Page 48 of Sins of the Hidden

The thought of her imagining someone else ignited something murderous. I leaned closer, voice scorching against her ear, hand tightening around her throat. "I'll find them. Make them suffer. Make them watch while I take you until you forget they existed." My voice dropped to something barely recognizable. "Only me in here?—"

One finger tapped her temple before dragging down between her chest. I circled sensitive skin through thin fabric, pinching until she gasped—pain and pleasure blurring. My touch continued lower, pressing against that soft place only I was allowed to touch as her throat worked beneath my palm. "Only me here."

My blood turned to ice, then back to fire—hotter, more dangerous. I pulled back, eyes deadly cold.

"Next time you think of someone else, picture this moment instead. Picture what I did to you—and what I haven't yet." Her lips refused to answer. But her body couldn't lie—not with the way she shuddered when I touched her again, not with how her pupils swallowed her irises when I leaned closer, my body pressing against her hip, showing exactly what she did to me.

"I-It's embarrassing," she stuttered, face deepening to crimson, humiliation mixing with fear in a cocktail thattightened my chest. Her hips shifted beneath me—a small, helpless motion she couldn't control.

"Embarrassing?" I repeated, watching her squirm under my gaze, my fingers tracing lazy patterns across her skin. Her discomfort only heightened my awareness—how she tried to disappear even as her muscles betrayed her with each involuntary shiver.

"W-Well," she stammered, "it's like underneath your skin is burning with shame, and all you want to do is crawl in a ball and hope no one ever looks at you again."

"Like fire under the skin," I echoed, understanding perfectly. My own skin burned whenever I was near her—a different kind of fire, just as consuming. Every inch of me hungered to invade every inch of her, to claim her so thoroughly she'd never wash me from her skin.

"I feel it right now," she whispered, probably hoping I wouldn't catch it. But I heard everything about her—every breath, every heartbeat.

I shifted back onto my heels, taking in the full sight of her spread before me—her flushed skin, her heaving chest. Her scent filled the air, making all my senses heighten with awareness.

"You will teach me, won't you, Oakley?" I asked, the question heavy with dark intent as I palmed myself through my jeans, letting her see exactly what she did to me, what was waiting for her. My other hand circled her ankle, squeezing just hard enough to remind her she couldn't escape if I decided to take what was mine.

Her eyes met mine, alarm coiling in their depths like a cornered animal. Her chest rose frantically beneath the thin cotton, each inhale shallow and quick. The sight made hunger bloom inside me like blood diffusing through water.

"I–I–" Words failed her as her gaze locked on my hands.

I traced a single finger up the inside of her thigh, then over the curve of her stomach. My touch left a trail on her flesh—marking her with my possession. When I reached her throat, I wrapped my hand around it—not squeezing, just letting her feel the weight of my palm against the frantic flutter beneath the warmth, a reminder of how easily I could take her life, and how I chose instead to take her.

"If not. I'll teach you," I whispered into the space between us, pressing hard down against the ache I knew was between her thighs. "And my lessons always leave marks."

A gasp lodged in her throat as I ground myself against her, the rough denim catching against her exposed flesh. One squeeze of her chest through thin cotton and she tensed—a sound caught between resistance and need. "Are you afraid?"

Her ribs stuttered beneath mine as I ground against her again, her spine arching off the mattress. One hand clawed at the sheets while the other gripped my arm, nails digging into flesh—not pushing away but anchoring herself against the tide she couldn't escape.

"V..." My name escaped her again—not in protest but surrender, a breathless plea she'd hate herself for later. For one heartbeat, she yielded completely, legs tightening around mine, pulling me closer. Submission flashed across her face like lightning before reality reclaimed her.

This moment of surrender hit me like a bullet. White hot tension flooded every nerve, stealing oxygen and control. Something dangerous coiled at the base of my spine as my vision narrowed to just her. I'd never felt this—untethered, primal, on the edge of something I couldn't name.

Shock ripped through me. I pulled back suddenly, staggering. Fingers slid beneath my mask to my mouth, testing her lingering taste against my tongue. The sensation pulled a low growl from my chest.

Her taste clung to my tongue, wrecking what little control I had left. I'd killed men with these hands, tortured information from the most resistant targets, but nothing had ever pushed me this far—to the edge of control, to this unfamiliar pleasure threatening to consume me. I needed to leave now before I took her completely.

I turned toward the door, adjusting myself in my jeans. The mattress creaked as her weight shifted, the depression left by my body slowly filling like a phantom reminder. Her fingers hovered hesitantly between her legs—quaking, needing, mine.

"Touch that pussy and I'll remind you what ownership means," I warned without turning, delivering a sharp slap to her cunt. Oxygen caught behind her teeth as she froze. "You exist for me. Try it, and I'll make you beg for weeks—nothing but your voice left. Only I control when you come."

Her ragged breaths followed me to the door, each exhale carrying a whimper that fed something dark inside me. I paused at the threshold, turning to memorize the sight of her—legs still unsteady, face locked in that perfect mix of confusion and dread. Mine.

Mine.

“Tomorrow,” I said, voice thick with control, “you’ll beg for mercy I’ll never fucking give.”

I knew exactly what I left behind—Oakley, frozen on the bed, still vibrating with the chaos I created. My fingerprints would fade. But the scars under her flesh—the ones only I could leave—would outlast us both.

She would press her thighs together, desperate to calm the storm I unleashed, but the pressure would only intensify it. My threat—how I'd destroy anyone she fantasized about—would echo in her mind, making her rigid in darkness. Evidence of her treacherous response staining the purple sheets beneath her.

Tomorrow loomed ahead for her like a cliff’s edge she was already falling from. Shattered toy on the floor—a warning of what happened when something dared replace me.

The moment she smiled at me with those purple oven mitts—nervous, genuine, unguarded—I knew. That first real smile. The way she melted against me during her panic attack, choosing the monster even as her parents tried dragging her away. No warnings would stop what was inevitable.

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