Page 43 of Wicked Scorn
“Yes,” I breathe, closing my eyes and leaning into his touch. “This is perfect.”
“Good,” he murmurs, his lips brushing my forehead. “I promise I’ll always listen to you. You say stop and we do.”
“Thank you,” I whisper, feeling a weight lift off my shoulders. “I needed to hear that.”
“That’s enough,” Jeremiah says, pulling back. His green eyes lock onto mine with such concern. “We’re done with the lessons for tonight.”
“Wait, what?” My voice comes out sharper than I intended. The abrupt end leaves me suspended in a haze of confusion and relief. “Just like that?”
“Yes, just like that.” He groans, pulling me down on his lap one last time before he lifts me off of him and stands up, towering over me, every inch the imposing figure I’ve known him to be. “I don’t want to push you further than you’re ready to go, and I need to make sure I’m not going to lose control. It would be so easy to take things too far.”
“Jeremiah…” I trail off, unsure whether to feel grateful or frustrated. But before I can sort through my tangled emotions, he’s already moving.
“Go to the bathroom,” he commands softly, but there’s no mistaking the authority in his tone. “Change into the pajamas I got for you.” He tosses me a shorts and tank top set made out of white eyelet and tiny pink bows.
“Seriously?” I raise an eyebrow, trying to mask theflutter of excitement mingling with disappointment. “How very...thoughtful of you. Which pom-pom waving girl helped you order these?”
“Trust me, Oakley,” he smirks, a flicker of amusement dancing in his eyes. “You’ll look perfect in them. And I am quite capable of ordering them on my own, you little smartass.”
I scoff, not even thinking about the flashback I had, but more annoyed that Jeremiah isn’t touching me anymore. There’s an undeniable thrill coursing through me. “You really think you have everything under control, don’t you?”
“Always,” he replies, his gaze never wavering. “Now go.”
“Fine,” I mutter, pushing myself off the bed.
I close the bathroom door behind me, the cool tile against my bare feet grounding me momentarily. “God, he’s infuriating,” I whisper to myself, stripping out of my clothes. The cool air brushes against my skin, sending shivers down my spine. As I slip into the pajamas that Jeremiah apparently deemed mine. The soft material caresses my body, igniting a sense of comfort and vulnerability. I mentally note that red silk lingerie is probably not what Jeremiah would like. He likes me in soft things.
“Ready or not,” I murmur, taking a deep breath before stepping back into his room.
Jeremiah’s eyes are on me the moment I re-enter. For a heartbeat, the world narrows to just us.
“Perfect,” he murmurs, his voice low and velvety. “Absolutely perfect.”
“Flattery will get you nowhere,” I retort, though my heart hammers violently in my chest.
“Who said anything about flattery?” His gaze darkens, and for a moment, I’m lost in the intensity of it. “You look perfect,just like I knew you would.” There’s something in the way he’s looking at me that says he wants to eat me alive right now, but he won’t.
“What’s next?” I ask, my voice barely above a whisper, anticipation and dread threading through my words. “You said no more um…”
He steps closer, his presence overwhelming, magnetic. “Next, you’re going to bed and getting some sleep.”
“I’m not tired?” I blink, thrown by the unexpected gentleness in his tone and the way my statement comes out as a question.
“Yes, you are,” he repeats firmly. “We’ll continue when you’re ready. No rush, remember?” He reaches out, tucking a stray strand of hair behind my ear. “Now, get into bed.”
“Bossy much?” I quip, but there’s no real bite to my words. Just a strange sense of acquiescence, a willingness to follow his lead.
“Yes, when necessary,” he counters, his lips quirking into a half-smile.
“Fine,” I sigh, climbing into his bed. The sheets are cool, the mattress firm yet yielding beneath me. “Goodnight, pretty boy.”
“Goodnight, bunny,” he replies as he tucks me in almost as if I am a child, before turning and I watch him walk toward the bathroom. I can’t help admire how his butt flexes. I never considered myself someone who looked at men’s asses, but he’s got a nice, firm one.
Chapter 16
Jeremiah
The water’s hot enough to scald, but I don’t give a damn. I lean my forehead against the cool tile, water cascading down my back, each drop trying to wash away the burn Oakley’s touch left on my skin. It beats back the urge to storm out of the room and drag Oakley until she’s naked and underneath me, where I know we both want her.
