Page 24

T he 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 kissed my 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."

His head tilted slightly, processing. "What else makes you happy?"

The question hung between us. So simple yet revealing more than I meant to share. My fingers twisted in the blanket, eyes dropping to my lap.

"I've had it planned since I was seven," I admitted, voice smaller now. "Getting married. Not just the wedding, but being married to someone who..." My throat tightened. "Someone who sees me. Really sees me. Who wants me exactly as I am."

He cocked his head to the side, silently beckoning me to continue.

"I used to plan it all out. The flowers, the cake..." A nervous laugh escaped me. "I even picked out colors for the bridesmaids' dresses."

“You want to get married.”

I tucked my chin to my chest, just because I wanted to get married didn’t mean it would ever happen–not with most of the male population repulsed by my size. “I-I would like to one day.”

For a heartbeat, silence hung between us, thick enough to touch. Did I bore him?

“Oakley.”

“Y-Yes?”

"I want to fuck you."

The tea scorched the back of my throat, shooting up into my nose as I choked on the heat, spluttering as I set the cup aside, coughing hard enough to make my eyes sting. V’s hand pounded on my back—way too hard. Finally getting my breath, I managed to speak.

"W-What did you say?" I'd heard him loud and clear—I just couldn't believe it. Heat pulsed at my fingertips, at my temples, between my legs.

He kicked the cover off of us, sheets pooling at the foot of the bed. In one fluid motion, he swung his leg over my body, positioning himself directly above me. His powerful thighs straddled my hips, his weight settling over me, pinning me to the mattress. One large hand splayed on my pillow beside my head as the other gripped my shirt tightly, bunching the fabric next to my hip. The heat from his body radiated through the thin material, his position allowing me to feel every inch where our bodies connected. His knees dug into the mattress on either side of me, caging me beneath him as he loomed overhead. "I want to fuck you."

"I-I heard you!" I tried my hardest to stop my lip from trembling with emotion. "I don't?—"

He silenced me with a gesture, his hand moving from my hip to cup my face. The contradiction between the rough calluses of his palm and the gentleness behind the contact made my breath catch as his thumb traced my lower lip. His stare was a tether I couldn't break as he leaned closer.

I'd envisioned losing my virginity countless times, but never to the enforcer of a deadly motorcycle club. Having him here, actually saying the words, wanting me, wasn't something I ever thought would happen.

"I'm not perfect, V," I whispered, unable to meet his eyes. Even though he'd seen me naked when we bathed together, this felt different. More vulnerable. "I'm soft, I have stretch marks, I?—"

His response wasn't words but touch. His calloused palm tilted my chin up until I had no choice but to look at him. Without breaking his gaze, his hand moved slowly down my body, deliberately tracing the soft curve of my stomach, exploring the stretch marks I always tried to hide. There was no hesitation in the way he traced my skin—just reverence, like he was memorizing scripture.

"They're beautiful," he murmured, his eyes following his hand's path across my body, cradling my insecurities like they were worth loving before returning to lock with mine. "You're beautiful."

I bit my lower lip, working through the noise in my chest. He studied every flicker in my expression as I went through my emotions.

Memories ambushed me—the way his hands had coaxed pleasure from me on the couch, The Notebook forgotten as his fingers taught me how to fall apart. Heat surged between my thighs, my sex pulsing with sudden, overwhelming need. My breath caught as liquid warmth pooled deep inside me, my body responding to the ghost of his touch before I could stop it.

My thighs clenched involuntarily, the friction against my already sensitive flesh sending sharp jolts of pleasure through my core. A small, betraying whimper escaped my lips as I shifted beneath him, my hips lifting slightly, seeking pressure against the throbbing center of my desire. My nipples tightened against the thin fabric of my shirt, the subtle brush of cotton suddenly unbearable against my skin. His watchful gaze only intensified the heat spreading across my skin, my body's reaction impossible to hide as dampness gathered between my legs.

"W-We have to talk before we do this."

His body tensed above me, his brows raised slowly, realizing what I was saying. The slight dilation of his pupils was the only indication of his reaction. He leaned forward, his entire body covering me like a human blanket. Nestling his face into the crook of my neck, I felt the texture of his mask against my sensitive skin.

"Then talk."

"Do you have condoms?" I might be a virgin, but I wasn't naive. I'd been on birth control for years to manage my PCOS symptoms, so pregnancy wasn't a concern. But protection against STDs was still important.

"No."

"Are you clean at least?" Not wanting to hear about his past sexual partners, I prayed for a one-word answer.

"We bathed together yesterday," he said flatly.

I dropped my head, sighing. He really didn't understand. "Not that kind of clean," I muttered, heat prickling my cheeks. "STD clean."

"Why would I have an STD?" His tone suggesting the question was absurd.

"From your… past partners," I couldn't keep the hurt from my voice. The thought of V with other women sent an unexpected pang through my chest.

"Why would I fuck anyone but you?" he said, voice rough.

"You've never...?"

Without a word, he seized my wrist, guiding my hand to his cock, hard and burning through the denim. The rigid outline left no doubt about his desire as he pressed my palm more firmly against himself, a small groan escaping from behind his mask.

My eyes flew open as time slowed around me. V was a virgin? The floor beneath my thoughts gave out. How could he be a virgin looking like he does? The realization that I'd be his first—that we'd be each other's firsts—made my heart stutter in my chest.

"I just assumed…" Letting my voice trail off, I didn't really know what it was I was trying to say anyway. My fingers curled slightly around his length, experimentally, and I was rewarded with a sharp intake of breath. He quirked an eyebrow, making words tumble out before I could stop them. "W-With how attractive you are–"

"You think I'm attractive?"

I felt heat rush to my cheeks as I curled in on myself, suddenly aware of my vulnerability. Unable to meet his intense gaze, I managed a small, tentative nod.

"Never wanted to be with anyone but you." He pressed his hips forward, grinding against my hand like he needed the contact to stay sane. "Only you, Oakley."

That sent a shock straight to my heart. I'd never been wanted like this by anyone. "I don't know what to say."

"Don't say anything." His face lowered, our noses touching. His mask hovered so close to my lips. "Let me fuck you."

A flush spread across my cheeks at his words, and my eyes fixed on his. The decision tilted inside me, impossible to deny. I did as V requested. I said nothing. I gave him the signal he always used—a single nod.

I wanted to be his—the way fire devours air, the way his hands conquered every fear I'd never said aloud.

"C-Could we turn the lights off?" My voice was small, barely audible. "A-And maybe I could keep my shirt on?"

V went completely still above me, the air in the room suddenly heavy. His eyes narrowed, pupils contracting to pinpoints. “No.”

Before I could respond, his hand shot out, wrapping around my throat. The pressure wasn't painful, but the message was clear. His thumb traced my pulse point, feeling my heartbeat quicken beneath his touch.

"The only thing you're allowed to wear when we fuck is my hand around your neck." His voice dropped to a dangerous register that brooked no argument, each word a command etched in steel.

My breath hitched so hard it hurt. Heat exploded low in my belly, sharp and humiliating, my thighs clenching involuntarily like I could trap the feeling there—hold it still before it undid me completely.

I pulled my hand back, heart still racing, and clutched the sheets as he leaned over me. His calloused fingertips slid beneath my shirt, leaving goosebumps in their wake. I shivered as he dragged the fabric upward in one fluid motion, exposing me completely. His gaze scorched a path down my body, his breath hitching behind the mask.

I moved to shield myself on instinct, arms crossing over my chest. V caught my wrists in an iron grip.

"Arms down." I hesitated, muscles tensing under his scrutiny. He didn't wait for my compliance. His hands seized my wrists, fingers digging into my skin as he drove them down into the mattress on either side of my head. The bed creaked beneath us as he shifted his weight forward, looming closer. His breath came faster now, shakier, warming my skin through the mask as he hovered inches above me. "You don't hide from me. Ever."

I wanted to believe him. God, how I wanted to. But years of seeing nothing but flaws in the mirror couldn't be undone with a few words, even from him.

But the hunger in his gaze didn't falter. There wasn't a trace of disappointment or hesitation—just want. For me. Exactly as I was.

Dropping my wrists, his hands went to his own shirt. Pulling the tight black fabric off in a single motion, he threw it to the floor. His dark hair rested on his bare shoulders. The muscles of his torso rippled with the movement, a testament to his raw power. My eyes sought out the uneven O carved above his heart, a crude scar that looked self-inflicted. My fingers moved to touch it as he lay back over me. I let my fingers touch his chest, tracing the jagged edges of the wound V had carved into himself.

His voice was low. "You like it?"

"U-Uh, yeah." My fingers traced the O repeatedly, feeling its imperfections. "I-I like how it looks."

His eyes darkened at my words. The mattress compressed as he moved over me, his weight crushing me into the sheets. The cool air licked across my skin, drawing my nipples into sharp points. V lowered his head, the textured edge of his mask scraping against my breast before he bit down.

"Eyes shut." I blinked, too slowly. "Now. Or I stop."

Darkness fell as I obeyed. The soft rustle of elastic reached my ears—the unmistakable sound of his mask being removed. A subtle shift in the air brushed across my skin as he moved. Then his warm breath, unfiltered and raw, caressed my stomach, carrying the scent of smoke that filled my lungs with each inhale.

My body jolted at the sudden shock of bare lips on my stomach. The heat of his mouth seared against my skin—no barrier, just the forbidden sensation of his naked lips against me. A low exhale escaped him, vibrating directly against my abdomen. That first touch of skin on skin after knowing only his mask sent electricity racing through me. The slight scratch of stubble I never knew existed grazed the sensitive skin below my navel. The forbidden thrill of feeling what I wasn't allowed to see made my heart race, my other senses heightened in the darkness behind my eyelids.

His mouth on my skin ignited me, each point of contact leaving a trail of goosebumps in its wake. His tongue—hot, wet, relentless—traced my nipple in slow, torturous circles, the rough texture dragging against the sensitive peak until it hardened painfully. The contrast between the cool air and his scorching mouth made me gasp. He palmed my other breast, the calluses on his hand creating delicious friction as he squeezed until pleasure edged into pain, the sweet ache radiating outward. I arched into him, my spine curving like a drawn bow, silently begging for more as the scent of his skin—smoke and something metallic, dangerous—filled my lungs with each ragged breath.

"Responsive," he murmured, his voice different without the mask—richer, deeper, scraping along my senses like velvet over gravel.

His hand left my chest, gently grazing the skin as his fingers tickled down to my stomach. His touch left a trail of fire in its wake, my skin hypersensitive to his every movement.

"Tell me what you want, Oakley." His words scraped against my breast like rough velvet, each syllable burning against my sensitive skin.

The request sent heat flooding through me. "T-Touch me," I managed, my voice barely recognizable to my own ears. "P-Please."

"Where?" His fingers hovered just above the waistband of my underwear. "Tell me exactly where."

"B-Between my legs," I whispered, the words sending a fresh wave of heat through me. "P-Please touch me there."

His fingers slid over my center, the rough calluses catching against drenched silk. He tugged the fabric to one side with deliberate slowness, exposing me to the cool air that made me gasp and arch. My pulse hammered wildly as he held me open, vulnerable and aching under his unwavering gaze.

The first drag of his finger against my bare flesh sent electricity shooting up my spine, my muscles tensing with pleasure so sharp it bordered on pain. One thick digit circled my clit, gathering the evidence of my arousal, spreading it in slow, torturous circles. Each pass sent waves of heat radiating through my core, my body responding to his touch with an eagerness that humiliated and thrilled me in equal measure.

My hips betrayed me, rising to meet his hand, seeking more pressure, more friction. His other hand pressed firmly on my lower abdomen, controlling my movements, limiting how much pleasure I was allowed to take for myself. My breath came in short, desperate pants as his fingers circled my swollen bud, my inner walls clenching around nothing, desperate to be filled.

"Wet." He grunted the word, voice thick. "Messy. All for me."

His thumb continued working circles against my sensitive flesh while his middle finger trailed lower, parting my folds with deliberate slowness. The calloused pad dragged against my entrance, gathering slickness before pressing inside with agonizing precision. My back arched involuntarily, the intimate invasion making my toes curl and my thighs quiver. I imagined his dark eyes watched every reaction, cataloging each tremor and gasp as I struggled to adjust to his intrusion.

Another finger joined the first, stretching me wider, the sensation hovering between pleasure and discomfort. My body yielded around him, the pleasant burn making me whimper as he pressed deeper. The heel of his palm ground against my most sensitive spot with each subtle movement, sending jolts of electricity up my spine and pulling sounds from my throat that I didn't recognize.

He shifted his position, removing his restraining hand from my abdomen. Before I could move, his fingers tangled in my hair, forcing my head back, exposing my throat. I kept my eyes tightly shut as he leaned down, the heat of his breath washing over my skin moments before his bare lips dragged across my thundering pulse. The unfamiliar sensation of his naked mouth on my throat sent a shiver down my spine—the forbidden contact more intimate than anything we'd shared before.

"So fucking tight," he hissed, curling his fingers inside me until they found a spot that made stars explode behind my eyes. My inner walls clenched around him, gripping his fingers as they worked me open. "Your body knows who it belongs to."

A broken cry escaped my throat as his fingers curved inside me, finding that perfect spot that made lightning crack behind my eyelids. He slid down my body in one fluid movement, his fingers still working inside me as his mouth replaced his thumb. My hands instinctively flew to his head, fingers tangling in his thick, shoulder-length waves. The silky black strands wrapped around my knuckles as I gripped tightly, holding onto him like a lifeline through the overwhelming sensation. The moment his tongue lapped over my sex—hot, wet, demanding—everything else disappeared. Nothing existed but his mouth and the pleasure tearing through me. My hips bucked involuntarily, seeking more, as pleasure overwhelmed me, my fingers tightening in his hair with each wave that crashed through me.

The aftershocks still rippled through me when he gradually slowed, his tongue giving one final, long stroke before he pulled away. I kept my eyes tightly shut, heart hammering against my ribs as I felt him move up my body. The bed dipped with his shifting weight. Wet, obscene sounds reached my ears—slick and hungry, followed by a low hum of satisfaction that vibrated through the darkness. My cheeks burned at the realization of what I was hearing—him tasting, savoring me on his fingers. Then came the distinctive snap of elastic as he pulled his mask back into place. His breath fell hot against my face, now filtered through the familiar barrier of his mask.

His weight settled between my thighs, the heat of him pressing against my still-sensitive flesh. One hand cupped my jaw, thumb tracing my lower lip. "Eyes on me, Oakley." The low growl left no room for refusal.

I opened my eyes, finding V standing at the foot of the bed, naked except for his mask. His body was a battlefield—hard muscle carved by conflict, marked with scars that told stories of survival. Despite the mask concealing his face, I felt the raw vulnerability in his stance—offering himself completely to my gaze.

I couldn't help but stare at his cock—thick, heavy, intimidating just like it was when we took a bath together. It jutted proudly upward, the swollen head reaching his navel. My throat went dry at the sight. His hand moved to grip the base, a silent question in his eyes. "Are you afraid?"

"A-A little," I admitted, my voice barely audible. "B-But I want this.” I want you.

Something shifted in his eyes—a softening that made my heart clench. "Won't hurt you."

V stalked toward me. The mattress dipped beneath his weight. He positioned himself between my thighs, the blunt head of his cock nudging against my entrance—hot, insistent. His fingers found mine in the shadows, interlacing for a single heartbeat—acknowledgment without words. Then he let go, hands anchoring my hips exactly where he wanted them.

His eyes met mine—black, fathomless, unyielding. I nodded once.

Something took over his features. His pupils expanded until his eyes were bottomless voids.

One merciless thrust and he buried himself completely. The stretch stole my breath, nerves firing too fast to track. I felt split open, nerve endings sparking along places I'd never dared touch myself. A sound I'd never made before tore from my throat—half-plea, half-surrender.

For years, I'd imagined this moment would never come—that I'd remain untouched, unwanted, perpetually on the outside looking in. Now this man—dangerous, powerful, feared—shuddered above me like I was the only thing in his world that mattered. The reverence in his touch was almost too much to bear.

"W-Wait," I gasped, the sudden fullness overwhelming. "V, it hurts?—!"

But V was beyond hearing. Every muscle in his body trembled, not with restraint but with unleashed savagery. His inexperience manifested as primal hunger; any gentleness evaporated in the heat of his desire. Even through the pain, I knew he didn't know how to hold back. The column of his throat worked as he swallowed hard, his expression caught between rapture and shock. His fingers dug into my hips, anchoring me in place as he began to move.

My name ripped from his throat like a confession, the single word "Oakley" guttural and primal as he drove into me without warning. His calloused fingers seized my jaw, grip tight enough to bruise, forcing me to look at him as he staked his claim on my virgin flesh.

The tendons in his neck stood out like steel cables, his powerful body surging against mine with each thrust. This was V stripped of all pretense—the enforcer who dealt in violence now channeling that same raw power into my willing body. He moved like he couldn't get deep enough, like claiming me was the only way he knew how to breathe.

"V—wait—" The plea shattered in my throat as he bottomed out inside me, the thick head of his cock battering against my cervix.

He was beyond reason now. His body covered mine completely, caging me beneath him as he rutted into me with an animal ferocity that bordered on cruel. Each punishing thrust stretched me wider, the burning friction of his girth splitting me open. I felt the wet heat of my arousal and blood mingling as he conquered territory no man had touched before.

His breathing turned ragged.

Muscles coiled, quivering beneath my palms.

His eyes—usually so controlled—had gone wild, pupils blown wide with a hunger that seemed bottomless. The mask transformed him into something inhuman, a creature of pure instinct rather than a man.

Desperate to slow him, I raked my nails down his scarred back hard enough to draw blood. A mistake. He groaned deep in his throat, the sound more arousal than distress, his rhythm turning even more savage. His hips met mine in bruising collisions, cock driving deeper into my core with each thrust.

"It hurts," I choked out, tears spilling hot down my temples as his merciless thrusts forced the air from my lungs. "V, you're too?—"

His hand shot to my throat, fingers digging into the delicate flesh until spots danced at the edges of my vision. Shame twisted into want so fast I couldn't tell where one ended. I shouldn't have liked this. But I did. With his other hand, he yanked my hips higher, the new angle allowing him to penetrate impossibly deeper. Pinned, spread, and helpless, I felt a twisted surge of arousal at my complete surrender to his possession.

"Who. Do. You. Belong. To." Each word punctuated by a thrust that jolted my entire body, his cock stretching tissue never meant to accommodate such an invasion.

I met his stare with defiance burning through my tears. "Y-You!" I gasped as his grip tightened on my windpipe. The admission felt like salvation, my body yielding what my mind had already given.

His hand released my throat as he seized my waist, flipping me roughly onto my side, his strength manhandling me as easily as a doll. He hooked my leg over his shoulder, kneeling beside me, his weight balanced on one arm as he loomed over my splayed form. The position left me obscenely exposed. Each precise stroke hit that secret place deep inside with unerring accuracy, the ridge of his cockhead dragging against tender flesh. His eyes never left mine—dissecting my expressions, cataloging every gasp, every flinch, every involuntary shudder of pleasure mixing with pain.

A broken sound escaped as agony melted into unbearable pleasure. "I can't—" I gasped, my body spasming uncontrollably around his invasion. "It's too much," I whimpered, even as my hips betrayed me, grinding against him, seeking more of the brutal perfection he delivered with each thrust.

Within me, his cock swelled even thicker, stretching me to my absolute limit. His callused thumb found my clit, slippery with my arousal, and rubbed cruel circles against the oversensitive bundle of nerves. Every sensation sharpened to an unbearable edge—the fullness of him spearing me open, the pressure on my most sensitive spot, the marks his fingers were leaving everywhere he touched. I felt owned, consumed, ruined for anyone else.

"Fucking come for me," he snarled, voice barely recognizable, the command scraping across my nerve endings like sandpaper. His eyes bored into mine, refusing to let me hide or retreat.

"Now. I want to feel this tight little cunt squeeze every drop out of me."

The words ruptured low in my belly. I'd never been talked to like that—never wanted to be. Until now.

The command detonated something primal within me. My release hit like a tidal wave—not cresting gently but slamming violently through me. My body clenched around him, muscles seizing as ecstasy clawed through every nerve ending.

V's response was immediate and fierce. His body convulsed above mine, powerful thighs vibrating against my own as he drove deeper than I thought possible.

His cock swelled impossibly larger within me before the first hot jet of his release painted my innermost walls. Each pulse burned like a brand, liquid heat flooding me as he ground his hips in tight circles.

"Mine," he growled, the word barely human, rasped through clenched teeth. His hands moved to bracket my face, forcing me to maintain eye contact as the aftershocks of pleasure rippled through us both. "Every. Fucking. Inch." Each word punctuated by the residual twitching of his cock inside me, branding me from the inside out.

He lowered himself over me slowly, muscles trembling as he braced on his forearms, his sweat-slicked chest heaving against mine. His cock throbbed inside me, more gentle now but no less present. His head dropped to the crook of my neck, his exhale stuttered across my skin. Even in this moment of vulnerability, his body remained half-coiled, ready to protect or devour.

When he finally withdrew from me, he did so as if time were peeling itself open, his heated gaze transfixed by the sight of our joined bodies separating. I felt the warm evidence of his release between my thighs, the sensation both foreign and intensely intimate. His breathing grew heavier as he watched, pupils dilating at the sight. With careful touch, his hand moved through the slick heat before sliding through the wetness, pressing inside me again in a gesture of ownership.

"Keep it inside you," he murmured, his voice a rough velvet promise against my ear as his fingers curled knowingly within me.

The intensity of the moment gradually mellowed as our breathing slowed. He carefully gathered me in his arms and pulled the rumpled sheets over our cooling bodies. The harsh lines of his face softened in the dim light, the tension he always carried visibly easing. For the first time since I'd known him, V looked almost at peace.

We didn't speak for a while. There was something sacred in the silence, a fragile bubble surrounding us that neither wanted to break. His touch sketched lazy trails across my shoulder, each contact gentler than the last, as if he was learning a new language—one of tenderness rather than violence. I watched his chest rise and fall, the crude O scar moving with each breath.

He pulled me against him, arranging our bodies so we fit together like pieces of a puzzle. The possessiveness in his touch gradually softened as his breathing slowed. For several minutes, we lay in silence, the only sound was our synchronized breathing. Then, so quietly I almost missed it:

"Don't leave me." The words ghosted across my skin, barely audible, as if admitting such a desire might somehow fracture the air between us. His massive body curled around mine, caging me protectively as his lips brushed the nape of my neck. The heat of his breath against my skin felt more exposed than his cock had been inside me, more vulnerable than the physical claiming of my body.

My heart stuttered beneath my ribs. Those three syllables held more truth than in all the violent passion we'd shared. This dangerous man—who I suspected had killed without remorse, who moved through the world like a force of nature—feared my abandonment.

"I don't know how to explain it." He exhaled sharply, pressing his face against my hair. "I don't feel lost when I'm with you."

Those simple words meant more than any elaborate declaration ever could. I nestled deeper into his embrace, understanding completely what he meant. With him, I felt seen. Truly seen, perhaps for the first time.

I reached up, my fingers hovering near the edge of his mask. I didn't try to remove it—I knew better—but the gesture was a question all the same. To my surprise, he took my hand and guided it to the edge, allowing me to feel where it met his skin. Not removing it, but sharing something of himself nonetheless.

"I think I'm already learning," I whispered against his skin, my lips brushing the scarred flesh above his heart.

His fingers trailed lazily down my spine. I wasn't sure if I was still crying. If I was, he didn't pull away. "Learning what?"

I pressed my palm flat against the O above his heart. "How to love you."

I watched as he processed my words, his body going completely still. Then his arms tightened around me, one hand cradling the back of my head as if I were something infinitely precious.

"Oakley," he murmured against my hair, so quiet I barely caught it. Not a command this time. Not a claim. Just... me.

The night settled around us, wrapping us in silence. What more needed to be said? The admission hung in the air between us, delicate yet profound. Exhaustion began to claim me, my eyelids growing heavy as the emotional and physical intensity of the night caught up with me. V pulled the blanket over us, tucking it gently around my shoulders, his actions speaking what words couldn't capture.

As I drifted toward sleep, the edge of his mask brushed my forehead—the closest thing to a kiss he could offer.

Instead of running from his hold, I snuggled into his arms, feeling safe for the first time in years. I didn't know what tomorrow would bring. But tonight, I belonged here. In this impossible peace he built just for me.