15. Oakley

Chapter 15

Oakley

T he roar of the crowd is almost too much. I stand at the edge of the bleachers, gripping the cold metal railing so tightly my knuckles turn white. Jeremiah's on the field, all six-three of him towering above the other players. His green eyes are sharp, his movements calculated and predatory. The familiarity of it all hits me like a wave—his presence, the game, the rush of nostalgia.

"Go Spartans!" someone yells behind me, but my focus is solely on Jeremiah. Memories flood back: the motorcycle rides, the secret smiles, the way his laughter used to echo in my very soul. Back then, it felt simple. Effortless. Us against the world.

He moves with the grace of a panther, every muscle in his body coiled, ready to strike. Watching him, I feel an odd sensation of longing and bittersweet joy. It's almost painful. He tackles an opponent, bringing him down with a force that makes me wince. The crowd goes wild. It is hard to see him and not remember everything.

The game wraps up, and my heart races because I know what comes next. There's no turning back now. The anticipation and nervousness about the upcoming "sex lessons" gnaw at me, a constant undercurrent to my thoughts. I remind myself why I'm doing this—learning, reclaiming, healing. But doubts creep in, whispering insidious questions. Is this really the way? Letting Jeremiah back into my life will land me spiraling worse than I already have been.

My cheeks flush as Jeremiah glances in my direction, his gaze locking onto mine. A smirk tugs at the corner of his lips, and at this moment, it feels like old times. Just us, no complications.

As the players start heading off the field, I catch one last glimpse of Jeremiah. He disappears into the locker room, and I feel the knot in my stomach tighten. It's not just nerves; it's something deeper. Anticipation laced with fear. Desire mixed with uncertainty.

"Just breathe," I whisper to myself. "You can do this." I walk slowly as I make my way toward the hallway where the locker rooms are located. He told me to meet him there after the game.

I'm barely down the hallway and he emerges from the locker room, still damp from his shower. His eyes lock onto mine, and for a moment, I'm caught in those piercing green depths.

"You ready to go, bunny?" he asks, his voice smooth, almost too smooth. He can see my mind is spinning and I hate that he's so hyper-aware of my moods, and all I can do is nod. Following him out to the parking lot.

The drive to his house is tense but short. I'm not sure why he has the Escalade instead of his bike and honestly, I can't find my voice to ask. The interior smells of leather and Jeremiah's aftershave, a scent that stirs memories I thought I'd buried. We don't speak. The silence is thick, and I can't help but wonder why he's not talking as well.

Jeremiah is silent as he leads me into the house, not uttering a word, but he reaches out to hold my hand. My stomach somersaults at the gesture. If I'm melting at something as small as his hand enveloping mine, I'm going to be a freaking mess if I go through with these lessons.

Once inside his room, I take a deep breath. "Jeremiah, I don't know if I can do this. It's easy for you. You've got groupies falling down at your feet and it all just comes effortlessly to you," I declare, my voice steady despite the trembling in my hands.

He looks at me, something unreadable flickering in his eyes. "Oakley, you have no idea how much I've thought about this—about you." He steps closer. The tension between us almost feels like a living, breathing thing. "During our lessons, I won't be touching anyone else but you. No need for jersey chasers when I've got the sweetest girl in my bed, every damn night."

"I don't know if I believe that." I say, skepticism lacing my tone.

"Why the fuck would I lie about it?" he says, his voice firm. He reaches out, his hand hovering near my face but not quite touching. "You set the boundaries. You call the shots. You want to feel safe and learn. I can provide you with that, Oakley."

"Safe," I murmur, the word tasting foreign on my tongue. Safe with Jeremiah? Is that even possible?

"Yes, safe," he insists, his eyes never leaving mine. "Because I know I've fucking hurt you before, but you and I both know I wouldn't lay a fucking hand on you in pain. Well, unless you keep fucking defying me and then maybe I'll spank your damn ass until you finally listen."

I challenge, stepping closer until we're nearly chest to chest. "I'm not the same girl that fawned all over you and if you said jump, I'd say how high."

"Oh, bunny," he says, his voice low, almost a growl. "You've always had me wrapped around your pretty little finger. It was me that was jumping for you."

Jeremiah steps closer, his presence overwhelming. His hands cup my face, the touch both tender and commanding.

"Oakley," he murmurs, his voice a low growl that sends shivers down my spine. "It's just you and me. Other women do not exist to me, and I've already made sure you're untouchable on campus."

"Untouchable?" I echo, confusion threading through my words.

"Yes," he replies, and there's a dangerous glint in his green eyes. "No one will dare lay a finger on you. Unless they want the wrath of me and my brothers reigning down on them, they won't even glance in your direction."

The weight of his words hangs heavy in the air, a promise and a threat all at once. My heart races, pounding against my ribcage. "You threatened to beat people up if they talked to me?"

"Or break their kneecaps," he corrects, his thumb brushing over my cheekbone.

"Are you unwell? What are you—" I start, but Jeremiah cuts me off.

"I am protecting what's mine," he says with an intensity that makes my knees weak. "Because anyone who dares harm what belongs to a Blackwood faces consequences they can't even imagine." He pauses, letting the menace linger. "And you have always been Blackwood owned, bunny."

"What's yours?" I repeat, my voice barely more than a whisper. The word tastes foreign, thrilling, terrifying.

"Exactly," he says, his smile almost predatory.

I tremble, my body betraying my confusion and fear. Jeremiah's eyes narrow, a glint of amusement dancing within them. "You're shaking," he notes, his tone shifting to something playfully curious. "But is it fear…or because you want me as much as I want you?"

"Jeremiah," I begin, but he cuts me off, his voice dropping to a seductive murmur.

"Do you want to start our lessons with something as innocent as kissing?" His question is laced with teasing, a challenge for sure.

"Maybe," I say, my breath hitching.

"Maybe?" he echoes, leaning in closer, his lips hovering just inches from mine. "Or definitely?"

"Definitely," I admit, my pulse quickening. The space between us crackles with tension, the anticipation almost unbearable.

"Good," he whispers, his breath warm against my skin. His lips curl into a smirk, that familiar arrogance seeping through.

A twinge of heat creeps up my neck. Jeremiah takes in an unsteady breath, and I say, "I'm not the only one who's shaking"

"Yea, because you make me nervous, bunny," he says roughly. "I know what it's like to live without you." Jeremiah's eyes darken as he steps back, sitting on the edge of the bed. He motions for me to join him, and despite my racing heart, I move toward him. His presence is magnetic, drawing me in even as every instinct screams that he's the hunter and he'll swallow me.

"Come here," he says softly, patting his lap. I hesitate for a moment before moving closer and straddling him, our bodies close but not yet touching, at least not in a lewd way.

I lean in. Our lips meet tentatively at first, almost in a cautious way. Like wading into the ocean and waiting to see if a shark is going to eat you as soon as you dip your toes even once inch into his domain. His mouth is warm, tasting faintly of mint. My fingers dance across his short hair, and I feel his hands settle on my hips, firm but oddly gentle.

The kiss deepens. I can feel myself growing bolder as our breaths mingle. My desire sparks and I can't help but feel a little surge of power, my own power and I give voice to it.

"Wrapped around my finger, huh?" I murmur against his lips, my voice laced with teasing. Just the thought of Jeremiah bending to anyone's will is so funny to me.

"So tight…around your finger," he teases, gripping my hips harder and pulling me down on his lap until I feel our centers connect. He's hard and I don't know what I was expecting, but even through layers of clothes, I've decided that Jeremiah Blackwood is entirely too big for me. He's big everywhere. Not that I have really anything to compare it to. I feel a gasp leave my mouth, unbidden.

I can feel his chuckles, a low, rumbling sound that sends shivers down my spine as they shake me up and down on his lap. "It will fit, bunny."

Our kisses become more urgent, more demanding. My body presses closer, feeling the solid warmth of him beneath me. His hands slide up my back, pulling me tighter against him, but still maintaining a restraint that I wish wasn't there. Which is stupid of me because I know I'm not ready for the full scope of his seduction.

"Jeremiah," I gasp as his lips trail down my neck, leaving a burning path in their wake. His lips barely leave my skin, each whisper of breath sends shivers down my spine. His hands are in my hair, and he pulls roughly. It feels so good. The bite of pain makes me wet, and my nipples harden. But something else is happening. I feel a sharp stabbing pain in my chest and the urge to vomit.

"S-stop. STOP!" I manage to choke out, my voice a strangled whisper. The rough yank on my hair has sent me spiraling into a dark corner of my mind, one I've tried so hard to forget. I can feel the man who grabbed me, ripping my head back, pulling my hair, and shoving me to the ground. My whole body is trembling.

"Bunny?" Jeremiah's voice is instantly filled with concern, hands freezing in place. "What's wrong? Talk to me."

I swallow hard, fighting to steady my breath. This isn't easy, but it has to be done. "When you pulled my hair… it...he pulled my hair that night. I'm sorry-"

"Stop. Stop apologizing. You did nothing wrong." Jeremiah's eyes search mine, confusion giving way to realization. "Are you sure you don't remember anything else about him, even something you think small or insignificant?" he urges softly, his grip loosening but not letting go, grounding me in the present.

"No. It's all so blurry," I admit, my voice barely above a whisper.

"Oakley…" He says my name like it's a prayer, a promise. Gently, he cups my face, his thumbs brushing away tears I hadn't realized were falling. "If you remember anything else, I need you to tell me. "

I nod and he moves his hand back to my hair, but this time his touch is tender, fingertips massaging my scalp with gentle, soothing strokes. The tension starts to melt away under his care, replaced by a warmth that spreads through my body.

"Is this okay?" he asks, his voice low and filled with genuine concern.

"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 the flutter 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.