Page 45 of Wicked Scorn
“Keep going, bunny. You’re doing so well for me.” I growl, the hunger in my tone almost feral. Her gasps and moans spur me on, and I punish my dick, it’s red and tight and leaking and the only cure is Oakley, but I can’t fucking do that right now. So, I settle for this.
Her movements become more frantic, more desperate. There’s a flush creeping down her neck, spreading over her chest, and I watch with a ravenous fascination as her body responds to my every word, my every command.
“How does it feel to have your small little hands rubbing that wet pussy? Imagine what it would feel like if it were mine. If I spread your lips and dipped my fingers in and out of you, pulling every drop out until your thighs are sticky?”
The water pounds against my back as I watch each hitch in her breath, each flutter of her lashes. I can hear how wet she is, and she’s so lost in the feelings she’s giving herself that she can’t hear it. If she did, I know she would be embarrassed. I want to lick up every drop covering her pretty little cunt. Never even seen it, but I just know without a doubt that it’ll be the prettiest one I’ll ever see.
“Jeremiah, please,” she whimpers, teetering on the brink of ecstasy.
“Stop.”
Her hand stills instantly, and her eyes fly open, wide and disbelieving. A whimper escapes her as she looks at me. Frustration pools in those crystal blue depths.
“Wh-why?” she stammers out, her voice breaking on the single syllable.
“Because I said so,” I reply, my words clipped. The water sluices down my front.
“Jeremiah, that’s cruel…” Oakley begins, but her protest dies on her lips.
“You don’t get to come. Not until I say.”
“But—” I cut her off by reaching out and pulling her hand out of her shorts. I bring her fingers up to my face, inhaling the sweet, musky scent of her pussy makes my eyes narrow. I need a fucking taste and I’m not going to deny myself any longer.
I suck her two digits into my mouth, wrapping my tongue around each one and savoring the way she tastes. I’ll never be able to stop thinking about it, dreaming about it, demanding it. When it’s all said and done, I’m going to have her riding my face every damn night and twice during the day.
Fuck, I can’t wait to see her legs spread obscenely around my shoulders as she rocks her cunt against my face until she drowns me.
“Bed. Now.”
I expect her to snap at me, but she doesn’t. She pulls away from me, pulls her tank top down and turns around and walks her pert little ass right out the door.
“Goodnight, Oakley,” I call out after her, and she gives me the middle finger over her shoulder and all I can do is chuckle.
My fingers worked at my cock, pumping furiously, Oakley’s image seared into my brain. The memory of her taste floods my senses, her fingers soft and sweet, her body warm and pliant and just within reach. My balls tighten, and my cock throbs in my hand. The way she moaned as she rubbedher needy little clit. It was enough to drive even the sanest man mad.
My mind takes me on a fantasy as I slide one hand down her body, dipping my fingers between her legs, and confirming what I already knew to be true. Warm and wet, just for me. Fantasy me thrusts my hips forward in between her soft thighs as I feel her lips caress the top of cock. Her soft little moans filling my ears.
“Jesus, Oakley,” I groan loudly, unable to help myself as I send myself over the edge. My orgasm crashing into me, spilling into my fist as I have to lean against the shower tile. I feel my cum dripping off my hand and dick.
I’m fucking spent, willing my heart to slow down to a normal rhythm. It takes a few moments, but once I can stand steadily, I make quick work of actually washing my body before turning off the shower and stepping out.
Grabbing a towel from the rack, I wipe off my damp skin and run it over my buzzed head before wrapping it around my waist.
Looking into the mirror, I can see my pupils are still wider than normal. I can’t go into my bedroom right now, see her in my bed and not fucking take advantage of the situation. I pull on a pair of basketball shorts, throw on some deodorant, and brush my teeth before using the other door and stepping out into the hallway. Christ, I’m avoiding her like one of us has the plague.
I step out of the bathroom; the door clicking shut behind me. My heart is still pounding from that intense moment with Oakley—her touch, her scent, her everything. I take a deep breath, trying to shove those thoughts into a box far in the back of my mind. Easier said than done.
I head downstairs and as I approach the living room, I canhear Penn and Graham’s voices mixed with the sounds of explosions and gunfire from whatever video game they are playing.
“Come on, come on!” Graham’s voice is urgent, competitive. Typical.
“Don’t choke now, Grammy,” Penn teases, his voice smooth and sing-songy.
I step into the room, taking in the scene. They’re both on the couch, controllers in hand, eyes glued to the screen. The smell of buttery popcorn lingers in the air.
“Hey, J,” Graham says without looking up. “Wanna join or just gonna stand there brooding?”
“Just soaking in your shitty gameplay,” I shoot back, pushing off the frame and walking over. “How many times have you died already?”
