Page 150 of Sins of the Hidden

"Yes, Trevor." Mom hissed through clenched teeth. She turned to V, desperation making her smile too bright. "How do you unwind after a long day, V?"

"Watching Oakley sleep."

Dad's half-empty glass hit the table with enough force to crack the stem, amber liquid sloshing over the rim as he stood, palms smacking against the wood with a violence that made all the dishes rattle. "We're done trying to get to know each other."

"Okay..." Mom's smile strained at the seams, her complexion ashen. "Looks like you're his entire hobby list. It's good to have someone this devoted to you!"

If you only knew, Mom. At this rate, I'd never visit again—and possibly would need to change my identity and move to another continent.

His subtle movement caught my eye then—V's fingers sliding into his pocket before pulling out his phone. My stomach dropped as understanding crashed through me, heat flooding my face as his thumb hovered over the display. My pulse quickened, fight-or-flight responses kicking in as his gaze lifted to meet mine. He tilted his head just slightly, a silent warning of what was about to happen.

When he pressed down, the vibration sparked to life. He increased the intensity with another subtle swipe, never breaking eye contact, claiming me silently while my parents remained oblivious across the table.

"Oakley?" Mom's voice seemed to come from miles away, penetrating the fog building in my body. "I asked how the bakery renovations are coming along."

I gripped my fork tighter, thighs clenching involuntarily as the vibrations intensified without warning. "F-fine! Everything's fine!" My voice betrayed me, pitch higher than normal as pleasure coiled low in my belly. "W-We're making g-good progress."

Dad's concerned gaze fixed on me from across the table. "You alright, sweetheart?"

The vibrations intensified gradually, building from a whisper to a persistent hum that demanded attention. My fork slipped slightly between suddenly numb fingers. "J-Just tired."

"Are you sure you're okay? You're looking a bit flushed." Mom observed, maternal concern creasing her brow as she leaned closer, voice dropping conspiratorially. The buzz intensified again, enough to make my toes curl painfully inside my shoes. V's finger moved across his phone screen, the vibrator's rhythm changing to something sharper, more focused, until my peripheral vision blurred.

"Y-Yes!" My knee jerked upward involuntarily, bumping the underside of the table hard enough to rattle silverware. V's eyes darkened fractionally, pupils expanding to swallow the gray. Without looking down, his thumb shifted again, intensifying the sensations until electricity raced up my spine. My water glass wobbled as my hand shook, liquid sloshing over the rim onto pristine white tablecloth.

"Trevor, I told you the table's wobbly," Mom sighed, dabbing at the spill with her napkin. "I've been asking you to fix it for months."

Dad stared at her incredulously. "The table isn't?—"

"I-I'm just clumsy tonight." I interrupted, forcing steadiness into my voice as another pulse shot through me, stronger than the last. V took this time to put his elbows on the table, pretending to scroll through his phone.

"V, it's rude to be on your phone at the dinner table," Dad said, each word clipped.

"Okay." V's response dripped with mock compliance as he continued staring at the screen. Dad's knuckles whitened around his water glass, the crystal protesting with a faint high-pitched whine.

V's shoulders lifted in a barely perceptible shrug as he adjusted something on the screen. Instantly, the vibrations kicked up another notch, transforming from teasing to torturous in a heartbeat.

"P-Please," I hissed under my breath, too quietly for my parents to hear. He didn't react. The vibrator pulsed with renewed intensity, making white sparks burst behind my eyelids. My teeth clamped together hard enough to crack, fighting to cage the sounds clawing up my throat.

His hand slid beneath the tablecloth, finding my thigh unerringly in the dark. His palm seared through denim like a brand, each callused ridge distinct against my skin. He squeezed—not gently for comfort but crushing for ownership, fingertips digging into muscle hard enough to leave fingerprints.

"I—" My voice sounded like it belonged to someone else, strangled and desperate. I cleared my throat, fighting for control as another wave threatened to drag me under. "I-I might need to lie down for a minute."

Dad half-rose from his chair, concern momentarily overriding his hatred for V. "Your room's just like you left it. Do you want some water? Medicine?"

"I'll take care of her." V's eyes remained fixed on me, outwardly impassive while he systematically dismantled my composure with his thumb on the phone screen.

"J-Just need a moment," I stammered, pushing back from the table as another wave of sensation so intense it nearly dropped me to my knees.

I bolted before anyone could ask more questions, nearly stumbling up the stairs as the vibrations continued their merciless assault on my senses. Each step sent a jolt of electricity straight to my core as the device pressed harder against my swollen flesh. My knees threatened to buckle completely as the vibrations intensified without warning, pulsating relentlesslyagainst over sensitized nerves. I gripped the banister to keep from collapsing. The toy between my thighs hummed ruthlessly, its intensity shifting with each step—V playing me from afar like a marionette.

By the time I reached my childhood bedroom, I was panting uncontrollably, damp heat spreading through my panties and soaking into my jeans. My fingers trembled violently as I fumbled with the doorknob, desperation making me clumsy as another wave crashed through me.

The moment the door clicked shut behind me, I collapsed onto the bed, face pressed into the familiar quilt that still smelled faintly of strawberry detergent and innocence. The contrast between this sanctuary of childhood memories and the wicked torment between my legs made everything more forbidden—more intense. A stuffed bear watched accusingly from my shelf, its glass eyes reflecting judgment as I writhed against the mattress, seeking friction to ease the ache building within me.

The vibrator surged without warning, ramping up to a punishing rhythm that tore a strangled moan from my throat. I bit down on the quilt, muffling the sounds that threatened to escape as pleasure built to an almost unbearable peak. I'd been teetering on the edge for what felt like hours, never quite allowed to fall.

Below, voices rose in heated argument—my father's barely contained fury clashing with V's measured, deadly calm. Then the unmistakable sound of footsteps on the stairs—deliberate, measured, unhurried. V's tread, as distinctive as a death knell. My heart hammered wildly against my ribs, anticipation and fear tangling into a knot beneath my sternum.

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