top drawer of the closest cabinet.

That’s the last thing I see before the black, silken blindfold descends, plunging me into darkness that heightens every other sense. His cologne surrounds me, musk, leather, and a hint of cigarette smoke making my head spin. The brush of his fingers raises goosebumps as he slowly peels away my clothes, then my underwear, until I'm bare and trembling.

“Cold? Or nervous?” Dean murmurs, his soft lips back at my ear.

“I’m fine,” I insist, forcing as much strength into the claim as I can manage. I’m not cold at all, every inch of my skin is ablaze in his presence. And I sure as hell don’t want him to know how nervous I am. Or how self-conscious I feel.

He huffs a low chuckle. “Alright then. Come here.”

He snakes an arm around my waist, pulling me across the room until he gently tells me to stop. Next thing I know, he’s turning me around and pushing me back until the bare skin of my spine comes into contact with a cool, smooth surface. I’ve had sex. I’m not that na?ve.

But I’ve never done this.

“I’m going to restrain you now.” The calm authority in his tone is miles away from the arrogant frat bro I thought I’d come in here with. I could almost pretend he’s someone else entirely—and maybe I will for the sake of Natalie not murdering me. “Give me a color.”

“Green.”

The padded cuffs are buttery-soft around my wrists and ankles, but completely unyielding as he spreads me open against what I assume is that big, wooden X. Testing them only confirms how helplessly imprisoned and exposed I am to whatever he has planned.

"Beautiful," he murmurs, hands mapping my body with possessive intent. "You have no idea how bad I've wanted to see you like this..."

I try desperately to turn off my racing thoughts, to lose myself in pure sensation. Dean makes it devastatingly easy, his touch alternating between gentle caresses and a firmer kind of appreciation.

His fingers trail along my exposed flesh with agonizing slowness, tracing every curve and hollow as if committing them to memory. I shiver against my restraints as his hands glide up my sides, barely ghosting over my ribs before cupping my breasts.

"So fucking beautiful," he breathes again, thumbs circling my already hardened nipples. "So responsive...I've barely touched you and you're already squirming."

A whimper escapes my lips as he pinches lightly, then soothes the sting with gentle strokes. His touch is reverent, like he's claiming every inch of me through these leisurely explorations.

"Please..." I breathe, though I'm not even sure what I'm begging for.

"Shhh," he soothes, one hand sliding down my stomach to cup between my thighs. "Don’t rush me. I want to savor this."

The blindfold intensifies every sensation. I can't anticipate where he'll touch next. I can only gasp and writhe as his fingers dance across my flesh. His lips replace his breath, hot and demanding against my throat, and I let out a wanton moan I didn’t know I was capable of.

When his fingers first slide through my slit, we both groan at how wet I already am.

"Such a hungry little slut," he rasps, circling my clit with maddening lightness. "Already dripping for me..."

All at once his touch disappears. I can’t find it in me to feel ashamed as I whimper pathetically, already missing the delicious contact. I’m fucking desperate to have it back.

But then I hear it—a click followed by a soft mechanical hum. Before I can process what it might be, something firm and buzzing touches my inner thigh. I jerk in surprise, my gasp coming out more like a strangled squeak.

"That's it, let me hear you," he growls, nipping at my neck again while slowly dragging the vibrating object higher. "You're doing so well, kitten."

The buzzing intensifies as he adjusts something, and when he presses it against my clit, my whole body bucks against the restraints. The sensation is overwhelming. It’s precise and relentless in a way his fingers could never be.

"Oh god... Dean... I can't..."

"You can, and you will," he commands, moving the vibrator in slow circles. "I want to see how long you can take it."

I'm practically sobbing now, my hips trying desperately to either escape or chase the intense stimulation. The constant buzz fills my ears, matching the thrumming of blood in my veins. But every time I get close, he adjusts, drawing out my misery in the most excruciatingly intense way.

"Please, I need to come... please let me come..."

He hums as if contemplating, pressing the vibrator more firmly against me. "Not yet. I think you can do better. Don’t you want to impress me?"

The vibrations suddenly increase, making me cry out sharply. My legs are shaking, every muscle tense and liquid at the same time as he works me higher and higher.

"Look at you," he groans, his free hand pinching one of my nipples. "Taking it so beautifully. Are you ready to beg properly now?"

"Yes! God, yes, please Dean... I'll do anything..."

"Anything?" He moves the vibrator in tight circles, the intensity making me see stars in the black abyss of the blindfold. "That's a dangerous promise, baby."

I'm beyond caring about danger now, lost in the overwhelming thrill. "Please, I need it so bad... need you to let me come... I'll be so good for you..."

"Color?" he demands, increasing the pressure slightly.

"Green! So green, just please..."

He rewards me by sliding two fingers deep inside me while maintaining the vibration on my clit, making me scream and writhe in my restraints. "Since you asked so nicely,” he breathes against my ear. “... come for me now, baby. Show me how good it feels."

His permission shatters the last of my control. The orgasm crashes through me violently, my body convulsing against the cuffs while he keeps the relentless vibrations going. It works me through each wave of pleasure until I'm gasping and begging him to stop.

But he doesn't stop.

Not until he’s wrung the last spasm out of me, leaving me desperate for oxygen.

“Good girl,” he rasps, his tone dripping with lust. “Now what do you say, kitten?”

“Thank you,” I breathe out.

I'm still trembling, my skin hypersensitive and slick with sweat, when I hear Dean stride away. For a split second, I’m terrified he’ll leave me here, tied up and naked like some sick joke. But then, there's a drawer opening, closing, and the distinctive sound of something being squeezed from a bottle. My breathing quickens at a new mechanical whir, different from the first toy. It’s deeper, more rhythmic.

"You look absolutely stunning like this," Dean's voice is rough with desire as he approaches. "All flushed and desperate, still quivering for me." His mouth finds my neck again, sucking hard enough to mark me while something thick and vibrating teases my entrance. The toy feels substantial, warmed by his hand, its buzzing already making my thighs shake. I’m oversensitive now, but even still, I want it.

"Please," I gasp as he slowly pushes it inside me. "Oh god... Dean..."

"Look how eager you are for me," he growls against my throat, working the dildo in torturously slow increments. "Taking it so perfectly. Tell me how it feels, baby."

"So full...so good..." My words dissolve into a moan as he seats it fully inside me, the vibrations seeming to resonate through my entire body.

His teeth graze my pulse point as he starts a steady rhythm, pulling almost all the way out before pushing deep again. "Look at my pretty little cockwhore, spread open and begging for more. Your greedy pussy's just swallowing it up."

The combination of the relentless vibrations and his filthy praise has me climbing toward another peak embarrassingly fast. Each thrust sends jolts of pleasure radiating through me, only amplified by not being able to see what's coming next. His mouth travels lower, his hot breath ghosting over my breast before his tongue circles my nipple.

"Already getting close, aren't you?" He increases the pace slightly, angling the toy to hit spots that make me arch and cry out. "Fuck, you’re such a good girl."

His free hand kneads my other breast while he sucks and nibbles at my nipple, timing each thrust of the vibrating toy with a particularly hard suck. The dual sensations have me struggling in my restraints, desperate sounds escaping my throat.

"Dean... please ... can I...?"

"Greedy little thing." He switches to my neglected breast, grazing it with his teeth while maintaining the steady pounding rhythm. "I can’t tell you no. Go ahead, come on this cock. Show me how much you love being stuffed full and played with."

I scream his name as I clench around the toy, my spine arching so far it could snap as another climax renders me completely incoherent. I can’t even find the ability to show my gratitude, the room filled instead with the sound of my feral moaning—a sound completely foreign to me until this moment.

But even still, he doesn't stop or slow down. Instead, I feel him sink to his knees, his hot breath washing over my prickled flesh. The dildo keeps working in and out as his tongue finds my clit, and I nearly sob at the new onslaught of his relentless attention.

"One more," he demands between long, slow licks. "You're going to come one more time for me. I want to feel you fall apart while I taste you."

"I can't," I whimper, even as my hips instinctively buck toward his mouth. "It's too much... Dean, I can’t.”

"You can and you will ." He sucks hard on my clit while driving the vibrating toy deeper, making me keen. "Because you're such a good girl for me, aren't you? And good girls take everything they're given. Every. Single. Gift."

His tongue works me mercilessly while he plunges the toy into me again and again, bringing me right to the edge of insanity. Every nerve ending feels like it's on fire, pleasure so intense it borders on pain as he pushes me toward a third destruction. My ears are filled with obscene wet sounds and my desperate moans as he alternates between sucking my clit and flicking it with his tongue.

"Listen to how wet you are," he growls. "Absolutely soaked for me. Your pussy's practically gushing around this cock while I fuck you with it. Such a perfect little slut."

"Oh my god, ” I moan, all of the sensitivity suddenly morphing into a charging rush to a third high.

"That's it, Rhea, let go. Come for me one more time. I’ll let you out. Give me what I want."

My mind is hazy, and my body is on fire for him. I desire his approval. I long for all his permission. For all his praise.

Only when he grazes his teeth over my clit and angles a thrust of the toy just right do I completely shatter in his hands the third time. The orgasm rips through me so intensely that tears leak from beneath the blindfold, my voice going hoarse as I scream. Sobs wrack my chest as he works me through it, never letting up with his tongue or the toy until I'm ready to pass out from the overwhelming pleasure.

When the aftershocks finally subside, I hang limp in my restraints, panting and quivering as Dean slowly withdraws the toy. He places gentle, soothing kisses on my inner thighs, his hands stroking my hips as he murmurs yet more praise.

He wasn’t lying when he promised he could blow my mind. I’m starting to think every last one of my brain cells has turned to mush. Perhaps they already had before we came in here, after all, I asked for it.

And I loved it.

But just when I think it’s over, he’s unbuckling my restraints and catching me as my legs give out. Strong hands guide me to my knees, and I hear the unmistakable sound of a zipper.

“What do you say?” His grip is tight beneath my chin.

“Thank you.” The words tumble out automatically.

"Good girl. Now, open that pretty mouth," he commands, thumb stroking my bottom lip. "Show me what else that smart tongue is good for."

I comply with embarrassing eagerness, like a wrung out, helpless version of me is desperate to please him after everything he's given me. His grip in my hair is firm but not cruel as he guides himself past my lips, stretching my mouth wide until I take every thick inch of him. I don’t spare a second thought for the fact that I’ve never had a man in my mouth before, as he sets a steady rhythm without needing much input from me.

"Fuck," he groans as he pushes deeper. "Such a perfect little cocksucker. Who would have guessed Little Miss Straight A’s could be such a filthy slut?"

The degrading worship makes me moan around him, earning a sharp thrust that hits the back of my throat. I focus on breathing through my nose, fighting my gag reflex as he pushes further with each stroke.

It’s not long before his rhythm grows more erratic, his praise becoming rougher. “You're going to swallow every drop like a good girl, aren't you?”

I manage a weak "Mmhmm" around him as I hollow out my cheeks and suck hard. He cusses viciously. Those demanding fingers tighten in my hair as he thrusts deep one final time, holding me in place while his cock pulses on my tongue.

I swallow frantically, determined to take everything he gives me, determined not to fail. When he finally pulls back, I gasp for air, feeling triumphant despite my exhaustion and the tears streaming down my cheeks.

"Color?" he asks softly, thumb swiping across my lip.

"Green," I whisper hoarsely, my throat raw. "So green."

"You did so well," he says, helping me to my feet. My legs are still shakier than a newborn giraffe, but he keeps a steadying arm around my waist. "Such a perfect little cumslut."

I lean into his support, my mind struggling to process everything that just happened. This was so far beyond anything I'd experienced before—the helplessness, the overwhelming pleasure, and the way he reduced me to nothing but need and sensation...

I guess he really could show me a thing or two.

Dean's hands are surprisingly gentle as he helps guide my limp limbs back into my clothes. The fabric feels strange against my sensitized skin, but his steady movements ground me as he methodically works each button closed. The blindfold remains in place, keeping me suspended in that hazy space between reality and fantasy while he puts me back together piece by piece.

His fingers brush against my throat as he straightens my collar. Each touch reminds me of what those skilled hands are capable of, how thoroughly they mapped every inch of me. The memory makes me shiver, my thighs pressing together unconsciously.

When he finally removes the blindfold, I blink rapidly in the sudden light, my gaze automatically sweeping the room before seeking his face. Evidence of what transpired here sits innocently around us: the cross that held me so helplessly and the toys that drove me to heights I never imagined possible.

Well, and Dean.

Impossibly handsome Dean. He’s still fully clothed, dark curls impeccable styled, and looking like he’d not been involved at all.

But that smug smile playing at the corner of his lips belies the truth. I open my mouth, but words fail me completely. Another ‘ thank you’ seems simultaneously inadequate and excessive. Running away from him also seems equally impossible on legs that feel like jelly. My mind spins, trying to come to terms with what I just did, what I just let him do to me—what I wanted him to do to me.

Just hours ago, I was desperate to get rid of him. Now I'm... what? The question sends my nerves into a tailspin. What does this make me? What does this make us? The walls I’d thrown up against his advances lie in ruins around me, demolished by his expert touch and wicked toys.

"You're welcome," he says, smoothly cutting through my internal chaos. His thumb swipes again across my still-wet lips, the casual possession in the gesture making me bristle. My tongue tingles with phantom taste, remembering how eagerly I swallowed his load.

I fight with every fiber of my being to not automatically surrender myself to…

Shame.

As if sensing my silent battle, Dean turns away, releasing me from his magnetic gaze as he moves to unlock the door. "If you're still looking for the restroom," his voice holds barely contained amusement, "take two rights and a left. Though I suspect that was never your actual destination."

My cheeks burn at his knowing tone. He's right, of course. I never intended to find the restroom. Hell, even all thoughts of Professor Shaw’s car evaporated entirely the second Dean guided me through that den of writhing bodies. I followed him in here deliberately, drawn by something I couldn't name. Now that unnamed desire stands exposed, as bare as I was just minutes ago.

He continues as if he hasn't just completely dismantled my world, "Debbie at the front desk will call you a cab home. Don't worry about the fare. I'll handle it."

I remain frozen, watching as he leans casually against the doorframe. At first, I’m a little stunned that he doesn’t say ‘ I told you so’ or demand a glowing Yelp review for an evening well spent. But I shouldn’t be surprised, all the arrogance in that familiar stance tells me he knows exactly how much I enjoyed that, my incoherent blubbering probably all the satisfaction he needed.

He got exactly what he wanted from me.

“You good, kitten?” he asks, cocking an eyebrow while I remain rooted to the spot.

“Yeah… I’m fine,” I mumble, forcing my feet to remember how to move.

That satisfied smirk never falters for a second as I slowly make my way past him. The dismissal stings a little, but I don’t know what I was expecting. Dean doesn’t seem like the type to cuddle.

The corridor passes in a dark blur as my mind catalogs new sensations: the slight ache in my jaw, the lingering sensitivity between my thighs, and the phantom rub of leather cuffs around my wrists.

I pause at the first corner, his directions echoing in my head. Right. Then right again. Then left.

But I'm not really looking for the restroom.

I never was.

What I was looking for—well, what I found—is something far more dangerous. It’s something that makes my careful, controlled life feel suddenly hollow. Something that makes me wonder what other depths of desire lie waiting to be discovered.

But why did it have to be Dean?

I’m ashamed suddenly, but not because he reduced me to a begging, desperate mess. My stomach knots up at the thought of actually admitting what I did to anyone, Natalie included. But that’s not even the worst part…

The worst part is knowing that if he asked, I'd probably let him do it again.