16. Jeremiah

Chapter 16

Jeremiah

T he water's hot enough to scald, but I don't give a damn. I lean my forehead against the cool tile, water cascading down my back, each drop trying to wash away the burn Oakley's touch left on my skin. It beats back the urge to storm out of the room and drag Oakley until she's naked and underneath me, where I know we both want her.

I've taken more showers since she appeared at that fucking party than ever before. I'm surprised my skin isn't chaffed. Jesus, I took one not even two hours ago after practice.

"I need to have some damn self-control," I mutter to myself, gripping the shower handle like it might anchor me in this steam-filled haze. My expensive shower gel—-some woodsy, musky scent that clings to skin, does nothing to clear my head. Just reminds me of her, how she smells mixed with me. Now, I'm picturing how she'd look with droplets slipping over those curves I'm trying so damn hard not to think about.

I close my eyes, letting the shower's roar drown out everything else. My hand moves almost unconsciously, seeking relief and as I touch my cock, I know it'll pale in comparison to what it would feel like to sink inside her. I'm stroking myself, damn near torturing myself until I'm half-way to forgetting her for the night when the faintest creak of the door gets my attention.

My heart kicks up a notch, and I freeze. No one else should be creeping in here. My head tilts, ears straining, as the sound of soft footsteps creeps over the tile. The smirk that spreads across my face is enough to cause just a bite of pain as it splits my face. It's her. I know even before I see the silhouette through the frosted glass. None of my brothers are coming into my bathroom, and if they were, it wouldn't be this quietly.

"Couldn't stay away, bunny?" My voice cuts through the steam, sarcastic but laced with that damn desire I can't shake. I can almost feel her hesitation, the tension between us thick enough to choke on.

"Not really…" Her whisper floats to me, tentative but determined. It hangs in the air, a challenge and an invitation all wrapped into one.

"Enjoying the show?" I ask, though I don't stop what I'm doing. I can't stop, not now that she's here, watching. It gives me a thrill, urging me on to finish chasing my release.

"Yes," she breathes out, and I can hear the smile in her voice—the wicked curve of her lips that promises sin and salvation all at once. I know I should send her away, but hell if I don't want her right where she is.

I stare at her as I keep stroking myself. My body turned into her view and her eyes are locked in on the movement. Her chest is flushed in her frilly little tank top and heaves as she watches.

Her nipples pebble and it would be so fucking easy to pull the clear glass door open and tug her to me. I could sit down on the shower bench, and it would be the perfect height for me to latch on and lave each peak through the silk camisole.

I give myself one more tug before I let my dick go and we both watch as it bounces back up against my stomach.

"I think you saw enough, yea?" I ask, swallowing down the urge to mark her right now.

"Maybe you missed something. I could check. Just in case," she teases back, but there's an edge to her words, like she's not really sure what she's saying or doing. My girl is trying to run without learning how to walk first. It's cute.

"Like hell I did. You've seen everything there is to see tonight." The words scrape out rougher than I intend. My chest tightens as our eyes lock, and I can feel the weight of her gaze on my wet skin. It burns hotter than the water ever could.

"Everything?" There's that sass, the one that gets under my skin and wraps around me like ivy.

"Play your games with someone else, bunny. I'm not in the mood, I know damn good and well I told you to get some rest and from where I'm standing, you're trying to jump headfirst into waters you can't yet swim in."

"Could've fooled me," she murmurs, and shit, she's right. My body betrays me, responding to her proximity without my damn permission.

"Oakley," I warn, the name feeling like a plea and a reprimand all at once. "Don't start something you can't finish."

"Who says I can't finish it?" she grumbles.

"Me. I'm saying it. Now get out before—" I cut myself off, because what? Before I lose control? Before I do something we'll both regret?

"Before what, Jeremiah? Before you show me just how much you want me? I've got a pretty good idea." Her voice is soft and yet seductive, wrapping around me, pulling me taut.

"I don't think I need to show you any more ways to prove to you how much I want you. The evidence is goddamn clear."

My hand moves of its own accord, slow, deliberate strokes that match the throb of my pulse. I pull the shower door open so there's nothing between us.

"Since you're here begging, why don't you give me a proper show? It's the very least you could do and baby I now know you love to perform." The command rolls off my tongue, smooth and heavy with implication.

For a second, she doesn't move, and I wonder if she'll balk. But then her hands, trembling slightly, reach for the hem of her top. She pulls it up, inch by agonizing inch, revealing skin that glows like moonlight. Her compliance is silent, but it speaks volumes, echoing in the small space between us.

"Higher, bunny," I urge, my voice rough with lust as my hand matches the rhythm of my heart—fast, unyielding. She obliges, fabric bunching above her ribs, and the sight of her, so willing, so utterly mine in this moment, tightens something deep inside me.

I can see the soft under swell of her chest and my eyes lift to meet hers, burning my gaze into her skin. I don't even have to give another command. She knows what to do. What I want from her, as she pulls it up further until her pretty little cherry-tipped breasts are a feast for my eyes.

Steam curls around me, and her compliance is a heady drug, one that sends a bolt of desire straight to my core. "You're such a good girl," I say, and my voice is like dark chocolate—rich, smooth, and wicked.

I don't even guide her with words. It's like my mind is playing directly into hers as one hand travels down into the little shorts, and I know as soon as her fingers hit nirvana.

"Fuck…" Her voice is a whisper, strained with need, but all I can offer her is a cruel chuckle. Her saying that word will never fail to make me laugh and make me hard.

"Keep going, bunny. You're doing so well for me." I growl, the hunger in my tone almost feral. Her gasps and moans spur me on, and I punish my dick, it's red and tight and leaking and the only cure is Oakley, but I can't fucking do that right now. So, I settle for this.

Her movements become more frantic, more desperate. There's a flush creeping down her neck, spreading over her chest, and I watch with a ravenous fascination as her body responds to my every word, my every command.

"How does it feel to have your small little hands rubbing that wet pussy? Imagine what it would feel like if it were mine. If I spread your lips and dipped my fingers in and out of you, pulling every drop out until your thighs are sticky?"

The water pounds against my back as I watch each hitch in her breath, each flutter of her lashes. I can hear how wet she is, and she's so lost in the feelings she's giving herself that she can't hear it. If she did, I know she would be embarrassed. I want to lick up every drop covering her pretty little cunt. Never even seen it, but I just know without a doubt that it'll be the prettiest one I'll ever see.

"Jeremiah, please," she whimpers, teetering on the brink of ecstasy.

"Stop."

Her hand stills instantly, and her eyes fly open, wide and disbelieving. A whimper escapes her as she looks at me. Frustration pools in those crystal blue depths .

"Wh-why?" she stammers out, her voice breaking on the single syllable.

"Because I said so," I reply, my words clipped. The water sluices down my front.

"Jeremiah, that's cruel…" Oakley begins, but her protest dies on her lips.

"You don't get to come. Not until I say."

"But—" I cut her off by reaching out and pulling her hand out of her shorts. I bring her fingers up to my face, inhaling the sweet, musky scent of her pussy makes my eyes narrow. I need a fucking taste and I'm not going to deny myself any longer.

I suck her two digits into my mouth, wrapping my tongue around each one and savoring the way she tastes. I'll never be able to stop thinking about it, dreaming about it, demanding it. When it's all said and done, I'm going to have her riding my face every damn night and twice during the day.

Fuck, I can't wait to see her legs spread obscenely around my shoulders as she rocks her cunt against my face until she drowns me.

"Bed. Now."

I expect her to snap at me, but she doesn't. She pulls away from me, pulls her tank top down and turns around and walks her pert little ass right out the door.

"Goodnight, Oakley," I call out after her, and she gives me the middle finger over her shoulder and all I can do is chuckle.

My fingers worked at my cock, pumping furiously, Oakley's image seared into my brain. The memory of her taste floods my senses, her fingers soft and sweet, her body warm and pliant and just within reach. My balls tighten, and my cock throbs in my hand. The way she moaned as she rubbed her needy little clit. It was enough to drive even the sanest man mad.

My mind takes me on a fantasy as I slide one hand down her body, dipping my fingers between her legs, and confirming what I already knew to be true. Warm and wet, just for me. Fantasy me thrusts my hips forward in between her soft thighs as I feel her lips caress the top of cock. Her soft little moans filling my ears.

"Jesus, Oakley," I groan loudly, unable to help myself as I send myself over the edge. My orgasm crashing into me, spilling into my fist as I have to lean against the shower tile. I feel my cum dripping off my hand and dick.

I'm fucking spent, willing my heart to slow down to a normal rhythm. It takes a few moments, but once I can stand steadily, I make quick work of actually washing my body before turning off the shower and stepping out.

Grabbing a towel from the rack, I wipe off my damp skin and run it over my buzzed head before wrapping it around my waist.

Looking into the mirror, I can see my pupils are still wider than normal. I can't go into my bedroom right now, see her in my bed and not fucking take advantage of the situation. I pull on a pair of basketball shorts, throw on some deodorant, and brush my teeth before using the other door and stepping out into the hallway. Christ, I'm avoiding her like one of us has the plague.

I step out of the bathroom; the door clicking shut behind me. My heart is still pounding from that intense moment with Oakley—her touch, her scent, her everything. I take a deep breath, trying to shove those thoughts into a box far in the back of my mind. Easier said than done.

I head downstairs and as I approach the living room, I can hear Penn and Graham's voices mixed with the sounds of explosions and gunfire from whatever video game they are playing.

"Come on, come on!" Graham's voice is urgent, competitive. Typical.

"Don't choke now, Grammy," Penn teases, his voice smooth and sing-songy.

I step into the room, taking in the scene. They're both on the couch, controllers in hand, eyes glued to the screen. The smell of buttery popcorn lingers in the air.

"Hey, J," Graham says without looking up. "Wanna join or just gonna stand there brooding?"

"Just soaking in your shitty gameplay," I shoot back, pushing off the frame and walking over. "How many times have you died already?"

"More than you'd like to know," Penn smirks, not missing a beat. His eyes flicker toward me briefly before returning to the game. "But at least I'm not hiding in the bathroom."

"Yeah? At least I'm not getting my ass handed to me by a twelve-year-old online," I counter, grabbing an empty spot on the couch and a controller.

"Touché," Penn chuckles. He knows how to get under my skin, and he relishes it.

"Alright, enough bullshit," Graham grins. The game resumes, bullets flying, characters shouting. It's chaos, but it's exactly what I need right now.

"Bring it on," I say, settling into the rhythm of the game. For now, the flashing images and rapid-fire action drown out everything else—the tension with Oakley, the confusion, the desire. But I know it's only temporary.

"Did you and Oakley enjoy a nice, well whatever it was that you two were doing up there?" Penn's voice drips with mockery as he dies and is ejected from the game. His smirk is infuriatingly smug.

"Shut up, Penn," I snap, feeling my cheeks flare with heat. "Worry about your own love life, if you can call it that."

"Aw, come on, pretty boy. Did she finally tell you how much she can't resist your brooding charm?" He wiggles his eyebrows, clearly enjoying himself.

"Maybe she just likes guys who don't wear slippers that look like a stuffed animal massacre," I retort, nodding toward his feet. The absurdly fluffy slippers really are an eyesore, even for him.

"Hey, these are comfortable," he defends, but I see the flicker of annoyance in his eyes. "Besides, they're not as tragic as your love life."

"Better tragic than nonexistent," I shoot back, gripping the controller tighter. The plastic creaks under my fingers. "How many people did you strike out with last week?"

"None," he says smoothly, shrugging. "But nice try."

"Focus on your game, Penn, or you'll be the one getting embarrassed," Graham interjects, leaning into the screen with fierce intensity. His hair bounces with each rapid movement.

"Ha! Nice try," Penn crows as he takes down both me and Graham. "Better luck next time."

"Come on, Jeremiah, step it up," Graham chides, his competitive streak flaring. "I can't carry you all night."

"Who's carrying who?" I retort, managing to take out two of Penn's characters in quick succession. "Looks like I'm pulling my weight just fine."

"Touchy, touchy," Penn laughs, his teeth flashing in the dim light. "Maybe you need to get laid. Oh wait, you're too busy pining over Little Miss Perfect. "

"Watch your six!" I warn, spotting an ambush forming around Graham's character as I ignore my dipshit of a brother.

"Got it," he acknowledges, swiftly evading the trap.

We play round after round, taking turns having each other's back and also killing one another.

"Okay, last round," I announce, feeling the fatigue setting in but unwilling to show it. The adrenaline is wearing off, replaced by a dull ache of unresolved tension.

"Game over!" Penn's voice slices through the tense silence as my character collapses on the screen one final time. The defeat stings, but his smug grin is worse.

"Nice try," he drawls, leaning back, controller dangling from his fingers. "But you know what really made my day?"

"Don't want to hear it." I glare at him, but he's already rolling on, unstoppable.

"Two co-eds. One mind-blowing blow job." He emphasizes each word with a lazy smirk. "Blonde and brunette. They were insatiable."

"You're such an asshole," I mutter.

"Love you too, bro," Penn says, his laugh ringing out as his character respawns. "Love you too."