Page 19 of Wicked Scorn
Oakley
The bass reverberates through the floor, the scent of spilled beer and sweat heavy in the air. I stand awkwardly amidst the throng of bodies moving to the rhythm, feeling out of place. My eyes dart around, searching for an escape route, when suddenly, a familiar figure looms into view.
Great. I don’t need to be hassled on top of everything. I thought I was ready to come back out to a party, make it through a few hours of not panicking, and the number one person who can get my heart rate up is heading toward me. I refuse to let anyone see how much I’m bothered right now.
“What the fuck, Oakley?” Jeremiah’s voice cuts through the noise, filled with intensity and something darker. His green eyes narrow, pinning me with a gaze that almost feels like a physical touch. “What are you doing here? After what happened last time?”
“I thought you know everything I do and everywhere I go?” I snap right back at him, trying to keep my cool despite the knot forming in my stomach. I hate the fact that evenwhen I’m trying to be assertive or show that I’m angry, I still sound so small. It doesn’t help that I wasn’t graced with height, so looking up at him is like looking at a giant. “Isn’t that what you told me?” The words come out sharper than intended, laced with ironic amusement. Our eyes lock, his filled with anger and concern, mine with defiance and confusion.
“Don’t push me, bunny. You won’t like how this ends.”
“Why don’t you just leave me alone?” I snap, frustration bubbling over. His presence is suffocating, yet there’s an undeniable magnetic pull between us.
“Not until you give me a damn good reason why you’re here,” he retorts, stepping closer. The heat radiates off him, mingling with the surrounding chaos. His proximity sends a shiver down my spine. It’s fear and...something else.
Unfortunately for me, I think I’ll always have a physical reaction to Jeremiah Blackwood. Even with the anger I feel toward him, my body wants to sway closer to him. I want to seek comfort in his warmth. I want to be wrapped in his hoodie and trapped in his big, dumb football arms. I want to use him as an anchor.
I can’t afford to let him get in my head again. It’s a slippery slope and I’m already on the edge of sliding. I did that once before, trusting him without question, and look where that got me.
“I’m here to prove to myself that I can handle it.” I say, my voice barely above a whisper. “It’s therapy,” I blurt out before I can stop myself and then instantly regret it, but unfortunately for me, I can’t shove the words back into my mouth.
“Therapy,” he repeats, almost mockingly. I can feel his breath on my skin, each word he speaks vibrating in the airbetween us. “Does this therapy of yours involve getting drunk and reckless again?”
“Fuck you, Jeremiah,” I spit out, though my voice wavers. The intensity in his eyes is unbearable, and yet, I can’t look away. “Go away, Jeremiah Blackwood. I don’t need you to save me anymore and I’ve more than proved that to you and anyone else who cares. You’re embarrassing both of us.”
“You want to see embarrassing?” he says, his voice dropping lower, almost a growl. The raw emotion in his words makes my heart skip a beat. “I can make a real spectacle right now and you’ll be the star of the show. You must not remember the way I fucking threw you over my shoulder and carried you out of the last party. Your entire ass was almost on display as you beat your tiny little fists into me. Thanks for the lower back massage, by the way, bunny.”
“Why are you doing this?” I challenge, taking a step closer, our faces inches apart as he bends down to get in my face. The tension is heady, the air thick with unspoken words and unfulfilled desires.
“Because you’re mine to protect,” he whispers, his hand brushing against my arm, sending jolts of electricity through me. The possessiveness in his claim should infuriate me, but instead, it ignites a fire deep within. I know he doesn’t mean it the way it sounds. I know that he feels some kind of duty to protect me because I’m Royce’s baby sister, but the way he says I’m his makes me wish he meant it a different way. On a deeper level. He was all I wanted back then.
I’m a stupid, stupid girl for that.
“You’re free, Jeremiah. I don’t expect anything from you. Let me be,” I manage to say, though my voice betrays me. The line between anger and desire blurs dangerously as we stand there, locked in a battle of wills.
“That’s not happening,” he concedes, leaning in closer. The world around us fades. The only thing that matters is the space between our lips, shrinking by the second. I almost think he’s going to kiss me until he grins at me and says, “If you’re staying, I’m staying. It’s as simple as that. Unless you want me to throw you over my shoulder and carry you out like I did last time? Your choice, but I’ll never say no to getting to be a caveman when it comes to you, Oak.”
“Oh, how gallant of you to give little old me options.” My voice conveys my annoyance, but my body betrays my mind as it leans into his touch as his fingers find the back of my neck. The smell of his cologne mixed with the possessive way he’s holding me, his fingers flexing into my skin is intoxicating.
“Yeah,” he murmurs, his lips ghosting over mine, teasing, taunting, but not touching. The anticipation is maddening, the forbidden feeling of this connection crackling in the air.
“I’m not the same girl you left behind, Jeremiah,” I challenge, my breath hitching as his hands leave my neck and find their way to my waist, pulling me even closer.
His jaw tightens, but he doesn’t back off. Instead, he steps even closer, so close that I can feel the heat radiating from his body. Like a starfish clinging to a rock, he attaches himself to me, his presence a protective barrier against the partygoers who glance our way. Any closer and we might as well crawl into each other’s clothes.
“You’re not staying,” he insists, his gaze darting around the room as if daring anyone to come near me. His rigid posture and brooding demeanor make it clear he’s not going to let this go easily.
“Watch me,” I challenge, crossing my arms defiantly.
“Oakley,” he warns, his voice softer yetfilled with a tension that sends shivers down my spine. “This isn’t a game. Any one of these assholes could slip you something again.”
“You’re insane,” I manage to choke out, my mind reeling from the intensity of his claim. The air around us crackles because for once I’m not following Jeremiah like a little lost puppy.
“Maybe,” he admits, his lips curving into a dark smile. “Everyone in this building will see how insane I really am if something happens to you, bunny. So do them a favor and let me take you back to your dorm.”
“Just forget about me. It’s easy to do,” I snap, trying to regain control as I step back putting some distance between us. But the truth is, his words stir something deep inside me—a mixture of fear and reluctant longing. I hate how he makes me feel, how he breaks down my walls with just a few words.
“Never,” he murmurs, his eyes burning into mine as his fingers move around to the front of my throat, squeezing tentatively as if he’s testing out both of our strengths. Fingertips gently tap on either side of my neck, and I’m caught in his trap. He’s not hurting me, not even trying to, but the fact remains he could. Maybe I want him to, maybe I want what so many others have talked about.
