Page 16

T he door creaked open at exactly seven o'clock. V filled the doorframe, his broad shoulders eclipsing the yellow porch light behind him. He stepped in, swallowing the room whole.

His black hair was pulled back in a severe knot, several rebellious strands framing his face. Those escaped pieces should have softened him, but they didn't. Obsidian eyes took in the room, tracking every detail while giving nothing back. There was nothing behind those eyes. No anger. No affection. Just focus. My stomach clenched, twisted. He carried a baseball bat, knuckles blanched around the handle. I avoided looking at the new rust-colored stains marking the wood—the same weapon that had likely produced those sickening bone-cracking sounds I'd heard over the phone just hours earlier.

He paused just inside the doorway, assessing the space with the practiced efficiency of someone mapping escape routes. The gentle click of the door sealed us in together.

The air changed when he entered—leather and smoke, with something metallic underneath. The mask concealed half his face, leaving only his eyes visible. They tracked my every move, calculating and intense.

Fixed smiles from my parents' framed photo watched our encounter—spectators to a scene my Dad would have sacrificed anything to prevent. My stomach twisted with shame, heightening the dark thrill that surged through my veins. Focusing on the faded blue carpet, I tracked each step that brought him closer. Boots weathered with gore appeared at the edge of my vision. "Oakley."

The sound of my name in his voice sent electricity down my spine and raised every hair on my body.

"H-Hi." The word escaped as barely a whisper. He approached with measured steps, his shadow stretching across the floor to envelop me as he closed the distance between us.

I gestured weakly toward the living room, unable to meet his eyes. "I s-set up a movie... I thought?—"

He began to close the distance between us. The baseball bat tapped rhythmically against his leg as he approached, like a metronome counting down my composure. Without a word, he set the weapon against the wall—close enough to reach if needed.

"Look at me." The command left no room for negotiation, yet I kept my gaze fixed on the worn carpet. Rough fingers caught my chin, tilting my face upward. "Eyes on me, Oakley."

After what felt like an eternity under his scrutiny, he released my chin and lowered himself onto the couch beside me, the furniture protesting beneath his weight. I shrank against the armrest, reduced to nothing but nerve endings and rapid heartbeats.

The word from the sticky note flashed through my thoughts. Temptation. God, I wanted his mouth everywhere, his tongue mapping every inch of me, teeth marking me irrevocably his. Every glance at him triggered memories, sensory and intrusive. Heat flooded my face, my eyes dropping to my twisting fingers even as longing clawed deeper. My fingers tugged nervously at my shirt hem as words evaporated before I could speak them, leaving only the phantom taste of what might lie hidden behind that mask.

Desperate for distraction from the current crawling between us, I fumbled for the remote on the coffee table just three feet away. The plastic felt alien in my grasp as I pointed it at the TV mounted on the wall opposite us, navigating to The Notebook. The screen's blue glow penetrated the room's dimness, casting eerie shadows across the eight-foot space between us and the television. The harsh overhead light had burned out weeks ago, leaving only the small table lamp to my left, casting long shadows across the floor. I placed my phone on the side table next to the lamp—within reach if anyone called, but out of the way of whatever this night would become.

"L-Lesson one," I gestured toward the screen, "I figured you could learn more through this."

Each breath required concentration as opening credits rolled across the screen, the film's orchestral score filling the silence between us. Each inhale dragged more of him into me.

Minutes dragged until he shifted, spreading his legs wide—a territorial claim. His thigh made deliberate contact with mine, the connection shattering my carefully assembled facade. Nerve endings awakened where denim met bare skin. Liquid fire coursed through my core despite my tensing shoulders.

"Victoria and Libby watched this," he stated, his baritone filling the narrow space between us. His hand rested on his thigh, fingers splayed just millimeters from our connection point. "Tyrant and Knight, too."

My throat locked, swallowing impossible. I searched for normal conversation. "D-Did you watch it with them?" My thoughts scattered, overwhelmingly aware of the heat radiating where our bodies touched. I dragged my tongue across my lower lip, too slow, too obvious. His gaze followed the movement, his pupils dilating slightly.

He shook his head, attention fixed on the screen. "I thought you would enjoy horror movies," I attempted, forcing a nervous laugh.

He turned towards me, "But you don't."

My fingers curled tightly into the blanket, pulse hammering. I reached behind me for the faded blue throw blanket draped over the back of the couch—the only item I'd brought from my childhood bedroom—and pulled it across my lap, the soft, worn sherpa a flimsy shield between us.

The uncomfortable silence stretched until midway through the film when V shifted beside me, the leather of his cut creaking against the couch. His hands rested on his knees, muscles visibly taut beneath his jeans.

The sofa dipped beneath his weight as he angled toward me. A sideways glance confirmed he no longer watched the movie. His gaze pinned me in place, heavy and unyielding, raising goosebumps across my skin. With his head tilted slightly, he examined me. Moving from his knees, his hands gripped the couch edge, fingers digging into the rough texture, tendons standing out along his forearms, straining visibly beneath his tanned skin.

My mouth dried, tongue thick and useless. Swallowing produced an audible sound in the charged atmosphere between us. "Y-You're missing this part, V."

"Don't want to see another woman naked," he declared, tone devoid of emotion yet laden with finality. His focus remained locked on my mouth, his gaze a palpable pressure against my skin. The distance between us narrowed as he leaned closer, his scent enveloping me. Something deep inside me liquefied, sending a heavy ache pooling low in my belly as I clenched around nothing, slick and frantic.

"It's just a movie." His gaze never wavered, ravenous and consuming.

"Don't care." The vibration in his chest traveled through the diminishing space between us, his voice descending to a register that sent involuntary tremors across my skin. After several drawn-out seconds, heavy with pressure, he spoke again. "Oakley."

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 the backdrop 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 chest thrummed 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 across my 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.

Against his hand, my hips bucked wildly, inner walls gripping at nothing as I ground against him. Hot, slick arousal flooded between my thighs, coating his fingers.

I shattered under his control, chasing every final wave of pleasure.

His body jerked beneath me, turning rigid. His arms locked around me like a cage, and I didn't try to escape. Through the mask, his scorching breath bathed my neck in damp heat. From deep in his chest came a sound—half-groan, half-growl—primitive and unfiltered, vibrating through me. Raw animal satisfaction reverberated from his body into mine, his heartbeat hammering against my ribs like it wanted to tear through bone and claim that too.

The moment held—too long, too full—like the world had stepped out of the room and shut the door. Our bodies gradually stilled but remained locked together. The frantic rhythm of our breathing was the only movement, the rise and fall of our chests in chaotic counterpoint. Seconds stretched to minutes as we remained frozen in that tableau of shared pleasure, neither of us ready to break the spell by moving away.

I collapsed against his solid form, forehead resting on his shoulder. Turning my head, I sought cooler air for burning lungs, every inch of skin hypersensitive and glistening with sweat. Our bodies stuck together with moisture, the salt-musk scent of sex hanging heavy around us despite clothing still in place. The scent of him clung to my thighs. V combed my hair with unexpected gentleness, fingers working through tangled strands.

Time suspended as we remained interlocked, neither of us willing to break the fragile peace that settled between predator and prey. The rhythmic rise and fall of his chest gradually slowed under mine. The same hand that pinned me down now mapped my spine with tenderness I didn't know how to refuse. That contradiction pulsed beneath my ribs, short-circuiting my senses.

His scarred knuckles trembled slightly as they traced the curve of my collarbone. He'd adjusted me in his lap, turning me slightly sideways so my back rested against his arm, my legs still draped across his thighs. I remained in the cradle of his body, but now positioned so he could study my face. When his palm encompassed my throat, fingers easily encircling it, my breath snagged in my chest, not from fear but from the exhilaration of recognizing he could obliterate me in seconds yet chose worship instead.

I'd need a new strategy tomorrow. This was supposed to be about teaching V, not losing myself in whatever this was between us. But as his eyes held mine, I wasn't sure whose lesson this was anymore.

Fingers capable of snapping bones traced feather-light circles along my spine, the contradiction sending electric jolts straight to my core. As his thumb traced my jawline, I confronted the terrifying truth that part of me already craved his darkness like an addiction taking hold.

His eyes, still fathomless and unreadable, held mine captive as his mask-covered lips pressed against my forehead in a gesture so gentle it brought unexpected tears to my eyes. He'd maimed men without blinking. Now he held me like I might break, something precious worth protecting rather than destroying.

And God help me, I let him.