Page 12 of Wicked Scorn
“Yes,” I lie, my heart aching with the weight of the unspoken words between us. “It’s exactly what I want.” I sit back on the bed, pulling at the sheets as if they were some sort of security blanket. They smell like him, and I don’t know if I want to sigh or cringe. I hate feeling this way.
Chapter 4
Jeremiah
The moment hangs heavy in the air, like a suffocating weight pressing down on both of us. Oakley’s bright eyes meet mine in an unforgiving stare, her golden blonde hair framing her face, and my fingers itch to reach out and move the strands that are trying to hide her from me.
She looks fucking beautiful as she sits tangled in the sheets of my bed. All soft curves and pale skin, begging to be touched, to be marked, to be made mine.
“No, I don’t think it is what you actually want. You’re irritating me by avoiding the damn question. What the hell were you doing at that party, Oakley?” The question rips from my lips, jagged and raw. The anger pulsing inside me isn’t just about her being there; it’s about the two years that have stretched between us, vast and silent.
She doesn’t flinch under my glare. “I go to school here now, Jeremiah. It’s not a crime to attend a party.”
“Cut the bullshit,” I snap, the frustration boiling over.
“Since when do you care what I do?” There’s a challenging lift to her chin, that same stubborn tilt I remember too well.She would use it against me and her brother all the damn time.
“Since always, bunny and if you think we can justforgeteverything then you’re delulu.” The nickname slips out, laced with a possessiveness I’ve no right to feel. It also makes me smirk when I see the annoyance wash over her face when she hears it. But damn it, she’s always been mine, even if she’s never really been mine at all.
“Stop calling me that,” she hisses, but there’s a hitch in her voice. She’s as affected by this as I am.
“Answer the question, Oakley. Why now? Why here?”
“Maybe I missed your charming personality,” she retorts, the snark dripping from each word like honey, thick and sweet.
“Is that so?” My laugh is humorless, edged with the bitterness of our shared history. “Last time I checked, which was mmm five seconds ago, you couldn’t stand the sight of me.”
“Things change.” She shrugs, but there’s something in her gaze, a flicker of something deeper, darker, that makes my chest tighten.
“Change,” I echo, feeling the weight of the word between us. It’s loaded, full of unspoken truths and the ghost of whatever may have been between us years ago.
“Everything about you pulls me in, Oakley. It’s always been like that. Even when I know it’s fucking madness.” The words spill out, reckless and raw. This girl, this infuriatingly beautiful fucking girl, has me tied up in knots, her name etched into my bones.
“Stop it, Jeremiah. Just...stop.” Her breath catches, betraying the cool exterior she’s trying to maintain.
“Can’t do that, sweetheart. You walk into a room, and it’slike everything else fades away. It’s always been you.” I’m standing now, the space between us just fucking electric.
“Jeremiah…” Her voice is a warning, but her body betrays her, leaning toward the heat radiating off of mine.
“Tell me to stop, Oakley. Tell me, and I finally will.” It’s a lie, and we both know it. I can’t stay away from her any more than I can stop breathing.
But she doesn’t say it. She doesn’t say anything at all. And that silence is all the permission I need. I don’t care how much I have to chase this girl. She’s going to be mine. One way or another. I’ll use every underhanded trick I can.
“It’s none of your damn business why I was there,” she snaps, her voice low but sharp enough to cut as she gets up from the bed. “You’re not my father, Jeremiah.”
“Clearly,” I retort, “not your brother either but since you’re here someone’s gotta fucking look out for you.”
“Fuck you,” she hisses, her cheeks flushing with anger. Before I can react, Oakley rips off my hoodie, exposing her delicate skin. The sight sends a jolt straight to my groin, and I have to bite back a groan as she pushes past me to grab her dress folded up on the armoire and hurriedly pulls it on.
“Oakley,” I say, my voice rougher than I intend, “you can’t just walk away from me. You’re going to tell me what I need to know.”
“Watch me,” she tosses back, a challenge in every syllable.
My hand shoots out, grasping her arm tightly. Her skin is warm under my fingers, but she flinches as if my touch burns her.
“Don’t touch me without permission!” she snaps, her voice filled with anger and something more fragile.
I release her immediately, my own frustration boilingover. “Oakley, this conversation isn’t over,” I say, my tone hardening. “You think you can just leave me?”
