Page 50 of Deviant Need

Then a branch breaks somewhere in the trees, cutting through the moment like a knife. We both freeze and pull apart at the same time.

Clearing my throat, I swim toward the edge and haul myself out of the pool before adjusting quickly. My hands won’t stop shaking, and I can feel him watching every move I make.

The wet t-shirt clings to my skin, suffocating and uncomfortable, and I peel the soaked fabric over my head and toss it onto the concrete. Water streams off me, running down my skin.

When I glance back at him, his gaze is locked on my torso. His jaw is tight, and his eyes are tracking over every inch of exposed skin. He bites the inside of his cheek hard enough I can see the indent and looks away fast.

This is exactly why I don’t like to take my clothes off around other people. Scars cover every inch of me, thick raised lines crossing my ribs alongside thin deliberate cuts someone made on purpose. Cigarette burns dot the inside of my elbows and wrists in perfectly spaced intervals, and small puncture marks cluster in the crook of my arms.

My back is worse, cuts overlapping so deep that some left permanent raised tissue that never smoothed out. Burns trail down my sides to my hips and thighs in patterns. I don’t remember what happened because I was too young.

I turn and head inside before Mikhail can say anything, water dripping as I go straight to the bedroom, grab clothes, then lock myself in the bathroom to dry off roughly and get dressed. When I finally come out he’s changed into black boxers and nothing else.

He’s holding my phone, staring at the screen with his brow furrowed in confusion. “Who’s DaddyIssues69 and why is he asking if you’re into twinks?”

My eyes go wide. I forgot about the dating app. Rushing toward him, I reach for my phone, but he yanks it out of my reach, holding it above his head.

“Who the fuck is this?”

“Nobody.”

“Bullshit. You said you weren’t dating anyone. Why would you lie to me?”

“I didn’t⁠—”

“Okay, then why is this asshole messaging you?” He waves the phone at me, furious. “Do you know how risky this is? You can’t send messages on dating apps for men, Danya. Father won’t tolerate it. He still doesn’t speak to Alexei. What do you think he’ll do to you?”

“I know. I was just hoping to talk to someone. Maybe make some kind of connection.”

He curses under his breath in Russian and paces back and forth. When he looks at me again, anger burns across his face. “Delete that profile right fucking now before I track down whoever sent you that message and murder them.”

He shoves my phone into my hands, and I fumble with it, fingers shaking as I navigate to the app. He watches as I delete the profile, then the entire app. When it’s gone, he exhales hard.

“Blyat.” He bites his lip and stares at me, something complicated twisting in his expression. “What were you going to do? Go hook up with some random guy?”

“I don’t know. I just… I need connection for that, I think.”

“What?”

“I need to know someone first. Form a real connection with them before I can feel sexually attracted to them. It’s called being demisexual. I realized it when I was younger. I can’t just hook up with strangers. It doesn’t work for me.”

His brow furrows, and he stares down at me, surprised. I walk over to the edge of the bed and sit down heavily. He follows and stops in front of me, standing between my knees, looking down at me.

I refuse to look up at his face.

“So you were on that app trying to find someone you could connect with? Someone you could develop feelings for?”

I nod, still staring at the floor.

“Why?” He shifts his weight, still standing over me. “What made you think you needed to do that?”

“I just wanted to meet someone. That’s it.”

“But why now? You’ve never done anything like this before, so what changed?”

My chest goes tight. “Nothing changed.”

“Bullshit.” He sits down beside me on the bed, close enough that our thighs press together. “Talk to me.”