Page 9 of Deviant Need

I love how big and strong he is. He isn’t even trying, and yet he has me completely stuck, pinned exactly where he wants me. Every time he shifts, I can feel the ridge of his abs pressing hard against my back, his crotch grinding up against my ass. I have to swallow down the pathetic whimper trying to claw its way out of my throat. This is a problem. A serious problem. I’m about to get an awkward boner while my brother has me in a headlock.

“Nope. You’re not going anywhere. Say you’re helping me with this or you’re staying in bicep jail.”

Sighing, I tilt my head back to look at him. He’s watching me with that smile that makes heat spread up my neck and pool low in my stomach.

“If you don’t let me go, I’m going to bite you.”

His grip gets even tighter, bicep pressing into my throat. “Say you’re in. We’re breaking into Yulian’s house together.”

I snort. “You haven’t even thought this through.”

“That’s literally why you’re helping me plan it, Danya. Now say you’re in or you’re stuck here with me all night.”

My jaw tightens. “Jesus, fine. I’m in. I’ll help you plan it.”

He lets go right away and messes up my hair, then pushes me off him onto the couch.

“Good. I’m dragging Alexei into this too. We just need to figure out what blackmail we can use on him and he’ll do it,” he says, already walking toward his bedroom.

“Bring up the kitchen counter incident,” I shout after him. “That’ll make him say yes real quick.”

He stops mid-step, turns back to grin at me, then disappears down the hall. I rub my temples, laughing under my breath as I push off the couch and head to my room.

The tracking software I’m building won’t code itself, and Father’s waiting on it, so maybe working will distract me.

I need something else to think about besides the DNA test sitting in some lab right now or how it felt when Mikhail had his arms wrapped around me. He’s my brother. I shouldn’t be replaying how his body felt against mine or craving more of that contact. But I am anyway.

Chapter 2

Mikhail

Iwake up falling, and my head cracks against the floor before my brain catches up to what’s happening. Pain explodes across my skull, and I lie there staring up at the ceiling, trying to figure out how I ended up on the ground.

Well, that’s one way to wake up.

Glancing over to my side, I see my desk chair, which means I must have passed out there at some point, though I can’t remember sitting down. When I swallow, nausea slams into me hard, and my throat tightens, mouth watering way too fast.

Oh fuck, I’m going to be sick.

The moment I try to get up, the room spins violently, and I grab the chair to keep from going down again. I stumble toward the bathroom and make it maybe one foot inside before my legs give out completely, leaving me on my hands and knees crawling the rest of the way to the toilet. Everything comes up at once.

I heave until there’s nothing left, acid burning up my throat, but my body’s not done punishing me yet. It keeps convulsing, trying to expel poison that’s already soaked into my bloodstream. The third wave brings up something darker, and I taste iron spreading across my tongue. Great. Blood.

When the vomiting finally stops, I can’t hold myself up anymore and collapse sideways onto the tile, cheek pressed against the freezing floor. I’m gasping, struggling for air, lungs burning as I try to drag in breaths that feel too thin. My eyes start burning, and I slap my palm across my face hard enough that the sting cuts through the fog. The shock drags me back for a second. Okay, still alive, unfortunately.

Get it together. Be a man. Stop being weak.

That’s what Father would say if he could see me right now, what he does say every single time he looks at me and sees exactly what he expected to see. Disappointment with a pulse.

The combination of weed and pills and whatever else I took last night was too much, but that’s not exactly shocking. This isn’t new territory for me. I keep doing this, keep pushing too far because my brain won’t shut the fuck up unless I make it, and even then it doesn’t always work. I need the noise to stop, need my thoughts to quiet down for just a few hours, and getting wasted is the only way I know how to do that.

I drag my hand across my mouth and force myself up from the floor. My legs are wobbling so bad I almost go down again, but my palm slaps against the counter and keeps me vertical. Stumbling to the sink, I brush my teeth twice to get the taste of blood and bile out of my mouth.

My emergency stash sits on the shelf above the mirror. My salvation and my poison, all wrapped up in one little orange bottle. I grab it and shake out the last two pills, then dry swallow them even though they scrape going down and settle heavy in my empty stomach. Relief starts creeping in almost immediately, just from knowing they’re in my system now.

My fingers are still trembling when the first sob breaks through, then another, and suddenly I’m falling apart in this bathroom alone where no one can see how close I am to my breaking point.

Fuck.