Page 73 of Sins of the Hidden

"Mother."

Her hands slid from mine, hesitating before reaching toward my face. Her palm pressed against my mask as her thumb traced the contour of my cheekbone. The weight of her gesture—its meaning, not its feeling—created a response in me that I fought to control.

"I wouldn't be here with you if he hadn't saved me from her." The thought materialized suddenly, leaving acid in its wake. Without Prez's intervention, Oakley would remain unprotected. "What if I wasn't here? Who would protect you?"

A memory slammed into me—the kitchen, her nails tearing flesh from bone, promises spit through bloodied teeth that I'd never be worth anything but suffering. My grip flexed involuntarily against Oakley's thighs. The need to destroy surged through my veins, gasoline seeking a spark. Then she met my gaze, her caress settled on my skin like a benediction, and the fury imploded.

Her body shifted closer, knees brushing my inner thigh. The contact sent electricity arcing through muscle and bone. "Shh," she soothed, her words visible in the cool night air. "You're here. Don't worry about what-ifs."

Crickets chirped in the darkness beyond our small circle of existence. The stars wheeled overhead, distant witnesses to whatever this was becoming.

"Darrell saved you from your Mom, but you still loved her?"

Her version of love flashed through me. Push to the floor. His fist in her hair. Laughter—hers. Bright, wrong."They love me,"she said, choking on blood. Another man. Another night. A slammed door. Bruises he never apologized for. Her thumb brushing one."He didn't mean it."She smiled like it proved something."They always come back."

I knew they did.

Just not for her.

"I thought she would love me back."

Oakley's palms moved from my mask to encircle my neck, her caress feather-light where others had tried to strangle. My body tensed, each breath measured and controlled. Her thumbs brushed beneath my jaw in small, deliberate circles—a rhythm, a pattern that was becoming ours.

"I don't..." Something changed in her voice. "I don't know if I can teach you, V."

My hold slid beneath her thighs, pulling her closer until our bodies pressed together on the narrow seat. The intensity between us deepened, her softness against my hardness. "We'll learn together."

She melted closer with a low sigh that drifted across my collarbone. "It's not like the movies." Her palm settled over my hand where it rested on her thigh—small against my scarred knuckles yet wielding absolute power. "They choose each other because they want to."

"I want to be with you." The words erupted from my core with unexpected force.

Something shifted in her expression—terror and longing battling beneath her skin. Her throat fluttered with a visible rhythm beneath delicate skin.

"B-But?—"

"Try." My grasp tightened, the desperation I'd never allow myself to show bleeding through. "Please."

Her fingers sketched slow circles on my cut, each glide rewiring nerve endings I didn't know existed. The worn leather seat beneath us creaked as she shifted her weight. A single tear gathered at the corner of her eye, silver in the moonlight, but never fell.

"I..." Her voice caught. I could see the war behind her expression—retreat or surrender, fear or acceptance. Shetrembled beneath my hands, the vibration traveling through my palms and up my arms.

Her back straightened suddenly. A new look crossed her features—something I'd never witnessed before. It vanished before I could decipher its meaning, replaced by the familiar gesture of teeth worrying her bottom lip. Her gaze dropped to my mask-covered mouth, lingered there with an intensity that made my skin burn.

She inhaled sharply, then exhaled with certainty. "We'll learn how to love, together."

The promise echoed through me as I leaned in. Her lips pressed against my mask, she choked on something she couldn't name. The sound traveled through to reach me, and in that moment, everything changed.

The sound of her quiet moan vibrated against my lips through the mask, sending a pressure building behind my ribs, sharp and breathless. My body hardened instantly in a way I'd never known before.

Then she did something unexpected. Her hands moved to cradle my face. She pulled back just enough to look into my eyes, then deliberately pressed her forehead against mine and held it there. A connection point. A circuit completed.

My whole body went still. The gesture felt sacred somehow, more intimate than the kiss we shared in the bath days ago. Her breath mingled with mine as we shared the same small space. I committed every detail to memory—the pressure, the specific angle where we connected—knowing without words that this was ours now, a ritual no one else would understand.

Her hands mapped the edges of my body, feeling the storm beneath my ribs. My grip marked the curve of her hips, testing the give of flesh. The stars stretched endlessly above us, silent witnesses to this covenant.

When she pulled away, her eyes held the vastness of midnight waters. "I want to try, V. With you."

I bent toward her as she lifted her face to mine. The kiss was softer this time, a promise. Her lingering presence remained with me—a moment I would replay endlessly.

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