Page 41 of Wicked Scorn
“Every night if you want,” I murmur against her ear, lipsgrazing her skin, the words a sinful caress. “But only if you say yes.”
Oakley’s response is a shudder that ripples through both of us.
“Fine,” she breathes out, defeat laced with anticipation. “But, Jeremiah, this is my game now.”
“Oh, love,” I assure her, a dark promise dripping from every syllable. “I don’t play any game I don’t intend to dominate.”
Chapter 15
Oakley
The roar of the crowd is almost too much. I stand at the edge of the bleachers, gripping the cold metal railing so tightly my knuckles turn white. Jeremiah’s on the field, all six-three of him towering above the other players. His green eyes are sharp, his movements calculated and predatory. The familiarity of it all hits me like a wave—his presence, the game, the rush of nostalgia.
“Go Spartans!” someone yells behind me, but my focus is solely on Jeremiah. Memories flood back: the motorcycle rides, the secret smiles, the way his laughter used to echo in my very soul. Back then, it felt simple. Effortless. Us against the world.
He moves with the grace of a panther, every muscle in his body coiled, ready to strike. Watching him, I feel an odd sensation of longing and bittersweet joy. It’s almost painful. He tackles an opponent, bringing him down with a force that makes me wince. The crowd goes wild. It is hard to see him and not remember everything.
The game wraps up, and my heart races because I knowwhat comes next. There’s no turning back now. The anticipation and nervousness about the upcoming “sex lessons” gnaw at me, a constant undercurrent to my thoughts. I remind myself why I’m doing this—learning, reclaiming, healing. But doubts creep in, whispering insidious questions. Is this really the way? Letting Jeremiah back into my life will land me spiraling worse than I already have been.
My cheeks flush as Jeremiah glances in my direction, his gaze locking onto mine. A smirk tugs at the corner of his lips, and at this moment, it feels like old times. Just us, no complications.
As the players start heading off the field, I catch one last glimpse of Jeremiah. He disappears into the locker room, and I feel the knot in my stomach tighten. It’s not just nerves; it’s something deeper. Anticipation laced with fear. Desire mixed with uncertainty.
“Just breathe,” I whisper to myself. “You can do this.” I walk slowly as I make my way toward the hallway where the locker rooms are located. He told me to meet him there after the game.
I’m barely down the hallway and he emerges from the locker room, still damp from his shower. His eyes lock onto mine, and for a moment, I’m caught in those piercing green depths.
“You ready to go, bunny?” he asks, his voice smooth, almost too smooth. He can see my mind is spinning and I hate that he’s so hyper-aware of my moods, and all I can do is nod. Following him out to the parking lot.
The drive to his house is tense but short. I’m not sure why he has the Escalade instead of his bike and honestly, I can’t find my voice to ask. The interior smells of leather and Jeremiah’s aftershave, a scent that stirs memories I thought I’dburied. We don’t speak. The silence is thick, and I can’t help but wonder why he’s not talking as well.
Jeremiah is silent as he leads me into the house, not uttering a word, but he reaches out to hold my hand. My stomach somersaults at the gesture. If I’m melting at something as small as his hand enveloping mine, I’m going to be a freaking mess if I go through with these lessons.
Once inside his room, I take a deep breath. “Jeremiah, I don’t know if I can do this. It’s easy for you. You’ve got groupies falling down at your feet and it all just comes effortlessly to you,” I declare, my voice steady despite the trembling in my hands.
He looks at me, something unreadable flickering in his eyes. “Oakley, you have no idea how much I’ve thought about this—about you.” He steps closer. The tension between us almost feels like a living, breathing thing. “During our lessons, I won’t be touching anyone else but you. No need for jersey chasers when I’ve got the sweetest girl in my bed, every damn night.”
“I don’t know if I believe that.” I say, skepticism lacing my tone.
“Why the fuck would I lie about it?” he says, his voice firm. He reaches out, his hand hovering near my face but not quite touching. “You set the boundaries. You call the shots. You want to feel safe and learn. I can provide you with that, Oakley.”
“Safe,” I murmur, the word tasting foreign on my tongue. Safe with Jeremiah? Is that even possible?
“Yes, safe,” he insists, his eyes never leaving mine. “Because I know I’ve fucking hurt you before, but you and I both know I wouldn’t lay a fucking hand on you in pain. Well,unless you keep fucking defying me and then maybe I’ll spank your damn ass until you finally listen.”
I challenge, stepping closer until we’re nearly chest to chest. “I’m not the same girl that fawned all over you and if you said jump, I’d say how high.”
“Oh, bunny,” he says, his voice low, almost a growl. “You’ve always had me wrapped around your pretty little finger. It was me that was jumping for you.”
Jeremiah steps closer, his presence overwhelming. His hands cup my face, the touch both tender and commanding.
“Oakley,” he murmurs, his voice a low growl that sends shivers down my spine. “It’s just you and me. Other women do not exist to me, and I’ve already made sure you’re untouchable on campus.”
“Untouchable?” I echo, confusion threading through my words.
“Yes,” he replies, and there’s a dangerous glint in his green eyes. “No one will dare lay a finger on you. Unless they want the wrath of me and my brothers reigning down on them, they won’t even glance in your direction.”
The weight of his words hangs heavy in the air, a promise and a threat all at once. My heart races, pounding against my ribcage. “You threatened to beat people up if they talked to me?”
