Page 96 of Sins of the Hidden

Unable to resist, my palm slid beneath the thin barrier of her shirt, fingertips reading the silken terrain of her stomach like braille, memorizing every dip and curve. Her stammered words from that night echoed in my mind—"I want to be woken up... with you... inside me"—the hushed confession she'd hidden behind her hands, mortification radiating from her as she'd told me her deepest fantasy. I didn't need more. I'd take that single fragment and build her everything she was too afraid to ask for. She'd see how perfectly I understood her needs—better than she did. All she had to do was whisper her desire once, and I would fulfill it forever.

The smoothness of her skin contrasted with the rough calluses of my hands, heightening every sensation as I traced upward with excruciating slowness until my hand claimed the perfect weight of her breast, heavy and warm against my palm.

Her nipple pebbled instantly beneath my thumb, drawing tight under my touch, eliciting another breathy sigh from those parted lips.

I rolled the sensitive peak between my fingers, feeling it harden further as her breathing quickened unconsciously.

Heat surged through me, culminating in the painful throbbing of my cock as it strained against my boxers, the head already wet with anticipation soaking through the soft material.

I could feel my heartbeat in every engorged inch, demanding release.

The need to sink into her welcoming heat, to imprint every curve she gave me access to, became a physical ache that bordered on torture, a craving more than blood, more than vengeance—this hunger I couldn't outlive.

Surrendering to temptation, I gently turned her face toward mine, watching silver moonlight trace the damp fullness of her lips.

Mouth on mouth, slow as a lie, coaxing it open without force. The softness of her lips yielded to the demanding pressure of mine, parting like petals under the morning sun.

She moved like memory—hips twitching, muscles fluttering, heat pulling me in like I belonged there. My tongue pushed between her lips, claiming the sweetness within.

Oakley sighed into my mouth, she slackened against me, warmth seeping through skin and cloth alike, trusting me completely even in unconsciousness.

My hand continued its hungry exploration, fingers rolling her sensitive nipple between thumb and forefinger, feeling the hardened peak respond eagerly to my touch.

She reacted in half-sleep, like a song I'd played a thousand times—every note exactly where I'd left it. Her pulse quickened beneath my fingertips, blood rushing to the surface of her skin, flushing it with heat and need.

The way her breath caught with each twist of my fingers told me exactly how to play her, how to build her pleasure even in unconsciousness.

Her breathing quickened, punctuated by those faint, desperate sounds that never failed to drive me fucking wild—half-formed pleas for more that she wasn't even conscious of making, tiny whimpers that shot straight to my cock. Every sound made my cock twitch. I could come just from this—just from the sound of her wanting me without knowing it.

With deliberate restraint that made my muscles tremble with effort, I slid my hand lower, past the delicate ridges of her ribs, over the soft dip of her navel, marking my territory with possessive touches.

I reached the delicate lace between her thighs, finding the fabric completely saturated with her desire, clinging to her most intimate flesh like a second skin. The slick dampness against my fingers sent a primal surge of satisfaction through me—tangible proof of her desire, even in sleep. Just like that night when she'd confessed how wet the thought made her, unable to disguise it even as shame colored her cheeks. Her thighs had clenched together—a confession her words tried to hide. That night, she'd given me this gift—asked me to wake her with pleasure, to take her before consciousness. Her body was already responding exactly as she'd said it would. I inhaled deeply, catching the intoxicating musk of her arousal—that unique perfume that triggered something ancient and possessive in my brain chemistry.

Two fingers slipped beneath the soaked lace, welcomed by her warmth. I found her swollen and slick, already responsive to my touch. She gripped me like she was trying to draw me in, the wet pull of her clenching down until my knuckles ached. I watched her face carefully for any sign of discomfort, finding only the gentle parting of her lips that told me she was receptive even in sleep.

I curled my fingers with practiced expertise, finding that spot that made her walls clench and spasm, that hidden bundle of nerves that could make her come undone in seconds. She was slick and pulsing, clenching like she couldn't tell if she wanted more or couldn't take it.

Her hips rose instinctively, meeting every stroke like she'd been waiting for it even in dreams.

The wet, decadent sounds of her need filled the quiet room as I worked her slowly, deliberately, building her pleasure with each calculated stroke. My fingers glistened with her wetness each time I withdrew them, only to push back in deeper than before.

I teased her clit in slow pulses—pressure building, retreating, building again. The swollen bud throbbed against my touch, growing firmer with each deliberate pass.

Her breathing fractured into quiet, helpless gasps, features twisting, lashes fluttering like the high point of a dream. The flush of desire spread across her chest, rising to her cheeks as her head tipped back unconsciously.

Every muscle coiled with urgency, I positioned myself behind her, freeing my aching length, desperate for her velvet heat.

The cool air against my heated flesh made me hiss between clenched teeth, the contrast almost painful after being confined for so long. My length stood proud and ready, veins bulging along the shaft, the head swollen and glistening with need.

This was how I prayed now. Between her thighs. Inside her heat. With no one watching but God—and I didn't think He looked away.

She gave me this. Said the words. Asked me to fuck her awake. So now she would take what she asked for—whether she was ready or not.

Spread open and silent, she was everything I couldn't pray for out loud. Her skin glowed pale in the moonlight, laid out before me like an offering on an altar.

I eased her legs apart, watching her body yield to me, slow and willing. My fingers traced her lush entrance, revealing the glistening pink heat that awaited me. Her body opened exactly as I promised myself that night when her fantasy spilled from trembling lips—"I want... I want to be woken up... with you...inside me." I'd told her I'd position her perfectly. That I'd make sure she never knew when it was coming. That I'd collect.

She'd said she wanted to wake up with me inside her. I'd give her more than that. I'd give her the dream before the waking. This was the fantasy she'd confided in me, and I would deliver it exactly as she'd described—the perfect surprise upon waking, the warmth and fullness she'd told me she craved.

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