Chapter 13
Rhea
I can't stop touching my wrists where the rope marks have almost faded completely, phantom sensations of hemp fibers biting into my flesh making me unconsciously press my thighs together. The throw blanket around my legs chafes at my abused skin, fueling the confusion and arousal warring in my blood.
It wasn't Dean.
The thought pokes at my brain for the hundredth time. Everything I experienced tonight for the first time—the sharp anticipation of the pain, the strange kind of pride I felt as I withstood it all, the rush of emotion when I pleased him, pleased myself —it was Ethan that guided me through it. The quieter, intense contrast to his forever-smirking brother.
Though they both seem to share a talent for seeing right through me.
I should be furious. I should be filing complaints with the club, calling the police, doing anything except sitting here on the couch replaying every second with shameful longing. But every time I try to summon proper outrage, my mind drifts to how perfectly he read what I wanted. How he seemed to know exactly how far to push me.
My fingers drift to my thighs, finding the raised welts beneath the blanket. Even now, my body responds to the memory with embarrassing eagerness. The way he'd groaned as he pounded into me, telling me how good I was being, how beautifully I took everything he wanted to give me...
"Stop it," I mumble to myself, pulling my hand away. I need to be angry . I need to be horrified that he deceived me, that he orchestrated this whole thing. Instead, I'm squirming on the couch, rubbing my thighs together as heat pools low in my belly.
What does it say about me that the deception almost makes it hotter? I should be ashamed. Not only have I indulged some of my darkest fantasies on two occasions now, but I inadvertently did it with two men who don’t care about me at all—the second of whom I let push his way inside me without a second thought.
Hell, I begged for it.
I should be appalled by my own actions.
Instead, I'm fighting the urge to touch myself while remembering how Ethan's eyes burned into mine as he promised this was just the beginning.
A sharp knock at my door sends me jumping nearly a foot off the couch. For a moment, I consider pretending I'm not home. But then there's another knock, more insistent this time.
I pad across the apartment on trembling legs. When I reach the door, I rise onto my tiptoes to peek through the peephole, and my stomach drops straight through the floor.
They're both there. Dean and Ethan. Filling the narrow view with their broad shoulders, looking like sin incarnate. My breath catches in my throat as I watch them exchange a look that makes the hair on the back of my neck stand on end.
"Rhea?" The one I think is Dean leans closer to the door. "We know you're home."
I press my forehead against the cool wood, my mind scrambling for how the hell to handle this surprise visit. Nat won't be home for hours yet, thanks to her late shift at the bar, but that also means I'm completely alone in whatever this is about to become.
My fingers hover over the deadbolt as I weigh my options. I could ignore them. I could tell them to leave. I could call the cops and report them for harassment. But deep down, I know I'm going to open this damn door.
The lock clicks as I turn it, and I crack the door open just enough to see them properly. The hallway light catches Dean's chiseled features, throwing that signature smirk into stark relief. Ethan's eyes lock onto mine immediately, that same intense focus from earlier making my knees weak all over again. That is how I tell the two apart.
"How did you find out where I live?" I demand, hating how breathy my voice sounds.
Dean's smug grin stretches wider, as if he’s proudly guarding a secret he wishes the whole world knew about. "Rhea, sweetheart… Are you going to make us have this conversation in the hallway?"
I swallow hard, glancing between them. Every instinct screams that letting them in is a terrible idea. But my hand is already moving, pulling the door wider.
They stride inside like they own the place, their presence immediately making the already-modest apartment feel impossibly small. I press myself back against the closed door, watching as they survey my space—the scattered textbooks, Nat’s dirty coffee mugs dotted about, the throw blanket bunched up on the worn couch where I'd been curled up moments ago.
I cross my arms over my chest, suddenly very aware of how exposed I feel in my tank top and pajama shorts. Though, I suppose it’s silly to care. They’ve both already seen me completely naked. The reality stokes some of that anger I was trying so hard to find earlier. "I told you not to follow me," I force out through clenched teeth.
Dean turns to face me, raising an eyebrow as if he were being admonished by a toddler. Ethan stands utterly still by the window, his silence more unnerving than any words could be.
"And yet," Dean says softly, taking a slow step toward me, "here we are."
He moves like a predator stalking prey, each step deliberate as he advances into my space. I press harder against the door, but there's nowhere left to retreat. My pulse thunders in my ears as he stops barely a foot away.
"You're angry," he observes, that infuriating smile dropping as he considers me seriously. "That's fair."
"Angry doesn't begin to cover it," I snap, finding my conviction at last. The surge of indignation gives me courage to push off from the door, though I immediately regret it when I realize how close that brings me to his broad chest. "Your twin lied to me."
"No." Ethan's response almost startles me all over again, as if I’d suddenly forgotten there are two of them now. "I just didn’t correct you when you assumed I was Dean. There's a difference."
A bitter laugh escapes me. " Oh , well, that makes it so much better." I turn to face him fully, hands clenching into fists at my sides. "What you did was wrong, and you damn well know it. What are you even doing here? How did you get my address?"
"Does it matter?" Dean asks from behind me. I can practically feel the heat radiating off his body, though he hasn't touched me yet.
"Of fucking course, it matters! You can't just show up at someone's home uninvited. That's…" I cut myself off as Ethan pushes away from the window, his sudden movement catching me off guard, robbing me of my train of thought.
"Intimidating?" he suggests, moving towards me with as much animalistic grace as his twin. "Overwhelming? Or perhaps... exciting? "
My mouth goes completely dry as they move in tandem, boxing me in but still not laying a finger on me. I should be terrified. I should be reaching for my phone, calling for help. Instead, I'm pressing my thighs together all over again.
"You don’t actually seem all that angry that we’re here, kitten," Dean presses, his breath ghosting across my neck. I hadn't realized he'd gotten so freaking close.
I jerk away from him, or try to, but Ethan is right there in front of me. My hand comes up instinctively, pressing against his chest to keep some distance. The solid warmth of him beneath my palm shouldn’t be so enticing.
"You tricked me," I accuse Ethan, glaring up into those piercing blue eyes. "You let me believe... You made me think..."
"I let you think what you wanted," he corrects me again, his own hand coming up to wrap around my wrist where it rests against him. He doesn't move my hand away, just holds it there, his grip firm but not aggressive. "Would you have given yourself permission to play tonight otherwise? To discover a few new desires you hadn’t considered before?"
I want to tell him I wish the whole thing had never happened, but the lie is stuck in my throat. I try to pull my hand back, but his fingers tighten fractionally. "That wasn't your decision to make."
"No, it wasn’t. I’m sorry for that." Ethan’s thumb strokes over my pulse point, and I hate how my body responds to that simple touch. "But I haven’t heard you tell us to leave, Rhea. Tell us you don't want this."
Yet another falsehood that dies on my tongue.
Behind me, Dean shifts closer, he keeps his own hands to himself but he’s near enough that I can feel the promise of contact like an electric current dancing across my skin.
"Tell us," Dean murmurs, "that you haven't been thinking about us since you left the club. Tell us you haven't been replaying every moment in your mind."
I close my eyes, trying to steady my breathing, trying to find the willpower to deny it. But we all know I won’t convince any of us.
"It’s not a crime to want , Rhea," His voice rumbles behind me. "This little hiccup doesn’t have to derail everything you were only just starting to uncover. You can let yourself indulge in what you want. You just have to let go.”
Heat floods my cheeks. Will the day ever come when someone isn’t preaching to me about ‘letting go?’ I want to argue. I want to tell him he has no idea what he’s talking about. But my mouth doesn’t move.
When did I lose control of my own freaking tongue?
The only response I manage is a frustrated exhale. Ethan's grip on my wrist remains steady, anchoring me as Dean's enticing words continue to wrap around me like silk.
"We could give you so much more," he continues, his voice dropping lower, trading out that teasing lilt for his deep, commanding tone that has me thinking of leather cuffs and silk blindfolds. "Both of us, we could give you everything you've ever fantasized about. Everything you're too afraid to ask for."
I wet my lips, battling to regain control of my ability to speak. "You don't know what I want."
"Don't we?" Dean moves closer again, finally close enough that I feel the brush of his shirt against my back. "I think we’ve proven we have a pretty good idea so far. Your body doesn't lie, Rhea," he murmurs so close to my ear. "Look how you're responding right now, just from being near us. Just from remembering."
I hate that he's right. My skin feels too tight, too hot. Every nerve ending is alive with awareness of them both. Ethan's thumb hasn't stopped its maddening circles on my wrist, and Dean's proximity is making it hard to think straight.
"We could take you apart piece by piece," he promises, painting vivid pictures in my mind. "Push you right to the edge of what you can handle, then push a little further. Make you beg. Make you scream."
A small sound escapes me before I can stop it. Ethan's grip tightens again, like he’s absorbing my every response.
"You want that, don't you?" Dean's voice is pure temptation. "To let go completely. To put yourself in our hands and just... feel ."
I shake my head, but it's a weak protest at best. "You’re wrong," I whisper, though I'm not sure who I'm trying to convince.
"Am I?" Dean's hot breath fans across my skin.
My free hand clenches into a fist at my side, nails biting into my palm as I fight against the desire to lean back into him. " Yes! Everything about this is wrong. You were a total asshole to me, and he?—"
" He has a name. And he is also very interested in making you fall apart," Ethan cuts in, the rumble of his equally sinful voice thrumming through my hand.
Another whimper falls from my lips at his words, at the images they conjure. Both of them, their hands on me, their bodies pressing me between them just like this but without the barriers of clothing, without the pretense of resistance.
It’s a fantasy I’ve never even considered.
And one I wouldn’t dare utter out loud.
“I-I can’t… I don’t want…"
"Stop lying for a second." Ethan's sharp command cuts through the haze of desire Dean's words have woven. He releases my wrist abruptly, only to catch my chin between his thumb and forefinger, forcing me to meet his gaze. "Be honest, Rhea. Be honest like you were with me in that scene. It wasn’t just about sex for you, was it?"
The sudden shift throws me off balance. His eyes bore into mine with that same penetrating intensity from the playroom, like he's reading every secret written on my soul. I can’t help but be reminded of Professor Shaw, of that uncanny ability to look right at me and really see.
"I saw what happened today," he says gently, thumb stroking along my jawline. "When I pushed you. When I hurt you. It wasn't just arousal I saw in your eyes."
I seem to have forgotten how to breathe. Behind me, Dean has gone perfectly still too, waiting.
"You needed it," Ethan goes on. "The pain did something for you, didn't it? I watched the tension leave your body. Watched you sink into it like coming home. Hell, for all your fear, I’d say the cane was your favorite part."
Tears prick at the corners of my eyes. I try to turn away, but his grip holds firm.
"The way you yielded to it," he presses, tender but relentless. "That wasn't just submission. That was relief. Release. Like finally scratching an itch you couldn't reach."
"Stop," I whisper, but there's no force behind it. My chest feels too tight, like he's reaching in and squeezing my heart.
"You're carrying something heavy," he murmurs. "Something that weighs on you, and keeps you rigid with control. But when I hurt you..." His thumb slides down to press against my throat, just firmly enough to make me gasp. "When I took that control away, you found a moment of peace. Didn't you?"
A single tear escapes, sliding down my burning cheek. His other hand comes up to catch it, instinctively soothing me just like he did the first time he made me cry.
"We can give you that again," Ethan promises. "Not just the physical release, but the emotional one. The mental one. Pain can be cleansing, little one. It can wash away everything else until there's nothing left but sensation. Nothing left but now."
Once again, I can’t seem to find the words to answer him. I feel as if I’m treading water, terrified that if I let myself relax for a second, I’ll drown. Dean's hands settle on my hips, steadying me, and I'm suddenly grateful for the support.
"You don't have to carry it alone," Ethan goes on, his steady cadence verging on hypnotic. "Whatever it is that haunts you, whatever drives you to need this—let us help you channel it. Let us give you a safe way to let it out."
Another tear falls. This time he catches it with his thumb, then brings it to my lips, making me taste my own vulnerability.
"We'll catch you. When you fall apart, when you break, when you finally let go of whatever you're holding onto so tightly, we'll be there to put you back together."
My breaths come in shaky gasps now. He sees too much, knows too much, even though we only met today. Or maybe that's exactly why he can see it so clearly. He's not blinded by familiarity or the masks I've learned to wear. He did earlier exactly what he’s promising now. He brought me to that place where I could let go.
Where I could just feel.
"Trust us, Rhea," he whispers, leaning closer. "Let us give you what you need. All of it—the pain, the pleasure, the release. Let us take care of you."
Maybe it’s all just pretty words, but there’s some part of me that’s so desperate to believe them. And I’m losing the fight against it. I close my eyes, feeling another tear slip free, and give the smallest of nods.
That tiny gesture seems to shift something in the air around us. Ethan's hands drop from my face, and I immediately miss his caress. But before I can mourn it, Dean's grip on my hips tightens.
"Last chance to say no," Dean hums against my ear, even as his hands slide slowly up my arms and leave goosebumps in their wake.
I should say no. I should make them leave. Instead, I whisper, "I don’t want to say no."
Dean's movements become more forceful then. His fingers wrap around my biceps, drawing them backwards until my elbows meet, and then he holds them there with one large hand. The position forces my chest forward, my nipples instantly pebbling beneath the thin fabric of my tank top.
I test his grip instinctively, pulling slightly against the restraint. His hold tightens in response, not enough to hurt, but enough to remind me that I'm not going anywhere.
"Relax like a good girl," he breathes, his words sending a puddle of heat straight between my legs.
Ethan watches this exchange with hooded eyes, and when he reaches for me again, it's with more predatory intent than gentle affection. My breath catches as he crowds into my space, forcing my head back to maintain eye contact. Without my arms for balance, I have no choice but to trust Dean to keep me upright.
Cool fingers trace along my jaw, and I can't help but lean into the touch. Ethan's thumb brushes over my bottom lip, pressing slightly, making me part them on a breathy exhale.
"Beautiful," he murmurs, studying my face like he's memorizing every detail. His hand slides into my hair, cradling the base of my skull.
Time seems to stretch as he leans in, his breath mingling with mine. The first brush of his lips is feather-light, barely there at all. It’s a tease, a question, and a promise. All in one moment.
I try to chase his mouth as he pulls back slightly, but Dean's grip on my arms holds me firmly in place. A small sound of frustration escapes me, making both men chuckle darkly.
"Patience, little one," Ethan admonishes, but his gaze is heated as it fixes on my mouth. “You’ll get what you’re given, and you’ll be grateful for it.”
Without giving me a chance to respond, he's closing the distance again, and this time there's nothing gentle about it. His lips claim mine with a carnal kind of hunger, his impatient tongue sweeping in to taste me. I yield instantly, melting into the kiss as he devours me.
Dean's grip keeps me anchored as Ethan's other hand comes up to cup my face, holding me exactly where he wants me. I moan into his mouth as he takes everything I'm offering and demands more.
When he finally pulls back, I'm utterly breathless and dizzy with want. His thumb swipes across my lower lip again, like he’s tracing his own claim.
"That’s my good girl," he growls softly, then amends with a glance over my shoulder at Dean, " Ours ."
And in this moment, caught between them, I know there's no going back.