Wicked Dreams (Fallen Royals, #1)(36)

Lenora chuckles, kissing his cheek. “We were just about to, dear. Wash your hands.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

We all sit, hesitating for a split second before diving into the food. I put a bite in my mouth and groan. It tastes about ten times better because I made it.

“Food made with love.” Lenora sighs. “Always tastes good to the stomach and the soul.”

Robert tells her that I’m contemplating a sport, and I blurt out rowing. To my surprise, her smile widens.

“That was my sport in college,” she says. “It’s a lot of hard work, but so fun. I know the coach at Emery-Rose. In fact, we were on the same team in college. I’ll chat with her tomorrow and find out when tryouts are.” She wiggles her eyebrows. “Maybe you’ll want to rent a boat with me. I’d be happy to offer some pointers and see if it’s something you’d enjoy.”

“I’d like that,” I mutter.

This is a lot of family bonding. A lot of…

It’s hard to know love when you didn’t get it from your parents.

After we’ve eaten, I slip away to my room. There’s homework to finish and Caleb’s social media to stalk. I mentally add Amelie’s to my list as well.

It’s late by the time I pick up my phone and glance at the screen.

Unknown: Don’t get too comfortable, drug princess. Once a stray, always a stray.





I cringe, dropping my phone on the floor. There’s a drop of truth in the mystery person’s words. But… this came from ten minutes ago.

Did someone see me cooking with Lenora? Or maybe walk out with Robert?

I resolve to not look at the texts. I close my books and tuck them back into my bag, brush my teeth and change, then slip under the covers. Maybe some peace will come to me when I sleep.





16





My eyes open as my bed dips down.

There’s a shadow looming above me.

I open my mouth to scream, but all that comes out is a hoarse wheeze before a hand clamps over the lower half of my face. Strong fingers dig into my skin.

“Easy, love,” the voice whispers.

I blink a few times, trying not to hyperventilate, and finally my eyes focus on Caleb.

He pulls his hand away from my lips, raising one eyebrow.

“What are you doing here?”

“Am I unwelcome?”

“Y-yes,” I sputter. I try to sit up, but he’s lying on top of my comforter. It pins me in place. “Get out.”

He seems to contemplate it for a second, then rolls his eyes. “No.”

I watch him warily. He stands, kicking off his shoes. He pulls back the edge of my comforter and slides underneath.

“What are you doing?” I whisper.

He moves down so we’re face to face. He puts his elbow on my pillow, propping up his head. “You never apologized.”

I start. “What? Why would I apologize?”

“For going into my guest house without permission.”

I push up on my elbow, too, narrowing my eyes. “Excuse me, Mr. High and Mighty—”

His free hand shoots out, grabbing my throat and forcing me flat on my back. He leans over me, the picture of calm. “Do not test me.”

“It was my—”

His fingers tighten, and I automatically stop talking.

It takes me too long to realize the danger. That nice Caleb isn’t here tonight—his demons are.

“Caleb,” I squeak. I can barely suck air in. My face is on fire. “I’m sorry.”

He loosens his hold, but his face is still a calm mask. I don’t trust it one bit.

His hand moves over my collarbone and down the center of my chest. “You’re not wearing a bra?”

“It’s the middle of the night,” I breathe.

His finger flicks one of my nipples. My muscles clench in response.

He goes for the hem of my shirt. I try to fight him, but suddenly he’s hovering over me. He takes my arms and holds them above my head.

“Don’t move,” he orders.

My breath comes in sharp pants. “W-what are you going to—”

“Don’t speak.”

I press my lips together as his fingers return to the hem of my nightshirt. He raises it slowly, revealing my stomach, my rib cage, my breasts. He massages one breast in his hand, fingers rolling my hard nipple and pinching it. Pain and pleasure shoot through me. My back arches off the bed, and I close my eyes.

My heart skips when his hot mouth touches my other breast, clamping on my nipple. Every nerve is on fire, begging to be touched. But I can’t speak.

His tongue swirls on my skin. It’s the only warning I get before he bites me. Hard.

I yelp, my hands coming down and shoving at his head.

He lifts his head, grinning at me. “I warned you not to move, love.”

He stands, sweeping my sheets off the bed. He grabs the waistband of my shorts and yanks them down, taking my panties with it.

I’m burning with shame and a little too much desire for this situation. He drops my shorts, holding my white lace panties in one hand. With the other, he traps my wrists. And then, using my underwear, he ties my wrists to my headboard.

I watch him with trepidation, but I let it happen. Part of me is excited to see what happens. I have to know what happens next.