Page 52 of Sins of the Hidden

His stare fractured my thoughts, the pitch of my voice climbed ten decibels. "Y-Yes?"

"Sit on my lap."

"Wha—"

The word died unfinished as he moved, lifting me as effortlessly as if I weighed nothing. He positioned me directly above him, my thighs spread without hesitation to accommodate him. The coarse denim dragged against my inner thighs, rough texture creating delicious friction beneath my hemline. Each shift of his powerful legs pressed harder, branding his claim deeper into my flesh, igniting nerve endings I hadn't previously registered. The pressure of him bled into me through both layers of fabric, his arousal rigid against the seam of his jeans.

Each heartbeat cinched my ribs. I couldn't breathe right. His breath quickened behind the mask, betraying the control he projected. He adjusted beneath me, hands spread wide across my waist, fingers pressing into the soft abundance of my curves. The possessive way he gripped my flesh, appreciatively sinking his fingers into my fullness, sent lightning bolts of sensation spiraling through my core. Despite my fear, I couldn't deny how intensely my body was starting to crave his touch.

His grip tightened, guiding me with calculated intent until I aligned perfectly with the ridge that drove against my center.The pressure building between us hinted at his desire, hard and unyielding. My walls clenched uselessly, aching to be filled.

V rolled his hips—a deliberate, measured movement that robbed me of breath. His hand slid beneath my shirt, dragging heat in its wake. Wide fingers spread possessively across my lower spine, grounding me with pressure that promised more as he pressed me harder against him. His rough palm scorched my bare thigh, forcing a gasp from my throat. His opposite hand branded pressure into my flesh, thumb tracing hypnotic circles that spiraled higher with each rotation. My hips rolled instinctively, betraying every rational thought, desperate to feel more of him, occasionally brushing against the dampening fabric covering my swollen pussy. Demand built where we connected, his hardness perfectly aligned with the ache between my thighs. My forehead fell on his shoulder.

"That's it," he growled against my ear, fingers digging hard enough to leave marks on my skin.

Beneath me, his muscles hardened like tempered steel, every tendon stretched taut with restraint. His eyes drank in the flush rising across my skin, the quiver of parted lips, every stuttered breath. My breath broke into jagged fragments. His stayed slow. Deliberate. Like he was pacing himself—savoring every second.

He shifted again beneath me, hardening with unmistakable demand. The thick outline of him pressed insistently beneath his jeans against my center, grinding deliberately against my core until sensation coiled tightly, stealing all coherent thought. Each roll of his hips created perfect alignment, the seam of my leggings catching perfectly against that desperate ache, every grind unbearable in the best way. His erection ached against me, every movement synced to the place where I contracted hardest. His core musculature tightened with each movement, creating ripples beneath worn denim. Dampness pooled where we joined,creating a slick seal, our combined arousal heavy in the air—tangy, primal, and unmistakable.

Arms draped unsteadily over his broad shoulders, nails embedding into corded muscle. My hips rocked instinctively, my body seeking more of the delicious tension. V matched me perfectly, chest rumbling like approaching thunder. He established our rhythm—methodical and relentless—guiding me in circular motions that dragged my clit along his length. Unfamiliar sounds emerged from my throat—high, needy whimpers that revealed my desperation. His chest rumbled in dark satisfaction at each sound, his grip bruising my waist when a particularly raw moan escaped me. His knuckles pressed deeper into my flesh, finding precisely the angle that pressed him against my entrance through our clothing, the coiling sensation mounting with each controlled movement.

"Look at me, Oakley." The command sliced through the haze of sensation. "I'm watching you come."

I tried to look away. I couldn't. He had my gaze locked, like my body—pinned and trembling. My eyes opened to find him watching me, held by the gravity of his attention. Even through the mask, I felt the intensity of his gaze cataloging every reaction, every involuntary shudder as my pussy clenched with need. I shouldn't want this. I shouldn't?—

His breathing deepened—the sole acknowledgment that he wasn't as unaffected as he appeared. His breath grew ragged behind the mask, harsh exhales brushing my throat, each puff of air a possessive caress. When I instinctively tried to pull back, overwhelmed by sensation, his grip only tightened—a silent command to stay exactly where he wanted me. Low, barely audible growls escaped him, sending shivers down my spine. Each exhale manifested as a controlled growl that vibrated through my chest where it pressed against his. The fabric of his mask pulsed with each breath, the sound hypnotic against thebackdrop of my shallow panting. My spine arched as pressure built inside me, coiling tight at the base of my vertebrae, wetness seeping through the thin fabric of my leggings.

Sliding beneath the waistband of my leggings, his hand invaded my most private space, calloused fingers discovering sticky wetness coating my thighs. Two rough fingertips pressed against my entrance without penetrating, teasing with the promise of fullness. My pussy fluttered against his touch, walls clenching and releasing desperately, silently begging him to push inside as slippery arousal dripped onto his hand.

"You better think of me when you touch your cunt." The bass in his words vibrated against my skin, raising goosebumps along my arms.

The rough pad of his thumb brushed over my swollen clit, drawing a sharp gasp from my lungs. He shifted my position slightly, altering the angle of his fingers, dragging them against my pussy with each movement, the seam of my leggings enhancing the sensation. Wet, obscene sounds of our bodies moving together filled the space, embarrassingly loud in the quiet room—the unmistakable evidence of my soaking center grinding against the damp cotton.

My nipples tightened painfully, the friction creating another dimension of pleasure as I rocked against him. My shirt rasped over my nipples, each shift sending sparks. I ached for his mouth on them, imagining the heat of his tongue circling each stiff peak.

I pressed against his chest, concealing my face in the hollow of his neck as my body tightened. Smoke and leather wrapped around me, sharpened by the metallic tang of clean steel and the musk of arousal. His tongue swiped gently, unexpectedly tender, across my neck—a fleeting contrast to his brutal grip.

The copper-tinged taste of his skin mixed with salt as my tongue accidentally brushed his pulse point. His chestthrummed steadily against my lips, a war drum keeping perfect time while mine raced chaotically. The contrast made me dizzy.

The coarse weave scraped my cheek—foreign, intimate, undeniable. Heat pulsed through me at the thought of his lips beneath the fabric, warm and firm against mine, then lower, against my breasts, between my thighs.

One hand ascended my spine before fisting in my hair, gathering the strands in his palm. He pulled just enough to arch my back further, positioning me so his hardness ground directly against my clit with each synchronized movement, the tension building to an unbearable level.

My phone buzzed loudly from the side table. Without missing a beat, V's hand shot out, silencing it with a press of his thumb. His eyes never left mine, the message clear—nothing would interrupt this moment. My connection to the outside world faded with the dimming screen.

"V–" The plea tore from my throat, fracturing his name. "I need—I can't—" Words dissolved into incoherent sounds as pleasure overwhelmed my ability to form coherent thoughts.

His response came immediately—a possessive sound vibrating through his chest as his fingers dug deeper into my flesh, bruising intent clear. He moved with terrifying intent, each shift calibrated to unravel me. His fist tangled in my hair and wrenched, arching me like a bow across his lap, exposing my throat as tribute. Through the mask, I felt the press of his mouth against my pulse, teeth grazing the delicate skin.

"Take what I give you," he growled against my throat, voice raw with possession. "Every inch of your body exists for me to use." His hand shifted to grasp my jaw, fingers digging into my skin as he forced me to maintain his gaze. "Your cunt. Your pleasure. Your mind. None of it belongs to you anymore." His thumb claimed my lower lip, dragging agonizingly slow acrossmy trembling flesh, parting my mouth for him, making me imagine all the depraved ways he might claim it.

A helpless whimper escaped my throat.

The hand at my hip repositioned between our bodies, his large palm creating perfect friction through my clothing. His fingers located my clit through the leggings, circling with ruthless accuracy while his hips drove upward, the thick length beneath me rubbing along my wetness through our clothes. He matched my increasingly desperate movements, controlling my pace with brutal efficiency while observing my unraveling—eyes triumphant as he pushed me beyond restraint.

Pressure shattered through me in violent waves.

My body convulsed, the tight bundle of nerves between my thighs pulsating as an orgasm claimed me. A strangled cry tore from my throat, raw and unrecognizable.

---