Page 29 of Chasing After You (Twisted Desires #3)

“It was consensual, well, it started that way. He’s a lot kinkier than I expected…

Anyway, what I mean is that I fully consented and enjoyed what we did, but right when we finished, he roofied me, and I woke up cuffed and with a dildo fucking me.

I think he might’ve… you know… when I was asleep.

The thing that’s bothering me is that I can’t understand him.

It seemed like my consent was important to him when we started; he told me several times to use my safe word if I needed to, but then he drugged me and violated my unconscious body.

I feel so sick because… because it felt good—when I woke up like that…

but I didn’t consent to it. I ended up telling him that I needed space to think, and he’s so anxious about it.

He’s apologized, but I can tell he doesn’t think he’s in the wrong.

I don’t know how I’m supposed to punish him.

But if I don’t, he won’t learn not to do it again, right? . I’m just so twisted up…”

“Well, that’s certainly unlike anything I’ve ever had a client tell me before,” Greyson hummed. “What did you mean when you said you can tell he doesn’t think he did something wrong?”

“I don’t know how to explain it… I um… I don’t think he’s… normal, ” I whispered, glancing at the closed door.

“Someone who stalks a person isn’t normal, so I think we already established that. Do you want advice from your therapist or advice from me?”

“What do you mean?”

“Do you know how Lane and I got together?” he asked.

My brows creased. “Wasn’t he in therapy? Oliver talked about it. But I don’t understand how that’s relevant.”

“Lane and I… we don’t have a traditional relationship, to say the least. I suppose you could say the same of your friend and my brothers.

Lane and I fulfill each other’s needs. He needs attention, someone to take care of him, someone who can promise him forever.

I need someone that I can control, who’s okay with the version of love I can give.

Someone who is completely and utterly reliant on me. ”

“That’s… a lot,” I managed to say, honestly flabbergasted.

This man was a therapist? How? Like… what in the ever living fuck?

Greyson chuckled, “Mm, yes. I will never forget the first time I saw him. I just knew I had to have him. I stalked him a little, nothing to the extent your brother did. I used our therapy sessions to build our bond and get him comfortable with me. I ended up breaking into his apartment, drugging him, and bringing him and his cat home.”

“Uh…”

Why was he telling me this? Should I call the police on him? Jesus.

“And now he’s my perfect little wife,” Greyson sighed affectionately.

“…Maybe I’ll get advice from someone else,” I muttered into the phone.

“I guess what I’m getting at is that relationships with… people like us… are not going to look the same as traditionally healthy ones.”

I scowled. “What do you mean by ‘ people like us ’?”

“Your brother appears to function similarly to my brothers.”

“ No. ”

“No?”

My face fell as I let it sink in.

“This isn’t a diagnosis, it’s just a possibility. You should talk to him about it, see if he’s ever been seen by a psychiatrist,” Greyson clarified. “As for my advice… Tell him that you’re—You said that you liked waking up that way?”

“Huh?” My mind had lost its train of thought, too stuck on the whole clusterfuck of Lane and Greyson’s relationship.

“With the dildo,” he stated blatantly.

“Wh—Oh! Um… yes…”

“And how do you feel about the drugging part?”

“Not good, obviously,” I scoffed.

“Not so obvious. My love is actually quite into—”

I groaned, “I don’t want to know.”

He huffed. “Well, in that case, tell him that you’re open to him playing with you in your sleep, but that drugging is a hard no.

Communication is important. If he’s what I think, there’s little point in disciplining him.

Staying away from him for the day was punishment enough.

Again, this is not your therapist speaking.

As your therapist, I would instead tell you to file charges against him, get a restraining order, and seek out trauma counseling.

Ultimately, you need to determine your priorities.

There is no fixing him. You either stay and learn to adapt or leave.

Leaving would be safer. Probably. If you do choose to stay with him, I would suggest you speak with Lane and Oliver in depth about their relationships. ”

“Do you really think he’d listen about the consent stuff?”

“I think it’s possible because of your past relationship with him. All in all, people like us are self-serving. His goal is to possess you. He can’t possess you if he’s in prison and you refuse to visit.”

* * *

Sleep wasn’t happening.

I’d tried. Goddammit, I’d tried.

I’d flipped my pillow. I’d adjusted the blanket a hundred times. I’d turned off the TV, then turned it back on, then muted it. I’d stared at the ceiling like the plaster might have the answers to all of my questions.

But nothing worked.

My brain just wouldn’t shut up. It wouldn’t stop replaying things—the way Dorian looked when I told him to close the door earlier, and how his face had fallen like a kicked dog. I thought a lot about the way he’d hovered all day, gentle and tentative, like he really was trying to make it up to me.

I sat up slowly, hugging my knees, feeling pathetic.

This was exactly what he wanted, wasn’t it? For me to come crawling back.

And yet…

I wasn’t crawling. I wasn’t. I just… didn’t want to be alone right now.

After a long moment of staring at the bedroom door and silently arguing with myself, I finally swung my legs over the edge of the bed and crept out into the hall.

The house was silent, and his bedroom door was half-closed.

I pushed it open slowly.

The room smelled like him—something clean and dark and warm, like cedarwood and the leather of his jacket and the faintest trace of his cologne.

He was on his side, one arm curled beneath the pillow, silky black hair mussed from sleep. The blanket was pulled to his waist, his shirt tugged slightly up to reveal the soft, pale skin at the small of his back.

I stood there for a moment, just looking.

Then, quietly, I padded over to the empty side of the bed and slid under the covers.

He didn’t stir.

I faced away from him, curled onto my side, and held my breath, like he might wake up and want to talk. We needed to speak, but I just couldn’t right now.

But he didn’t. He just kept sleeping.

And something in me, something small and stupid and tired, unclenched .

Like my body had just been waiting for this—for the weight of him nearby, the sound of his steady breathing, the safety of shared space.

I wasn’t ready to completely forgive him yet, but I didn’t want to hate him, either. Honestly, I wasn’t sure if it was even remotely possible for me to hate Dorian. He was my person. Even if he’d fucked up.

Soothed by his presence, I pressed my face into the pillow and finally, finally , let myself fall asleep.

* * *

When I woke up, the sun was already filtering in through the slats of the blinds, painting thin golden stripes across the dark, rumpled bedding. For a moment, I was warm and weightless, cocooned in peace and the kind of stillness that only came after a good, dreamless sleep.

And then I realized I wasn’t alone.

I turned my head slightly and met Dorian’s eyes.

He was lying on his side, propped on one elbow, watching me. His face was unreadable, but his gaze was soft and familiar in a way that made my stomach twist and yearn for a hug.

“Morning,” he said, voice low and hoarse from sleep. “You came to me.”

I didn’t answer right away. I blinked the sleep from my eyes and grounded myself, remembering why I’d come, remembering everything.

“Don’t make it sound like that,” I muttered, voice still scratchy. “It’s not… what you think.”

“I didn’t think anything.” But the way he said it told me that wasn’t entirely true.

I sat up slowly, pushing the blanket away. “I couldn’t sleep.”

Dorian nodded, sitting up too, keeping some space between us. He didn’t reach for me. Didn’t say anything for a long moment.

“I’m glad you came,” he said eventually. “Even if you don’t want to admit why. It’s been an insane twenty-four hours.”

That it had been. I’d almost forgotten it’d all started with me going on a date with Eli. And now I was in bed with my brother.

“I need to say something,” I said, more serious now. My heart had already picked up speed. “And I need you to actually listen this time.”

His expression shifted immediately—alert, focused. “Okay.”

“The roofies. That’s not okay, Dorian.” I looked at him hard. “You don’t get to make decisions about my body without my consent. I don’t care if you thought I needed rest, or that it was harmless, or that it came from a good place.”

He opened his mouth like he was going to defend himself. I raised a hand to stop him.

“No. Let me finish.”

He closed it again.

“I don’t care if you’ve done worse things before. I don’t care if you thought I’d get over it. You don’t drug me. Ever. I could’ve had a bad reaction. I could’ve gotten sick. You didn’t even think about the risks.”

“I—” he started, then exhaled sharply, looking down at his hands. “You’re right.”

I kept going. “I’m telling you this clearly so there’s no confusion. If you ever do anything like that again— anything that takes away my right to choose—I’m gone.”

He looked up sharply, a flicker of something desperate and wild behind his eyes.

“I’ll leave, Dorian. I mean it. I’ll disappear. Or I’ll call the cops.”

The silence between us stretched, thick and brittle.

“I understand,” he said finally, voice quieter than I’d expected. “You’re right. I crossed a line.”

I studied his face. “You say that, but do you actually get it?”

His jaw flexed like he wanted to argue, but instead, he gave a small, stiff nod. “Yes.”

I watched him closely, searching for a lie. For a deflection. For manipulation.

“I’ll do better,” he said. “If you give me the chance. Please stay with me.”

I leaned back slightly, feeling the tension ease, just a little. “I talked to Greyson last night. He’s a therapist.”

“Oh?”

“Yeah, Ollie suggested I talk through stuff with him,” I said.

“Did it help? What did he say?” Dorian reached his hand out to grab mine, intertwining our fingers.

I nodded. “I don’t think it was what I wanted to hear, but it made me realize some stuff. Oh… and he said to tell you that I’m okay with the uh… with you touching me while I’m sleeping… It’s the drugging part that really bothered me.”

“I promise, angel, never again. The drugging, I mean. Going to fuck you awake on the regular. But… going back to how you said you don’t want me making decisions about your body without consent…”

“Yeah?”

“Have you happened to look in a mirror…?”

“Not closely…” My eyes narrowed as I asked, “What did you do?”

He pulled his phone out from beneath his pillow and used his thumb and forefinger to tilt my head to the side. A flash went off. He let go of my face and showed me his screen.

“Dori…” I sighed, taking in the photo showing a fucking tattoo of his initial behind my ear.

“We’re matching now.”

“I see that…”

Dorian looked at me nervously, biting his lip in anticipation of my reaction. “Are you mad? I promise I won’t do it again!”

“I should be mad,” I said. “But I probably would’ve gotten it at some point anyway. At least it’s just a small initial, you know? I would’ve been mad if it were like a penis or something dumb. Just… last night was your get-out-of-jail-free card, got it? No more.”

“No more.” Dorian smiled, looking victorious.