Page 95 of Sins of the Hidden

Knight leaned against the wall, arms crossed over his chest, eyes still watering from my earlier blow. "Let me guess—you got something else planned for tonight? Jesus, man."

My jaw tightened, hands curling into fists. They didn't understand. Couldn't understand what she meant to me. I didn't want them here, but I needed them for what came next. I walked over to the couch, shrugging my cut and shirt off. Turning my head to see their reactions, I reached for the hunting knife on the side table and held it out to them, handle first.

"Your only chance for payback."

They looked at each other before Knight spoke, "You gonna kill us when we're done?"

I might. "No."

Tyrant grinned. "Crossed off an item on my bucket list, I might go play the lottery after this."

He could die after this for all I care. Lying flat on the couch, I heard them approach. Pulling out my phone, I looked at the picture I took of my wife and me.

She was the only reason why Tyrant and Knight would make it out of this alive tonight.

"Okay," Tyrant said, voice lower than usual. "What are we doin', psycho?"

I'd been unwanted all my life—a shadow person existing on the fringes, watching others live and love and belong. But now...

Someone would finally love me.

Even if I had to carve that love into my skin myself.

Oakley lay quietly in my arms, breathing slow and steady.

My wife. Those two words thundered through my bloodstream like a drug, an obsession, a fixation that coiled tighter and tighter in my chest until I could barely breathe. The weight of her whispered fantasy—that single conversation when she'd blushed and stammered about wanting me to take her while she slept—hung between us like a vow deeper than marriage. It was the only permission I needed. The only permission I'd ever need for anything I wanted from her.

Moonlight sliced through the curtains, bathing Oakley's sleeping form in ethereal silver, highlighting every detail I'd committed to memory—the delicate slope of her nose, the vulnerable flutter of her lashes against her cheeks, the softly parted lips begging for my mouth.

Careful not to wake her, my fingers slipped beneath the edge of the mask, easing it quietly from my face. With her eyes closed, there was no need for barriers between us.

My gaze tracked down to the gold band glinting provocatively on her finger, the physical symbol of my devotion.

Mine. Fucking mine alone.

My arm slid beneath the warm curve of her neck, pulling her back until every soft inch of her pressed against the hard planes of my chest, the contrast between us intoxicating.

The silken strands of her hair brushed against my jaw, releasing that lavender scent that hit me, flooding my senses until I could taste it at the back of my throat.

Eyes drifting shut, I inhaled deeply, drawing that sweetness into my lungs, staking my possession as thoroughly as I'd branded her body the day before. The memory flooded back with vivid clarity—how she'd writhed beneath me, back arching off the mattress, thighs trembling violently around my waist, her honeyed warmth coating my length with each desperate thrust. The way she'd pleaded in that broken voice, eyes glazed with pleasure beyond coherent thought, her throat raw from screaming my name over and over like a desperate prayer while her nails carved possession into my back.

Oakley stirred, the deliberate shift of her hips pressing back against my instantly hardening cock.

The friction of her lush curves grinding against my hardness ignited electricity along my spine, stealing the air from my lungs.

My entire body went rigid, blood rushing south with enough force to make me dizzy.

Slowly, I let my fingertips glide through her hair, a deceptively innocent touch meant to keep her dreaming—even as every muscle in my body screamed for her to wake and meet the hunger that clawed at my insides, demanding satisfaction.

Another soft murmur escaped her, a breathy sigh that might have been my name in the darkness.

I froze, heartbeat pounding violently against my chest with enough force to bruise.

Had those heavy-lidded eyes opened? No, not yet—but anticipation spiked hot through my veins at the thought of thosedrowsy eyes meeting mine, recognizing the raw, animal need I couldn't disguise if I tried.

The memory of how those eyes darkened with desire whenever I touched her made my cock throb painfully against the confines of my boxers.

She shifted again, hips moving with deliberate, unconscious invitation, her thighs parting slightly as if even in sleep she craved my touch.

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