Page 54 of Wicked Scorn
“Jeremiah,” I gasp as his fingers tease me once more, the pleasure building rapidly. “It’s happening again.”
“Let it happen, bunny,” he murmurs against my skin, his breath hot and heavy in my ear. “Come all over my fingers, baby.”
And so I do. As the intensity of the moment reaches new heights, I lose myself in the ecstasy, grateful for the man who has shown me that even the most unexpected experiences can be beautiful and breathtaking when shared with someone you trust.
“I can’t take anymore.” I reach down, trying to push his hand away from my pussy, but he’s wrenching my legs open and pinning my hips down so that he can devour me with his lips once more. “Jere- I…oh my…”
“Give. Me. One. More,” Jeremiah demands, his fingers pistoning inside me in tandem with his tongue that is now flicking across my clit once again. I feel like my entire body is short circuiting, but he doesn’t relent until I’m coming all over his mouth again. “Mmm, that’s my good girl,” he praises me once again, making the orgasm tear through my body even harder.
“Oh my God,” I whisper, my whole-body quivering from the waves still moving through me.
“I’m your God, Oakley?” Jeremiah’s voice is light as he moves up on the bed to lie next to me, but there’s a darkness in his eyes that tells me that there’s only one right answer. Jeremiah cups my face, demanding my full attention be on him. “Tell me.”
“I think you always have been, pretty boy,” I say, and Jeremiah doesn’t wait for me to say anything else.
“Good girl,” he murmurs, his lips slick with my arousal, his praise more intoxicating than any drug. I’m spent, every nerve ending singing with overstimulation, my mind a haze of post-orgasmic bliss.
“Are you happy?” I ask, my voice barely there, a whisper against the adrenaline rushing through me. “Did I do good for you?”
“Oakley,” he says, his eyes dark with something akin to reverence, “you did fucking incredible.”
He’s kissing me roughly, his hand moving to rest against my throat. He’s not gripping me hard, but there’s enough pressure there to let me know he’s back to calling the shots. I like this feeling of being at his mercy, having to follow his every direction.
It’s Jeremiah who pulls back when our kisses get too intense. I protest, needing more, trying to press closer to him. I’ve missed him for so long and now that I have him back, I want to savor every moment. I want to remember what every inch of his skin feels like beneath my fingertips.
“We need to stop, or I’m not going to be able to,” Jeremiah’s jaw tics with what can only be annoyance. He wants me as much as I want him, and I’ve never gleaned as much satisfaction from anything else in my entire life. Jeremiah must see the cheeky look on my face because he’s quick to pull the sheet up over top of us and turn me to face away from him. He pulls me back, cuddling me against his chest with his arms locked around me. “I know that look, bunny. I’m not strong enough to stop myself, and I don’t want you to regret anything.”
“Fair enough. I’m exhausted anyway. I guess that’s whathappens when someone goes for a…what do they call it?” I say on a yawn, the orgasms he pulled from me finally taking their toll on me. I smile once my eyes are closed because he’s gripping my hips and groaning as my ass wiggles across his hard dick. “Oh yea, a hat trick. Hockey is such an amazing sport.” I know my pretty boy, and it will be football only for me from now on.
“Don’t make me punish you for that sassy ass mouth,” Jeremiah growls, pressing his hardness against my ass and tightening his arms. “Goodnight, bunny.”
“Goodnight, pretty boy.”
Chapter 20
Jeremiah
The late afternoon sun beats down on the practice field, making the air thick and heavy. Sweat pours down my face as I run another play, muscles straining against the weight of the offensive line crashing into me. My focus should be blocking out everything except the ball sailing through the air into my waiting hands, but that’s not what’s happening.
We’re scrimmaging but my gaze keeps veering off-field. I’m supposed to be focused on the next play, but hell, for a split second, I let myself look over at the bleachers where Oakley sits, legs crossed, and bottom lip caught between her teeth as she watches me intently. The cotton of her navy dress with cute little yellow flowers clings to her body, the soft swell of her tits visible through the delicate fabric. My cock twitches in my compression shorts at the thought of peeling that flimsy material off her, baring her perfect tits to my hungry gaze. After last night, I know that I will never see anything more deserving of the title of perfection than her.
Fuck, she’s so goddamn beautiful. God, she lookslike she stepped out of some old movie—soft waves of golden hair cascading around her face and bright blue eyes. Delicate and damn near angelic. Except I know better. And she’s all mine, whether she fights me about that or not. There’s a lot of baggage to unpack, and I’m just going to keep shoving that shit in the closet.
The shrill sound of Coach’s whistle snaps me back to reality as the defense breaks formation. I shake my head, clearing the hazy lust, and get back into position for the next play. Can’t let my mind wander, not when so much is on the line. I fucking hate losing, and my brothers feel the same way.
“JB! Eyes on the game!” Coach bellows, and I snap back, grunting an acknowledgment but it’s fucking hard to play right now with my dick like steel.
Still, I can’t resist stealing another glance at Oakley. She’s fanning herself with one delicate hand, chest flushed a pretty shade of pink from the sun shining down on her. Christ, she’s going to be the death of me. I adjust the hard bulge in my shorts, trying to ignore the throbbing need building between my legs.
“Fucking focus. Christ, I expect this shit from your brother, but not you!” Coach barks, and I snap my head back toward the field, jaw clenched. Fucking prick. I know he’s talking about Penn, because Penn is always doing something to irritate him.
“I’d let myself be distracted by Betty Crocker over there also,” quips one of the linebackers, smirking as he jogs past. My teeth grind and I step forward to go after him when Graham steps in front of me, shaking his head. I grumble to myself but choose my fucking battles right now.
The rest of practice is a blur of sweat and exertion as I force myself to focus. Every time I look Oakley’s way, she’swatching me with those big eyes, lips slightly parted. She knows exactly what she’s doing to me, the little tease.
By the time the final whistle blows, I’m a wound-up ball of tension, every nerve ending thrumming with arousal and adrenaline. I rip off my helmet and make a beeline for the locker room, needing a cold shower before I do something stupid.
Like grab Oakley and fuck her senseless right there on the bleachers for the whole team to see.
