Deviant Obsession

Chapter 21

Rhea

Though there’s so much we’ve left unsaid, I can’t bring myself to speak for a long while. Dean’s right, I need to rest. It feels like every last drop of energy has been drained from my body, and it’s terrifying to think how much longer he would have continued if I hadn’t broken down.

I could have called ‘red’, could have ended the whole thing and begged him to take me home. But I told myself that I deserved the punishment. That look on his face when he’d seen the cuts, it was more than just rage—it was raw betrayal. I wasn’t sure if it was all for me, or plenty for Ethan, too. Either way, Dean was hurt, and I’d done that to him. All because I’d been too caught up in feeling wanted, like someone Ethan saw as worthy of claiming.

Dean wants me to believe that he can move past it, that he won’t make me choose, but the tender way he’s holding me right now is not enough to convince me that’s true. Not when my heart feels like it's being torn in two different directions. How do I tell him that I need them both? That Ethan's calculated sadism complements Dean's passionate torture in ways I never knew I craved? That choosing between them would be like choosing which lung to keep breathing with?

My thumb traces a restless path over the cuff marks on my wrist as I search for the right words. The shallow welts will fade too soon, unlike the permanent claim Ethan left on my flesh. "Dean, I, um..."

He waits patiently while I struggle, his hand still moving in soothing strokes up and down my back. I’m almost tempted to just let the silence fall over us again, so that I can enjoy a little more of this gentle calm. But I think I may have a way of making him feel just a little better. Even if he says no, I have to try.

Finally, I gather my courage, clinging to the hope that this suggestion won’t horrify him. "Would you...would you want to mark me too? On my other thigh. So I'd have both..."

His hand stills, his whole body going tense where it’s wrapped around mine. I hold my breath, waiting for his answer, praying he'll understand what I'm really asking for.

"No." His response is firm, no room for argument. The single syllable falls like a heavy stone into the stillness. "I don't want to cut you."

"But—”

"Sadism is Ethan's thing, not mine." There's an edge to his tone that makes me nervous again, a hint of the fury that exploded earlier when he first saw his brother's mark. "I'm not going to raise a knife to you just to even the playing field."

I twist in his arms to look up at him, needing to see his expression, needing him to see the sincerity in mine. His jaw is tight with the conflict, eyes stormy with emotions I know he's trying to keep locked down. "What if... what if Ethan did it? For you?"

His eyebrows jump a little, and I can see the war playing out in his mind as if his expression were a window—his urge to claim me battling with his aversion to hurting me like that. The muscle in his cheek twitches as he grinds his teeth. I press on before he can refuse outright again, desperate to make him understand.

"Please, listen for a moment. I want to wear both your marks. To show that I—” I catch myself, heart hammering as I nearly reveal too much. I have to suck in an unsteady breath before trying again. "That both of you own a part of me."

Dean's phone is in his hand before I can finish the sentence. "Room seven," he says curtly. "Now."

He ends the call without waiting for a response, the decisive tap of his finger on the screen like a full stop on the conversation. When he looks down at me again, I can’t quite get a read on him. It’s as if I can see desire, possession, pain, uncertainty all swirling together behind that window that’s suddenly become hazy to me.

"Are you sure about this? Once it's done, there's no taking it back."

I think about the matching scars I'll wear, permanent proof of my bond with both twins. Maybe it will help ease the jealousy between them. Maybe it will help them understand that I can't choose, and that asking me to pick one over the other would destroy something precious before it has a chance to fully bloom.

"I'm sure."

Dean's arms wrap tighter around me, pulling me close as we wait for his brother to arrive. When he buries his nose in my hair, I have to fight back tears all over again, praying that our fragile little bubble isn’t about to implode. I don’t know what I’d do if I had to go back to life without them both, if I had to pretend like they hadn’t altered my entire existence for good.

The door opens with a soft click, and Ethan fills the frame, his expression shifting from neutral to concerned as he takes in my tear-stained face. Even in the dim light, I can see the moment his usual mask of control starts to slip. His eyes dart from me to Dean, presumably reading something on his brother’s face that tips him off on how this evening has gone so far.

"Shit," he exhales, stepping into the room and quickly sealing us off from the world outside. "I should have told you about the mark, Dean. Before she had to."

Dean's body goes rigid against my back again. "Yeah, you fucking should have. Instead of letting me find out by seeing it carved into her flesh. I can’t believe you’d pull some bullshit like that, after we agreed to discuss our scenes with each other!”

I place my palm against Dean’s chest as he shifts beneath me, all his muscles coiling like a spring about to release. The tension in the room thickens until it's hard to breathe. Every slight movement feels like it could trigger an explosion.

"It was my decision too," I cut in, but neither twin seems to hear me over the testosterone rushing around the room. The way they're looking at each other—it's like I've disappeared entirely from the equation.

"I didn’t plan it beforehand, so I couldn’t have discussed it with you. I just got caught up in the moment." Ethan’s face hardens back into its usual stoic mask. A vein pulses in his temple, the only tell that he’s raging beneath the calm. “I didn’t do anything without her consent. Rhea practically begged for it. Came apart while I did it. Fucking thanked me for it after!”

"Don't." Dean's warning growl makes me shiver. His fingers now dig into my hips where he holds me. "Don't you dare throw that in my face."

"What? The truth?" Ethan takes a step forward, his hands flexing at his sides. The movement is subtle but threatening nonetheless. "That she wanted my mark? That she?—”

"The truth is you shouldn’t have done it!" Dean's shout makes me flinch, so close to my ear that I recoil. "We’ve always shared everything, always agreed. But you went behind my back and claimed her with your initial. Like some kind of fucking territory grab."

"Dean, please," I press my palm harder against his chest, feeling his heart thundering beneath my touch as he pitches forward like he’s ready to leap off the bed. "Calm down for a second?—”

"Relax, little one," Ethan cuts in, his voice ice-cold. He shifts his weight slightly, and something about his stance screams danger. "If he tries anything stupid, I can have him on the floor in half a second. We both know who'd win that fight."

The casual warning sends panic shooting through me. Images flash through my mind—the twins trading blows, blood spilled, bonds broken. "You're not helping!" I snap at Ethan, surprising myself with the force of my own anger. "This isn't a competition. It's not about who can beat who or who got to me first. If you two can't figure out how to handle this calmly, everything falls apart. Is that what you want?"

My outburst seems to catch them both off guard. Dean's hands loosen slightly on my hips, while Ethan's eyebrows lift in surprise, as if I’ve managed to cut through the furious haze and remind them that we could all be about to lose everything.

"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... impulses get 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 being ours ."

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.