Page 42 of Wicked Scorn
“Or break their kneecaps,” he corrects, his thumb brushing over my cheekbone.
“Are you unwell? What are you—” I start, but Jeremiah cuts me off.
“I am protecting what’s mine,” he says with an intensity that makes my knees weak. “Because anyone who dares harm what belongs to a Blackwood faces consequences they can’teven imagine.” He pauses, letting the menace linger. “And you have always been Blackwood owned, bunny.”
“What’s yours?” I repeat, my voice barely more than a whisper. The word tastes foreign, thrilling, terrifying.
“Exactly,” he says, his smile almost predatory.
I tremble, my body betraying my confusion and fear. Jeremiah’s eyes narrow, a glint of amusement dancing within them. “You’re shaking,” he notes, his tone shifting to something playfully curious. “But is it fear…or because you want me as much as I want you?”
“Jeremiah,” I begin, but he cuts me off, his voice dropping to a seductive murmur.
“Do you want to start our lessons with something as innocent as kissing?” His question is laced with teasing, a challenge for sure.
“Maybe,” I say, my breath hitching.
“Maybe?” he echoes, leaning in closer, his lips hovering just inches from mine. “Or definitely?”
“Definitely,” I admit, my pulse quickening. The space between us crackles with tension, the anticipation almost unbearable.
“Good,” he whispers, his breath warm against my skin. His lips curl into a smirk, that familiar arrogance seeping through.
A twinge of heat creeps up my neck. Jeremiah takes in an unsteady breath, and I say, “I’m not the only one who’s shaking”
“Yea, because you make me nervous, bunny,” he says roughly. “I know what it’s like to live without you.” Jeremiah’s eyes darken as he steps back, sitting on the edge of the bed. He motions for me to join him, and despite my racing heart, I move toward him. His presence is magnetic, drawing me ineven as every instinct screams that he’s the hunter and he’ll swallow me.
“Come here,” he says softly, patting his lap. I hesitate for a moment before moving closer and straddling him, our bodies close but not yet touching, at least not in a lewd way.
I lean in. Our lips meet tentatively at first, almost in a cautious way. Like wading into the ocean and waiting to see if a shark is going to eat you as soon as you dip your toes even once inch into his domain. His mouth is warm, tasting faintly of mint. My fingers dance across his short hair, and I feel his hands settle on my hips, firm but oddly gentle.
The kiss deepens. I can feel myself growing bolder as our breaths mingle. My desire sparks and I can’t help but feel a little surge of power, my own power and I give voice to it.
“Wrapped around my finger, huh?” I murmur against his lips, my voice laced with teasing. Just the thought of Jeremiah bending to anyone’s will is so funny to me.
“So tight…around your finger,” he teases, gripping my hips harder and pulling me down on his lap until I feel our centers connect. He’s hard and I don’t know what I was expecting, but even through layers of clothes, I’ve decided that Jeremiah Blackwood is entirely too big for me. He’s big everywhere. Not that I have really anything to compare it to. I feel a gasp leave my mouth, unbidden.
I can feel his chuckles, a low, rumbling sound that sends shivers down my spine as they shake me up and down on his lap. “It will fit, bunny.”
Our kisses become more urgent, more demanding. My body presses closer, feeling the solid warmth of him beneath me. His hands slide up my back, pulling me tighter against him, but still maintaining a restraint that I wish wasn’t there.Which is stupid of me because I know I’m not ready for the full scope of his seduction.
“Jeremiah,” I gasp as his lips trail down my neck, leaving a burning path in their wake. His lips barely leave my skin, each whisper of breath sends shivers down my spine. His hands are in my hair, and he pulls roughly. It feelssogood. The bite of pain makes me wet, and my nipples harden. But something else is happening. I feel a sharp stabbing pain in my chest and the urge to vomit.
“S-stop. STOP!” I manage to choke out, my voice a strangled whisper. The rough yank on my hair has sent me spiraling into a dark corner of my mind, one I’ve tried so hard to forget. I can feel the man who grabbed me, ripping my head back, pulling my hair, and shoving me to the ground. My whole body is trembling.
“Bunny?” Jeremiah’s voice is instantly filled with concern, hands freezing in place. “What’s wrong? Talk to me.”
I swallow hard, fighting to steady my breath. This isn’t easy, but it has to be done. “When you pulled my hair… it...he pulled my hair that night. I’m sorry-”
“Stop. Stop apologizing. You did nothing wrong.” Jeremiah’s eyes search mine, confusion giving way to realization. “Are you sure you don’t remember anything else about him, even something you think small or insignificant?” he urges softly, his grip loosening but not letting go, grounding me in the present.
“No. It’s all so blurry,” I admit, my voice barely above a whisper.
“Oakley…” He says my name like it’s a prayer, a promise. Gently, he cups my face, his thumbs brushing away tears I hadn’t realized were falling. “If you remember anything else, I need you to tell me.”
I nod and he moves his hand back to my hair, but this time his touch is tender, fingertips massaging my scalp with gentle, soothing strokes. The tension starts to melt away under his care, replaced by a warmth that spreads through my body.
“Is this okay?” he asks, his voice low and filled with genuine concern.
