Wicked Dreams (Fallen Royals, #1)(28)

He presses his thumb into one of them, watching for my face to change. I keep my poker face until he pushes a little too hard, and I wince from the pain.

“You like these.”

It isn’t a question.

Add that to the list of infuriating things about Caleb Asher. Sometimes I think he sees more of me than I do.

His thumb traces small, soothing circles on my neck. My face heats up because at any moment, Robert could come back into the kitchen. Lenora could get home from her errands and catch… this.

He’s literally only touching me with a finger. It’s enough and not enough at the same time. I lean into him when he stops me, his palm flat on my collarbone.

“Draw,” he orders, sitting up straight.

And, damn it, his eyes close.

I wouldn’t have guessed that I’d get him to do it. That telling him the truth would unlock a favor. A big one.

I take a deep breath and start. It’s sloppy and not what I mean to draw, but that’s the beauty of charcoal: it smudges off, and it’ll all be covered by paint eventually. A thought occurs to me as I sketch the outline of his eyes from memory.

“Why wouldn’t you want to see what I paint?” I clear my throat. “Aren’t you curious?”

“Of course I’m curious,” he replies. “But I agreed not to ask.”

I hum. “Okay.”

I get as far as I can—as far as I want to—and tell Caleb that I’m done for the day. I managed to put a background on the canvas, smoky grays and blacks, but the space where his face and upper torso will go is only faintly outlined in charcoal.

He opens his eyes.

“Great. Cover that up and let’s go.”

“Go? But…”

He snorts. “You think I need to look at you to paint you, love? You’ve been ingrained on my brain since the beginning.”

I follow him through the house, to a door I have yet to see open. He knocks on it, tossing me a quick wink, before Robert calls for him to enter.

I walk in behind Caleb, surprised at the space. Sure, the house is big, but I didn’t really consider what lay directly below my bedroom. One wall is all books with fancy spines. The type of shit I read wouldn’t be found here, that’s for sure.

“Hey, Mr. Jenkins,” Caleb greets him.

“You can call me Robert when we’re not in school,” Robert scolds. He’s already mentioned that a time or two.

“Yes, sir.”

He’s behind a giant desk. Like, I could lie down on it and throw my arms and legs wide, and there’d still be space for two more people.

I wander closer to the books, reading the titles.

Philosophy of Law, Volume III. The Laws of Human Nature. To Kill A Mockingbird.

The last is a surprise, but it looks old and valuable.

“Ready?” Caleb asks, touching my shoulder.

I jump. “Huh?”

“Did you space out?” Robert asks. “Caleb just asked if he could take you to a late lunch and movie.”

I nod. “Ah, sorry. Did you say yes?”

My stomach twists. Caleb’s managed to finagle his way into my life in more ways than one: he’s in my space in school, he’s in my head out of it, he’s in my dreams. Not that I’d ever admit it.

And now he’s taking my time, too. Time that I would’ve laid on my bed and stared at the ceiling, fantasizing about him. The real thing is better.

Yeah, okay.

The real thing hurts more.

Robert laughs. “I did. Curfew is midnight.”

Caleb takes my hand and leads me out of the room. In the hallway, he leans down and whispers, “I want to fuck you on that desk.”

My gasp gets lodged in my throat.

“No witty rebuttal?”

“Have I ever had a witty rebuttal?”

He shrugs. “Sometimes.”

His hand squeezes mine.

We clean the table quickly, putting the paint and easels away. He follows me into my bedroom.

“I really think I need to kiss you,” he says. That’s the only warning I get before he’s on me, his hands sliding around my neck. He holds me to him as he slams his lips against mine. He’s shockingly savage. I lean into it, winding my arms around his waist, and he walks me backward.

He uses his hand on my neck to lower me to my bed, chasing after me. His weight barely registers. He ravages me. He nibbles on my lips and leaves no inch of my mouth untouched.

I suck in a breath through my nose, hooking my leg around his hips and pressing him closer.

He breaks away, grinning at the dazed expression.

He taps the tip of my nose. “That was fun. Let’s try something else.”

He grabs my wrists and hauls me to my feet, then out the door. We barely have time to shout goodbye, and then we’re in his car.

I look over at him. “What are you scheming?”

“What are you afraid of?” he asks.

I wonder if me giving in was a bad thing. If he’d only like me for the chase.

“Margo.”

“I’m afraid…” I press my lips together. “Of my dreams.”

He snorts. “Of the boogeyman coming out of your closet?”

“There are things I don’t understand,” I say. “My mother—”