Page 78 of Wicked Scorn
“Someone might see,” I manage to stammer, though my protest sounds weak even to my own ears.
“Let them,” he replies, a wicked grin curling his lips. “I want everyone to know how wet you are for me.”
His words send a shockwave through me, and I can feel the heat pooling between my thighs, undeniable and overwhelming. He doesn’t mean them, but I know he said them because he knew it would push me toward the edge. He bends me over the bike, the cold metal pressing against my stomach, contrasting with the feeling of his warm hands on my skin.
“God, baby,” he murmurs, his voice dripping with desire. “You’re so perfect like this.”
My breath hitches as his fingers find their way under the lace of my panties again, exploring with a slowness that drives me wild. Every touch sets me up, every stroke pushing me closer.
I moan, unable to hold back. “Please.”
“Patience,” he whispers, his lips brushing against my ear. “I want to savor this.”
His fingers delve deeper, and I grip the pegs of the bike, knuckles white. It feels like I might combust. He pulls back just as I’m about to come, it’s like he knows my body better than I even do.
“Come for me.”
My body arches into his touch, trying to get closer to him, but also wanting to run away from his assault to my senses.
Right now, nothing else exists. Just Jeremiah and me, locked in a bubble with one another that no one else could penetrate.
“That’s my good girl,” he murmurs, his voice filled with satisfaction. “So good for me, baby.”
My breath comes out in shallow gasps as his fingers explore.
“Does that feel good, bunny?” he murmurs without hesitation. His green eyes lock onto mine, unwavering, filled with a determination that sends shivers down my spine. “I’m selfish when it comes to you. I want to hear you say it.”
“Oh my G-god,” is all I can get out. My legs feel like they’re going to buckle under me, but Jeremiah holds me, keeping me steady.
“That’s right,” he replies, and I just know by his tone thathe’s got that mischievous smirk on his face. He quickens his pace with his fingers pistoning in and out of my body.
“I’m going to come,” I whisper, pleasure flooding through me. But before I can tumble off the cliff, he pulls his fingers out, bringing them to his lips and depriving me of the orgasm I was soaring toward. His gaze never leaves mine as he sensually licks them clean, every movement deliberate, calculated. He lets out a low hum of approval, letting me know that he very much enjoys the way I taste.
“I’m insatiable for you,” he says, his voice dripping with satisfaction. The way he looks at me, as if I’m his most prized possession. “I’m not ready to let you come yet. I think I want to play a little longer.”
I open my mouth, ready to whine that he’s denying me what I so desperately want from him, but he holds a finger up to cut me off.
“Get on the bike,” he commands, his tone leaving no room for argument. I don’t know what’s gotten into Jeremiah, but I can’t say I dislike it. He’s demanding, like a man obsessed. I comply, straddling the seat while still trying to process the whirlwind of sensations he’s stirred up.
“Where are we going?” I ask, my voice trembling slightly, though whether from excitement or apprehension, I can’t tell.
“Wherever the fuck I want,” he says, a small smile playing on his lips as he puts my helmet on for me before tugging on his own.
“I’d follow you anywhere,” I manage to say, the words feeling inadequate to describe how I’m feeling right now. My body is humming, and it’s only partly because of the pleasure that was coursing through me. He mounts the bike, reaching for my hands and guiding me to hold on to him. I could tease him right now by not slipping them into his shirt, but I feellike I’ve pushed the limits enough with him lately and I really don’t want everyone to see me having sex in the parking lot.
We leave campus and if I was with anyone else, I would be worried about where we were going. I don’t have that same compunction when it comes to him. He’s not dragging me to any freaking alley ways.
It’s only when we round the bend that leads to the founding families cemetery of Whispering Ridge that I pause.
“Are we…?” I start to ask, but Jeremiah’s hand grabs mine, pulling it up to rest over his heart.
“Yes,” he whispers in my ear, his breath hot against my skin.
My pulse quickens at the thought. The bike roars beneath us, but all I can think about is what happens next.
“I hope you know how much you mean to me, bunny. Because I’m about to fuck you so hard you might forget,” Jeremiah says, his voice a promise of what’s to come.
We pull into the cemetery, the bike’s headlights casting shadows on the tombstones. Jeremiah kills the engine, and the sudden silence is deafening. He dismounts first, then turns to me, eyes blazing in a way that steals my breath away.
