Page 51 of Sins of the Hidden

And it sounded like mine.

I straightened my spine, steadying my resolve. I would not let fear win this time.

It was time to teach the Devil how to feel—and I was willing to be the cost.

The door creaked open at exactly seven o'clock. V filled the doorframe, his broad shoulders eclipsing the yellow porch light behind him. He stepped in, swallowing the room whole.

His black hair was pulled back in a severe knot, several rebellious strands framing his face. Those escaped pieces should have softened him, but they didn't. Obsidian eyes took in the room, tracking every detail while giving nothing back. There was nothing behind those eyes. No anger. No affection. Just focus. My stomach clenched, twisted. He carried a baseball bat, knuckles blanched around the handle. I avoided looking at the new rust-colored stains marking the wood—the same weapon that had likely produced those sickening bone-cracking sounds I'd heard over the phone just hours earlier.

He paused just inside the doorway, assessing the space with the practiced efficiency of someone mapping escape routes. The gentle click of the door sealed us in together.

The air changed when he entered—leather and smoke, with something metallic underneath. The mask concealed half hisface, leaving only his eyes visible. They tracked my every move, calculating and intense.

Fixed smiles from my parents' framed photo watched our encounter—spectators to a scene my Dad would have sacrificed anything to prevent. My stomach twisted with shame, heightening the dark thrill that surged through my veins. Focusing on the faded blue carpet, I tracked each step that brought him closer. Boots weathered with gore appeared at the edge of my vision. "Oakley."

The sound of my name in his voice sent electricity down my spine and raised every hair on my body.

"H-Hi." The word escaped as barely a whisper. He approached with measured steps, his shadow stretching across the floor to envelop me as he closed the distance between us.

I gestured weakly toward the living room, unable to meet his eyes. "I s-set up a movie... I thought?—"

He began to close the distance between us. The baseball bat tapped rhythmically against his leg as he approached, like a metronome counting down my composure. Without a word, he set the weapon against the wall—close enough to reach if needed.

"Look at me." The command left no room for negotiation, yet I kept my gaze fixed on the worn carpet. Rough fingers caught my chin, tilting my face upward. "Eyes on me, Oakley."

After what felt like an eternity under his scrutiny, he released my chin and lowered himself onto the couch beside me, the furniture protesting beneath his weight. I shrank against the armrest, reduced to nothing but nerve endings and rapid heartbeats.

The word from the sticky note flashed through my thoughts. Temptation. God, I wanted his mouth everywhere, his tongue mapping every inch of me, teeth marking me irrevocably his. Every glance at him triggered memories, sensory and intrusive.Heat flooded my face, my eyes dropping to my twisting fingers even as longing clawed deeper. My fingers tugged nervously at my shirt hem as words evaporated before I could speak them, leaving only the phantom taste of what might lie hidden behind that mask.

Desperate for distraction from the current crawling between us, I fumbled for the remote on the coffee table just three feet away. The plastic felt alien in my grasp as I pointed it at the TV mounted on the wall opposite us, navigating to The Notebook. The screen's blue glow penetrated the room's dimness, casting eerie shadows across the eight-foot space between us and the television. The harsh overhead light had burned out weeks ago, leaving only the small table lamp to my left, casting long shadows across the floor. I placed my phone on the side table next to the lamp—within reach if anyone called, but out of the way of whatever this night would become.

"L-Lesson one," I gestured toward the screen, "I figured you could learn more through this."

Each breath required concentration as opening credits rolled across the screen, the film's orchestral score filling the silence between us. Each inhale dragged more of him into me.

Minutes dragged until he shifted, spreading his legs wide—a territorial claim. His thigh made deliberate contact with mine, the connection shattering my carefully assembled facade. Nerve endings awakened where denim met bare skin. Liquid fire coursed through my core despite my tensing shoulders.

"Victoria and Libby watched this," he stated, his baritone filling the narrow space between us. His hand rested on his thigh, fingers splayed just millimeters from our connection point. "Tyrant and Knight, too."

My throat locked, swallowing impossible. I searched for normal conversation. "D-Did you watch it with them?" My thoughts scattered, overwhelmingly aware of the heat radiatingwhere our bodies touched. I dragged my tongue across my lower lip, too slow, too obvious. His gaze followed the movement, his pupils dilating slightly.

He shook his head, attention fixed on the screen. "I thought you would enjoy horror movies," I attempted, forcing a nervous laugh.

He turned towards me, "But you don't."

My fingers curled tightly into the blanket, pulse hammering. I reached behind me for the faded blue throw blanket draped over the back of the couch—the only item I'd brought from my childhood bedroom—and pulled it across my lap, the soft, worn sherpa a flimsy shield between us.

The uncomfortable silence stretched until midway through the film when V shifted beside me, the leather of his cut creaking against the couch. His hands rested on his knees, muscles visibly taut beneath his jeans.

The sofa dipped beneath his weight as he angled toward me. A sideways glance confirmed he no longer watched the movie. His gaze pinned me in place, heavy and unyielding, raising goosebumps across my skin. With his head tilted slightly, he examined me. Moving from his knees, his hands gripped the couch edge, fingers digging into the rough texture, tendons standing out along his forearms, straining visibly beneath his tanned skin.

My mouth dried, tongue thick and useless. Swallowing produced an audible sound in the charged atmosphere between us. "Y-You're missing this part, V."

"Don't want to see another woman naked," he declared, tone devoid of emotion yet laden with finality. His focus remained locked on my mouth, his gaze a palpable pressure against my skin. The distance between us narrowed as he leaned closer, his scent enveloping me. Something deep inside me liquefied,sending a heavy ache pooling low in my belly as I clenched around nothing, slick and frantic.

"It's just a movie." His gaze never wavered, ravenous and consuming.

"Don't care." The vibration in his chest traveled through the diminishing space between us, his voice descending to a register that sent involuntary tremors across my skin. After several drawn-out seconds, heavy with pressure, he spoke again. "Oakley."

---