Page 74 of Sins of the Hidden

It was late. Knowing how Oakley hated being out at night, I turned back toward the road. The engine roared to life beneath us, vibrating through both our bodies. Her arms circled my waist, holding tighter than before. Even through her helmet, I could feel her pressed against my back, anchoring me.

She thought we'd learn love together, each teaching the other. But she doesn't understand—I've already learned.

Love is not kind. Love is not patient. Love is a blade, and I'll engrave my name into her soul until she forgets she was ever free.

I'm not scared of dying.

I'm scared of a world where she learns to love herself more than she fears losing me.

The words echoed in my mind, each syllable reverberating through me like ripples in still water, leaving a tingling sensation at the base of my skull.

"Teach me how to fall in love with you, Oakley."

Someone actually wanted to love me? Me, with all the flaws I'd spent years trying to hide? He'd seen them all—and still wanted me.

I refused to believe someone could want all of me.

Resting my head against V's back as we rode through the night, my thoughts overtook me. Agreeing to teach him was impulsive, but at that moment, a wave of truly wanting this rolled through me. V wanted me to love him.

But how could I possibly teach him to love me when I don't even know how to love myself? The words tasted too familiar. Like something I'd said to myself a hundred times in the mirror, waiting for someone to tell me I was wrong.

V killed the engine with a twist of his wrist. My body still hummed with the phantom vibrations, my inner thighs burning pleasantly from being wrapped around him. The night air kissedmy flushed skin, carrying the mingled scents of gasoline and leather.

After dismounting, he followed me to the entrance, placing his large hand on the small of my back as he guided me to the door. The pressure at the small of my back wasn't possessive so much as protective—a subtle difference I'd come to recognize. He unlocked the door, eyes scanning the room before allowing me to step inside—another habit I'd noticed but never questioned.

"I-I, uh," I tucked loose strands behind my ear, feeling more than a little awkward. I noticed his eyes trace every movement, the intensity in those obsidian depths making my skin tingle. "W-Would you like to join me in bed tonight?"

Silent, he nodded his head, then left me in the living room as he entered the still charred kitchen. A smile crawled along my lips as I heard the electric kettle switch on. Lavender tea at night calmed me and usually helped me sleep. The fact that he remembered this detail, this small ritual we'd established without ever discussing it, made something flutter in my chest.

The familiar sounds of cups clinking against the counter and cabinet doors opening and closing gave me a moment to myself. My socked feet were silent against the floor as I made my way down the hallway to my bedroom. The distance between rooms wasn't much, but it felt like a small escape.

I closed the bedroom door halfway behind me, hastily undressing in the dim light. Pulling an oversized shirt over my head, I heard V's footsteps approaching from the kitchen, the soft pad of his boots against the floor. I quickly grabbed two books, placing one on each side of the bed, and slid under the covers just as he entered.

V held my yellow mug, tendrils of fragrant steam curling upward as he handed it over, his calloused fingers purposely brushing mine. "T-Thank you."

Standing there, observing as I blew across the top of the liquid, creating ripples across the amber surface. The lavender's heady perfume rose with the steam, flooding my senses before the first sip. Hot enough to warm my palms through the ceramic, but not enough to burn my lips—exactly how I liked it. The familiar taste of home in a cup.

The mattress sank beneath his weight, pulling me toward him. I held my cup steady, focusing on not spilling hot tea all over myself.

Why was I so nervous? We'd spent other nights together, doing far more nerve-wracking things than what we were doing now. Tonight did feel different, though. The air around us felt charged with something unsaid, heavy with anticipation. My skin seemed hypersensitive, aware of every inch of him beside me, even though we weren't touching.

"Oakley." The rumble from his voice echoed around the small room, vibrating through the mattress between us.

The air between us changed, charged with something electric, dangerous. His body shifted slightly, the mattress sinking under his weight as he turned toward me. His eyes—those endless black pools—fixed on mine with an intensity that stole my breath.

"Y-Yes?" My voice barely whispers.

"Happy."

"What?"

"Being... happy." It fell from his lips like he didn't say the word much. "What does happiness feel like?"

The question caught me off guard as I looked down at my hands. "It's not something I can just explain. It's..." My teeth caught my bottom lip. "When I pull a perfect cake from the oven and the kitchen smells like vanilla and butter. That first moment when everything went right."

His eyes never left my face, unblinking, studying me like I was speaking a language he'd never heard.

"Or when the sun hits the windows just right in the morning." My voice grew steadier, surer. "When I forget to check the time because I'm lost in creating something beautiful. When I don't have to think about... taking up too much space."

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