Page 207 of Sins of the Hidden

The word emerged with perfect control. "Yes." My teeth scraped along the delicate skin of her shoulder, leaving light marks that appeared on contact before fading. The salt of her skin was on my tongue. I began to move, hips pushing forward with measured intensity, each thrust driving me deeper. The sound of skin against skin filled the space, punctuated by her breathless moans.

The wet warmth of her pussy enveloped my cock as I thrust deeper. Her cunt gripped around me, pulling me in with eachpush. The scent of desire mingled with sugar and sweat, creating a heady combination that filled my senses. I reached around her body, fingers finding her clit, circling it in time with the thrusts of my cock into her tight cunt.

I brought my hand down sharply against her ass again, her cries blending with the rhythm of my hips. My cock throbbed inside her wet heat.

Her voice splintered around the confession. "Oh God?—"

I leaned down, teeth finding the juncture between her neck and shoulder. I bit down, firmly enough to leave a perfect crescent of teeth marks that would darken into a bruise within hours. Her pulse thudded beneath my lips, racing beneath the thin barrier of skin. I increased the pace of my thrusts, each one driving deeper than the last, forcing her body forward with the force of my movements. The slap of wet skin filled the bakery, obscene and raw, echoing off copper and marble like applause.

"Come for me now." I felt her starting to tighten around my cock, the first tremors of her climax approaching. I rubbed her clit faster, pressing harder as I drove deeper inside her. My other hand held her throat, not cutting off air but making her feel my control. Her back arched further, taking me deeper with each thrust. "Show me who you belong to."

She locked up beneath me, clenching like she'd break. Her body yielded completely to my control. Her back bowed, head falling back onto my shoulder, throat exposed and vulnerable in my grip. Release ripped through her, her body shuddering against mine, wet heat gripping me as she surrendered completely.

Her inner walls clamped down, ripping my orgasm from me. Her body milked every drop, pulling me deeper with each pulse. Heat rushed through me as I emptied inside her, marking her from within in the most primal way possible.

I pulled back slightly, looking down at the evidence of our joining. My cum leaked out of her like proof—warm, sticky, mine. I traced the sticky trails with my fingertips, feeling her shiver beneath my touch. The mixture dripped from between her legs onto the floor—proof of what we'd done in this place that should have been innocent.

"No one else gets to know what you feel like from the inside. I'll preserve your shape in memory forever."

I would need to give her more than this. A promise. A future that matched the dreams I saw in her eyes whenever she looked at these unfinished walls.

I'd burn this world before losing you.

It wasn't hurt. I'd never felt hurt.

But as I watched her silhouette against the streetlight hours later, something twisted through my chest, coiling tight around something vital. A whisper of possibility I'd never considered:

I could lose her.

I'd felt knives penetrate muscle, bullets tear through tissue, bones snap beneath force—and never once understood what it meant to hurt.

But watching her walk away under that single yellow light, I finally knew:

She was the only thing that could break me.

The bakery was really coming together.

Paint streaked my hands—buttery yellow that had somehow found its way under my fingernails and into the creases of my palms, staining them with the color of hope. Sweat trickled down my spine, pooling at the small of my back and making my thin cotton shirt cling uncomfortably to my skin. The scent of fresh paint mingled with sawdust and wood shavings, creating that distinct perfume of possibility and renewal that only comes with building something from nothing. Sunlight slanted through the windows we'd scrubbed clean yesterday, catching dust motes that danced and swirled with each movement, casting the space in a golden glow.

I stepped back from the wall I'd been working on, my muscles aching with the satisfying fatigue of honest work. The paint roller had left a trail of sunshine across what would someday welcome customers to my dream—my dream that was finally taking physical form after years of existing only in my heart. The bakery that had once been just wishful thinking wastaking shape under our hands, transforming from broken and abandoned to something with a future. Just like us.

V had just finished the floors—hours shirtless on his knees with bare hands, dust from the sanding streaking across his jaw like war paint. He turned to look at me, ignoring his handiwork, the smooth golden oak that had been scarred and splintered when we found this place. Even now, after everything, the intensity of his focus when it landed on me still made my heart stutter.

"It's starting to look like my dream," I grinned at him, wiping my forehead with the back of my wrist, feeling the sticky residue of paint transfer to my skin. My voice caught slightly on the word dream—a concept that once seemed too foolish to say out loud.

V crossed the room to me, the floorboards no longer creaking thanks to his meticulous work. Something in his gaze was different today—more open than usual. The air between us seemed to thicken as he drew closer.

He reached up and gently brushed a drop of paint from my cheek, his hand hovering briefly—checking, always checking—before his calloused thumb made contact with my face, the touch tender and familiar. The roughness of his fingertips sent a shiver down my spine.

A few months ago, I would've flinched at him reaching for my face like that. A few months ago, he wouldn't have even asked. The realization of how far we'd come settled like a weight in my chest. After everything he'd done, everything he'd fought to make right, here we stood—rebuilding more than just a bakery. We were rebuilding trust, one careful touch at a time.

He stepped back, his eyes fixed on me with that unnerving intensity I'd grown to understand. "I have something." His voice remained steady, though something in it shifted almost imperceptibly. He moved to the corner of the bakery wherehe'd stashed his things and returned with something round and wooden.

My heart skipped at the sight.

"What's this?" I asked, my voice hardly more than a whisper.

A beautiful wooden circle sign. The wordsSweet Summer'swere carved into the rich oak in flowing script, the edges burnished and smooth, clearly worked over for hours with patient hands.

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