Page 79 of Wicked Scorn
“Come here,” he commands, his voice coiling around me. I slide off the bike, my legs trembling as I stand before him. He cups my face, his touch both tender and possessive.
“You’re all I think about. All I dream about,” he says, his voice husky.
I want to say something, but my voice falters, overwhelmed by the sheer force of the way it feels like he’s looking into my soul. His eyes lock onto mine, and the world narrows down to just us, standing by the archway of the cemetery.
“Do you have any idea what you do to me?” he asks, his hands roaming down my body, leaving a trail offire in their wake. “How much I crave you? I feel like I’m going insane when I’m away from you for even the shortest periods of time.”
“Show me,” I challenge, my own voice trembling with need. “Show me how much you want me.”
His hands are everywhere, exploring, claiming. He lifts me effortlessly, pressing me against the cool steel bars on one side.
“C’mon, baby. Time to go do something scandalous,” he demands, his voice rough with urgency as he unlocks my seat and grabs his gun before tucking it into his pants and dragging me through the gates.
Chapter 30
Jeremiah
The scent of wet earth and decay fills my nostrils as we walk through the cemetery.
Oakley’s hand is warm in mine, her fingers laced tight with my own. I glance down at her, taking in the flush of her cheeks.
We weave through the tombstones until I find one sturdy enough to support us both. My thigh protests with every step, but I ignore it, more focused on the pulse quickening beneath Oakley’s pale skin. I guide her to sit on the cold stone, my hand firm on her shoulder, possessive. She flinches but doesn’t resist.
“Cover your mouth,” I order, leaning close. Her crystal blue eyes widen, catching the moonlight.
“Jeremiah, why—” she starts, but I cut her off.
“Don’t argue. Do it.” My voice is low, commanding. It sends a shiver down her spine that I can practically feel.
The marble angels are now the specters to what I’m going to do to little Oakley Ashford here in this old graveyard.
“Cover your mouth, bunny,” I whisper harshly, my breathhot on her neck. “We can’t have you screaming out here and waking the dead.”
She hesitates for a heartbeat before raising her hand to her lips, her delicate fingers trembling slightly. Satisfaction unfurls in my chest at her obedience. I can see the rapid rise and fall of her chest; hear the shallow breaths she’s trying to control. It’s intoxicating.
“Good girl,” I murmur, my own breath hot against her ear.
Her eyes lock onto mine, filled with trepidation and something that mirrors my own obsession. My hand moves to her jaw, thumb brushing over her soft skin, feeling the rapid beat of her pulse beneath.
But it’s a lie. A tease. I want her noises raw and untamed, a symphony for the dead and the living hidden in the dark. I grab her wrist, pull her hand away, and press my body harder against hers. “Actually, forget it. Let them all hear. Let them know who you belong to.”
“Jeremiah…” she breathes, a tremor in her voice that tells me she’s riding the same precarious edge I am.
“Say it louder, Oakley,” I growl, each word laced with possessiveness—the kind that speaks of something primal and inviolable. “I want the ghosts to envy me.”
Cupping her face, I tilt it up so I can gaze into eyes as blue as the sky on a clear summer day. “Who do you belong to, Oakley?” My thumb traces the fullness of her lower lip, teasing and promising. “Tell me, and I’ll give you exactly what you need.”
A faint whimper sounds from behind her hand. I can see the struggle in her expression, the way she wars between proprietary and the aching need coursing through her veins. Just as I’m about to repeat my demand, she gives me what I want, what I crave.
“You,” she breathes, eyes shining with emotion. “I belong to you, Jeremiah.”
Triumph surges through me at her admission. I crush my mouth to hers in a searing kiss, all teeth and tongue as I claim what is mine. Oakley melts against me with a soft moan, her fingers tangling in my hair to keep me close.
We’re both panting when the kiss breaks, our breaths mingling in the space between us. I trail my lips along her jaw and down the pale column of her throat, nipping and sucking hard enough to leave marks.
My hands roam freely over her body, greedy and possessive, mapping every dip and swell through the thin fabric of her skirt. She arches into my touch, silently begging for more, and I’m all too happy to oblige.
My hands grip her hips and tug, settling her on the edge of the gravestone. Her skirt rides up further to pool around her waist, baring her to my hungry gaze. I lick my lips as I take in the sight of her, beautiful and wanting and all for me. She’s wearing a scrap of pale blue lace that could barely be considered underwear and the sight of it has my mouth going dry.
