Chapter 20
Dean
I shift the wine bottle under my arm, knocking on Rhea's door while I silently try to figure out who the fuck I’ve become. It’s Saturday night and I’m back here again. Not at some frat party, not at the club, just back at her apartment after I sent her a text that not-so-subtly demanded a night in. I’m not interested in power games, restraints, or blindfolds. All I want is a night that two regular people might share to see if maybe they had potential beyond the playroom.
I need to see if she can look at me as something more than just the fucked-up mirror to her own darkest desires.
The lock clicks and there she is, all soft curves in gray pajama shorts and an oversized sweater that slips temptingly off one shoulder. Her hair falls in loose waves around her face, still damp from the shower. I told her she should be comfortable. She never disobeys.
"You brought me wine?" Her eyes light up as she reaches for the bottle, inspecting the label like she doesn’t quite trust me to bring anything decent. "I didn’t know you had the nice-gesture-thing in you."
"I contain multitudes," I deadpan, crowding her inside. The gentle sway of her hips as she heads to the kitchen draws my gaze like a helpless bug to a roaring bonfire. Even in this loose outfit, she’s a walking temptation that makes my fingers itch to grab her and bend her over the nearest surface.
That’s a thing that people still do outside of BDSM clubs and strict dynamics, right? If I can figure out how to get us there, I’ll own her in all the ways any couple walking down the street might spend a Saturday night at home.
Once she’s back with two glasses, she curls up on one end of the couch, tucking her feet under her like a contented cat. I sprawl beside her, close enough that my thigh brushes against her knee. It’s not enough, but I’m exercising restraint tonight like it’s an Olympic sport and I have my eye on the podium.
"So, what's the plan?" Rhea asks, taking a sip of wine. A drop clings to her lip, and I watch, transfixed, as her tongue darts out to catch it. "Movie? Take-out? Uh, book club or something?"
"Whatever you want. I just came to hang out with you. You’re in charge," I chuckle, realizing that I hadn’t thought about much past coming here and trying to keep my mind off kink for one night. Christ, what is wrong with me? I've had countless women, played countless scenes. Yet here I am, drawing a blank because I don’t remember what it’s like to try and date someone.
Not to mention, I haven’t told her that’s where my mind is even headed these days. I should probably find a way to broach that subject at some point.
She tilts her head, studying me with those eyes I’m convinced can see right through me. "You're being suspiciously vague. Is this a game? Should I be worried you’re about to whip out some cuffs and a butt plug?"
"No! Can't a guy just want to spend time with a beautiful woman?" I counter, reaching over to tuck a damp strand of hair behind her ear. My fingers linger against her neck, unable to resist the lure of that soft skin.
"A guy, sure," she teases. "But Dean Cooper? The guy who likes his women bound and blindfolded now telling me I’m in charge? This is definitely cause for concern."
I should have a witty comeback ready. Instead, I find myself lost in the way the lamp light catches the golden flecks in her eyes, the soft curve of her teasing smile, the relaxed drape of her limbs now that she's let her guard down around me.
When did Rhea start making me crave quiet moments as much as screaming ones?
“If I wanted to give you cause for concern, baby, you’d know about it.”
She giggles at that, a lighthearted sound I hear so rarely, and I want to pull it out of her again and again.
I’m bracing myself to explain, to give her some indication of why I’d rather chill on her couch than cuff her to a bed tonight, but then I catch the slight wince when she shifts position.
"What's up with you?" I smirk, letting my eyes rove over her slowly. I’m looking for any signs that Ethan has left fresh welts on her skin. God knows my brother loves to leave a mark, and Rhea’s pale skin bears them so beautifully.
"Nothing, I'm fine." The response comes too quickly, too guarded, her eyes darting away.
Well, that’s fucking suspicious.
We’re all aware of what goes on in this weird little dynamic we have going. She’s usually beaming with pride when she shows me her welts, her dark bruises. I’m not a sadist, but I can appreciate that Rhea and Ethan share similar hungers. It’s never been something she’s wanted to hide from me.
"Rhea." Just her name, but weighted with command. "Show me."
She hesitates, fingers plucking nervously at her shorts. "It's healing, it's not a big deal..."
"Now." The order comes out as a growl.
With reluctantly slow hands, she pushes the fabric up, revealing the inside of her right thigh. My vision goes red at the edges. There, carved into her porcelain flesh in precise strokes, is a scabbed "E".
"He marked you with his fucking initial?" The question tastes like acid.
"Dean, please don’t freak out. We got carried aw?—”
"When?" I cut her off, fingers digging into her thigh just below the mark. She hisses. "When did he do this?"
"On...on Thursday. He took me to the club after my shift at the diner." She shrinks back into the couch with each word. "He said he wanted to try knife play with me, and one thing led to another..."
The rage builds in my body like a gathering storm, until my hand tremors where it grips her leg. Those cuts will scar. My brother's initial permanently etched into my—into Rhea’s—skin.
All plans for a quiet night in fly straight out the window.
"Get up."
"Dean—”
" Now ." I'm already on my feet, yanking her up by the arm. She stumbles against me, eyes wide with what I could guess is genuine fear. "Did you think I’d be cool with this? Did the two of you figure I’d be chill with him marking you like his property?"
"No, I?—”
"You need a lesson in ownership, sweetheart." My fingers tangle in her hair, jerking her head back. "A reminder of who really controls this body."
Her mouth gapes a little as she stares up at me, breath coming in short pants. Her brows are drawn together in genuine confusion. I can tell she’s unsure where the Dom persona ends, and my actual rage begins.
Good. Let her wonder. I want her head so fucked she doesn’t know which way is up.
The semi-rational part of me knows I should stop, should calm down and discuss this calmly. I should explain where the line was crossed and why I’m feeling the impulse to punish her. But that part is drowned out by possessive fury. We can do the responsible shit later.
It’s not like they were thinking of me when they did this.
"Dean, please," she whispers, but whether she's begging me to stop or continue, I don't care. Until I hear a safe word, she can beg all she likes, I’m the one in charge.
"Get your keys and coat." I release her hair but keep my grip on her arm. "We're going to the club. And by the time I'm done with you, you'll never forget who you truly belong to."
The drive passes in tense silence, my knuckles white with my grip on the steering wheel. Every few seconds my eyes drift to her thigh, imagining that traitorous "E" beneath her shorts. Each glimpse feeds the jealous beast clawing at my insides.
I practically drag her through the club's back entrance, not bothering with the usual social niceties. The private room door slams behind us like a death knell.
"Strip." When she hesitates, I step into her space, looming over her until our noses almost touch. " Now . Or I'll tear it all off."
Her hands shake as she peels off her clothes. The mark seems to glow against her pale thigh, mocking me. Claiming what should be mine.
"Arms up." I reach for the ceiling rig, adjusting a pair of leather cuffs to her height. She obeys without resistance, letting me secure her wrists until she's balanced on her tiptoes. The position forces her to stretch, displaying her luscious body like an offering.
I don’t bother to blindfold her. Don’t bother to warn her what I want to do to her, ask her for her safe words, or tell her why I want to punish her. This is barely a scene to me. This is just blind mania.
Because my brother’s initial will shine on her skin forever. And I can’t fucking stand it.
"Dean… You're scaring me." Rhea whimpers a little, but it’s not that adorable sound I’m used to when I’m driving her wild. This is genuine uncertainty.
"Good. I’ve been too easy on you so far." I trail my hands down her exposed sides, pinching and squeezing her soft curves while she squirms, just because I can. I have her here at my mercy and I’ll do whatever the fuck I want with her.
My fingers find her pussy, already slick with arousal despite her fear. Or maybe because of it. Rhea’s as fucked up as I am, and even if she doesn’t know how far I’ll go to teach her a lesson, she loves this shit. I slide two fingers inside without warning, making her gasp and moan despite her apprehension.
"See how wet you are," I growl against her neck. "Your body knows who it belongs to, even if your head is confused."
I work my fingers in and out of that pretty cunt, weeks of learning every inch of her informing my every move. I know how to drive her wild without hardly trying. And sure enough, her thighs start trembling as she quickly approaches the edge. But just before she tips over, I pull away completely.
"No! Dean, please! "
"Please what?" My fingers ghost over her flushed cheeks until she looks at me. "Please let you come? Please forgive you for letting another man mark what's mine?"
"What do you mean yours?" she sobs as I start again, slower this time. "I don’t understand. I didn’t mean?—”
"Didn't mean to let him brand you?" I curl my fingers making her cry out as I bring her right back to the precipice. "Didn't mean to give him that power over you?"
Again, I bring her to the edge. Again, I deny her release. Her whole body shakes now, sweat gleaming on her chest. Her blatant desperation would usually satisfy me, soothe the rage as I watch her endure her punishment. But it only burns hotter every time I glimpse that fucking mark.
"You think his little carved initial means anything?" My free hand grips her jaw, forcing her to meet my eyes every time she looks away or lets her eyelids fall closed. "I can make you forget your own name, much less his."
Silent tears streak down her cheeks as I start a third time, determined to break her completely. To remind her body and soul who truly owns her pleasure. And her pain.
She doesn’t say the only word that would stop me.
Time loses meaning as I torture her, each denied orgasm dragging her way past the point of enjoyment and through to the excruciating frustration I intend to wield like my own sharp weapon. Those perfect breasts heave with each desperate breath, and I know her shoulders must be screaming with the strain of dangling for so long.
Still, she doesn’t stop me.
"Who do you belong to?" I demand, fingers still working mercilessly between her thighs. She's so sensitive now that even the lightest touch makes her keen.
"Please..." The plea comes out broken, barely audible.
"Answer me." I add another finger and fuck her faster, feeling her clench around me as if she’s holding back her climax for dear life. "Who owns this body? Who controls your pleasure?"
She shakes her head wildly, tears still streaming with no end in sight. “I don’t—I can’t?—”
"Wrong answer." I withdraw again, leaving her empty and aching before I land a sharp slap on her swollen clit. My eyes fixate on that damned ‘E’, fueling fresh waves of pure wrath. "Try again."
"Dean, please stop," she sobs. "I can't take anymore."
"You can and you will. Until you tell me who you truly belong to."
Something snaps in her then. The dam breaks and barely coherent words pour out between heaving sobs.
"I d-don't know!" she screams, thrashing against the restraints like a captured animal. "I don't know anymore! I want you both! Why are you doing this to me?”
The desperate question makes me pause. I know now without a doubt that this punishment doesn’t make any sense to her. I’ve dragged her through my jealous tantrum without considering for a second that she might not deserve it.
"I never asked for any of this," she continues, as if she can read every thought that barrels through my skull. "It was your idea, and I just played along with you both. I didn't want to feel anything real. It was supposed to be just fun. But now..." Another heaving sob escapes her, nothing but raw pain. "Now I'm caught between two brothers who both want to own me, and punish me, and I can't... I don't know how..."
The genuine confusion in her confession finally penetrates the haze of jealous possession clouding my judgment. What the fuck am I doing? This isn't domination, it's pure selfishness. I'm taking out my anger on someone who trusted me to keep her safe.
"I-I'm s-sorry, Dean." she whispers, slumping in the restraints as if all the fight is drained from her body. "I'm sorry I can't be what either of you want. I’m sorry I’m always a disappointment."
The last dregs of my anger dissolve, replaced only by crushing guilt. I've pushed her too far, let my emotions override my responsibility as her Dom, and let her think it’s all her fault. This isn't who I’m meant to be to her. This isn't what she deserves.
"Shh, babygirl," I murmur, already reaching for the cuffs. "No more. I'm the one who's sorry."
Her legs give out as I free her wrists and I catch her against my chest, cradling her quivering body close. She burrows into my chest, still crying, and my own eyes start to sting.
I sink to the floor with her in my lap, regret squeezing like a vise around my lungs. Her sobs gradually quiet to hiccups, but she keeps her face pressed against my neck, fingers clutching my shirt like she's afraid I'll get up and leave.
"I'm so sorry, Rhea," I whisper, rocking her gently. "I lost control."
She shudders against me, and I hold her tighter. "I don't know how to handle any of this anymore. Playing together was one thing, but feelings...I never expected feelings. I didn’t think you’d get jealous."
"Neither did I." The admission costs me, but she deserves honesty after what I just put her through. "When I saw his mark on you..."
"You hate it." She finally lifts her head, meeting my eyes. Even tear-stained and blotchy, she's beautiful enough to stop my heart.
"It's more than that." My fingers trace patterns on her bare shoulder, trying to find the right words. "Seeing his initial carved into your skin...it made me realize how deep I’m in this. How much I want you to be mine alone."
Fresh tears spill down her cheeks. "But I can't choose. Please don't make me choose."
"Shh." I wipe her cheek with my thumb. "I'm not asking you to."
I pull her gently to her feet and reach for the aftercare supplies I'd ignored in my earlier rage—water, protein bar, soft blanket. She lets me wrap her up on the bed and tend to her, gradually relaxing as I massage her wrists and shoulders.
"We need to talk about this all together," she says quietly, picking at the wrapper of her protein bar and avoiding my gaze again. "About boundaries and expectations. About whether this thing with both of you is sustainable if you can’t get a handle on your jealousy."
"I know." I press a kiss to her temple. "But right now, you need some aftercare. The heavy conversation can wait."
She nods, curling closer to me—it’s a stark contrast to how we started the night, curled up on her couch totally relaxed. We sit in silence for a while, my hand running soothingly up and down her blanket-wrapped spine. The jealous fury from earlier feels distant now, replaced by an aching longing that scares me more than any anger.
"Dean?"
"Hmm?"
"Promise me something?"
"Anything."
She finally looks up, eyes searching mine. "Promise you won't let jealousy make you cruel again. I can handle pain, but not...not like that. You looked possessed. Like you hated me."
She could have driven a battering ram into my stomach, and it would have hurt less. "I promise. What I did tonight...that's not who I want to be. Not with you. I’m sorry."
She nods, tentatively satisfied, and settles back against me. But as I hold her, I wonder if I can really keep that promise. Because the truth is, every time I look at that mark on her thigh, I want to claim her so completely that she forgets she ever met my brother.
He and I have some shit to figure out.