Page 40 of Wicked Scorn
“Fuck,” I swear, the word slipping out before I can catch it. Her honesty guts me, leaves me reeling.
“Jeremiah, I’ve tried to drown it out, the fear. I mask it all and try to be the fun party girl who people like, but it makes everything worse.” Her admission is barely audible against the cotton of my hoodie, but it cuts through me, sharp and clear.
“Jesus, Oakley.” My frown deepens, concern etched into every line of my face.
“Are you still...have you ever been with anyone?” The question is blunt, raw. I need to know the depth of what I’m dealing with.
“Not before or after. Just that.” She shudders and I feel like I could puke.
“Fuck,” I swear softly, my hand pausing from rubbing along her back. A virgin. My girl. The thought sends another surge of protectiveness through me.
“Jeremiah, I don’t want your pity.” Her voice is a plea that wraps around my heart and squeezes.
“Are you still comfortable around me?” The question hangs heavy between us, even as I fight to keep my tone nonchalant. “Even after everything, even when you’re pissed at me?”
She hesitates, then nods, and it’s like a shot of adrenalinestraight to my heart. “Yes, but it’s infuriating,” she confesses, and I can sense the frustration boiling.
“Good,” I breathe out, a smirk tugging at the corner of my mouth. “Because if you weren’t mad at me, I’d think I wasn’t trying hard enough.”
“Trying to do what?” She sasses back at me, letting her melancholy linger away for now.
“Trying to get under your skin.” My words are deliberate, each one carefully chosen to rattle the bars of the cage she’s trapped herself in. “Trying to be the one you can’t push away.”
“Jeremiah Blackwood, you’re impossible,” she huffs, but there’s a smile teasing at the edges of her lips.
“What if I had a solution? It might not work, but it’s worth a try,” I counter, watching her reaction like a hawk. “You said you feel comfortable with me.”
Oakley nods, but she’s eyeing me suspiciously.
“Listen to me,” I start, my voice low and steady. “I’ve got a proposition for you.”
She looks up, her interest clearly piqued.
“Go to my football games. Let me keep an eye on you from the field.” The words tumble out before she can interrupt, each one deliberately calculated. “In exchange, you get something too. You practice whatever you want on me.” My offer lingers between us. I want this and so does she, and if she needs to do it this way, then we can. She feels stuck, like she’s never going to be able to escape that night. I think a positive experience could help her forget, and I sure as fuck am not going to let her do this with anyone else. I dig my nails into my palms at the thought of someone else touching her. I need to keep my head on right now, so I don’t scare her.
“Jeremiah,” she whispers, and there’s that soft sass, her voice a caress and a slap all at once. “You can’t just offer mesex lessons in exchange for knowing where I am at all times.” I am annoyed and impressed that she saw through my request for her to come to my games. Games are the only time I can’t keep an eye on her.
“But I can,” I interject, a little rougher than I intend. “Because when it comes to you, Oakley Ashford, there isn’t anything I can’t or won’t do.”
There’s a flicker of something in her gaze then.
“Let me be the one who helps you face those fears,” I plead.
“Fine,” she finally murmurs, and the single word is a victory. “But Jeremiah, I’m in charge.”
A grin splits my face, all teeth and predatory satisfaction. “Bunny, I wouldn’t have it any other way.”
“Well, since we are just talking about everything today…” My words trail off as I gauge her reaction. “I’ve already had your stuff moved to the house.”
Her eyes widen, definitely in anger. “You did what?”
“Consider it part of the deal.” My hand slides to her waist, fingers branding her through the fabric of her dress. “Your safety isn’t up for negotiation, Oakley. At the house, I can keep an eye on you, make sure you’re okay. And if I’m not available, one of my brothers is or my cousin.”
“Jeremiah Blackwood, you are infuriatingly presumptuous,” she snaps, but there’s no real bite to her words, just the flush of her cheeks betraying her.
“Maybe so,” I concede, smirking at her flustered state. “But tell me you don’t like the idea of waking up safe, knowing I’m there.”
“Damn you,” she whispers, the fight leaving her as her body subconsciously leans into my touch.
