Wicked Dreams (Fallen Royals, #1)(74)

“Haven’t I mentioned that I don’t like surprises?”

He laughs. “No.”

A new movie comes on, and Caleb and I fall back into silence. I actually stay awake this time, getting through most of it before the front door opens. Lenora and Robert enter in a flurry, dropping their bags and shedding coats. They come over to me, feel my forehead, pat the top of my head.

It’s nice to be cared about. Suffocating and completely unfamiliar… but nice.

Caleb rises. “That’s my cue. I’ll see you later.”

Robert and Caleb shake hands.

When Caleb’s gone, the place feels a bit colder. I try not to let it show, though, because Lenora takes his seat almost immediately.

She puts the back of her hand on my forehead again. “How do you feel?”

I shrug. “The same.”

Everything hurts.

She shakes her head. “If you want to tell us who did this, we can go to the school.”

“What?” I would’ve guessed Riley told her. Hell, the whole school probably knows already. The big bully, Ian Fletcher, takes out his anger on Margo. Again.

“We know Caleb found you, but no one will tell us anything.” She wraps her hands in mine. “Please, honey, tell us so we can put an end to this. I don’t want you to feel scared—”

“I don’t,” I say. “I’m not scared.”

It’s a bald-faced lie. I’m terrified.

She seems to analyze my face. Eventually, she nods. “Okay.”

I stand. “I’m going to go upstairs. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“Feel free to sleep in,” she tells me. “I’m leaving pretty early for work.”

“Okay. Goodnight.”

I hobble up the stairs—at this point, walking doesn’t totally hurt, but I’m indulging my melodramatic side—and slip into my bedroom.

“’Bout time,” Caleb whispers.

I jump.

“What?”

I shrug, staring at the window. It’s cracked, letting in a biting chill. All the better to cuddle, I guess…

“Thought I locked it, is all.”

He smirks. “I unlocked it when I got here.”

I sigh. The idea of not going to sleep alone feels pretty damn good right about now. I can suffer my nightmares in silence, but now I don’t have to.

He already has his shoes off.

I take a step toward the bed and freeze when he reaches under my pillow. “Planning on keeping this?” he asks, holding up his t-shirt.

I snatch it back, cradling it to my chest.

He just chuckles.

“Sleep, Margo,” he says. “I’ll keep an eye out for you.”

I lock my door and drop his shirt on my dresser. I venture closer. Somewhere between the beginning of the school year and now—only two months, if that—I stopped being afraid of him. I step between his legs, putting my hands on his shoulders. His eyes are level with my breasts, and he looks at them before tipping his head back and meeting my stare.

“Take my shirt off,” I whisper.

His hands are cold against my skin, lifting the hem of my shirt. He pulls it off me in one fluid motion, ruffling my hair as it drops.

My bra falls, too. My nipples stiffen under his hot stare. His hand between my shoulder blades keeps me from jerking back as his thumb skates over my nipple. He focuses on the other one, leaning forward and flicking it with his tongue.

I groan.

“Does that hurt?” His thumb is still making lazy circles on my skin.

“I like it when it hurts.” The words slip out before I can stop them. I’d be mortified if I wasn’t enthralled with the way Caleb is touching me.

His eyes narrow. “Be specific.”

A shiver racks up my body.

His palm flattens against my stomach.

It’s a light touch, but my breath catches.

“This?”

I shake my head.

His hand goes down, slipping into my panties. He presses on my clit, and my lips part. His lips tip up in a smirk at my reaction. One finger slides inside me.

“This?”

I put my hands back on his shoulders, if only to make sure I remain upright.

“Caleb—”

“I asked you a question, love.” His finger pushes in and out of me.

I can’t do much standing in front of him. One of his hands is on my back; one causes chaos inside me. His nail scrapes along my clit.

I shudder.

If I admit it, he might stop. This is just to prove a point, after all.

Three fingers.

His fingers curl inside me. I groan at the new feeling, widening my stance. I close my eyes.

Mistake.

His teeth are on my skin, biting my breast. He doesn’t do anything to soothe me. It’s just a trail along my chest, little spikes of pain. It’s maddening.

“You’re fucking soaked,” he whispers. His eyes are impossibly dark. “You get wetter each time I do something to your body. So I guess that answers my question.”

I whimper when he pulls out.

“The doctor said no strenuous activities.” He smirks at me.

Bastard.

I grip his shoulders tighter and lower myself onto his lap. His erection brushes my thigh.

“Do you care what the doctor said?” Need and desire overrule common sense.