Wicked Games (Fallen Royals Book 2)

Caleb’s hand coasts up my arm.

Goosebumps break out, but I keep my eyes closed. I knew he would figure out how to get into my bedroom, even with the window locked. And now here he is.

His thumb caresses the hollow point at the base of my throat. I swallow as his fingers wind around it. He squeezes softly, and my eyes fly open.

“Shh.” His lips touch my ear, anticipating my balking. “Don’t say a goddamn word.”

My heart picks up speed. Thump, thump, thump. It’s so loud, it practically fills the room. I stare at him. There’s just enough light to see his face, but not his eyes. I can’t see the set of his jaw. All I have to go on is his dark tone.

“Here’s what’s going to happen,” he continues. “You’re not going to move. You’re not going to make a sound.”

His thumb brushes over my lips.

“If you make any noise, they’re going to know.”

I glance at my bedroom door. It’s wide open, a dim light spilling in from a night-light in the hall.

Fuck.

Any little sound is amplified at night. Which explains why he was whispering. Why he stopped me from speaking.

He releases my throat and drags the blankets down my body. He stands with the window at his back, a scary, silent silhouette. Once the blankets are gone, he goes for my pajama shorts. His fingers inch under the waistband, and he tugs the fabric down slowly. So slowly. I lift my hips, helping him along before I think better of it.

Because I’d be lying if his dangerous side didn’t turn me on.

I bite my lip. His threats are serious. And at the same time… I want him to make good on it.

His hands go to my shirt, and I automatically grip his wrists. I tug him down over me, spreading my legs. It’s simple, he and I. He fits there neatly. His jeans scratch at my inner thighs, and if I didn’t have a death grip on his wrists, I’d reach down and feel.

If only I was so bold.

He shifts, grinding against me. His erection presses through his jeans, and he hits just the right spot. My eyelids flutter. He does it again, while his hands rotate. Suddenly, somehow, he’s the one who’s holding my wrists over my head.

“Hmm.” His head drops, and he bites at my breast through my shirt.

I whimper.

He continues to rock his hips into mine, scratching that itch, until shivers burst through me. Hell, I’m going to come like this. Come and then go straight to Hell for caving so easily.

He switches breasts. My nipples are stiff under my sleep shirt, and his teeth and lips leave wet spots behind. He groans, his movements getting harder. I bring my knees up. A blush heats my cheeks when my hips rise to meet him.

I should not be enjoying this.

I bite my lower lip. I can’t make a sound—not when he keeps rubbing exactly where I need him to. The friction of his jeans sliding along my core, hitting my clit, is too much.

My back arches, pushing my breasts into his face. He nips at my skin through my shirt. One hand moves down my arm and covers my mouth.

I gasp into his palm. The sensation crawls through me, fluttering and divine.

Unexpected, too.

When he lifts himself, he takes my wrists with me. He uses them to sit me up. Kneeling between my legs, he unbuttons his jeans and strokes his dick. In fast, jerky movements, he gets himself off.

I jump when his cock twitches and pulses, the only little warning for his impending climax.

Ropes of cum shoot across my belly and the apex of my legs. It coats my inner thighs. It’s warmer than I expected, but I can’t stop staring at his dick. He uses my forgotten panties to wipe himself clean, then tucks himself back in his pants.

He reaches out and picks up a lock of my hair. The gentleness of it freezes me in place.

“It’s always been us,” he says softly.

“It hasn’t. It used to be us. Now there’s nothing.”

“Prove it,” he demands. “Prove there’s nothing there. That you feel nothing.”

“Why does everything need to be proven? Why can’t you just accept⁠—”

He kisses me. I slam my mouth closed. I just let him hump me into an orgasm—I’m surely not going to give in to this. His tongue slides across the seam of my lips, and I just press them tighter together. Not one to give up without a fight, he winds his hand through my hair, holding my head still, and he tries to get a reaction out of me.

He makes a noise in the back of his throat.

I give him nothing. I just gave him everything, and I am so, so tired.

“You’re killing me,” he whispers.

I meet his stare. We’re still kissing-close. Our noses brush.

You killed me first.

He releases me.

“I want you to hurt.” My chest aches, and I’d love nothing more than for him to know what I’m going through. “I want you to feel it.”

“You want an apology?” he asks, shifting to the side and pressing his lips to my cheek. “You want me to say I’m sorry and beg for forgiveness?”

I will not bend.

Maybe he can sense the yes forming on my tongue.

“It won’t happen, baby. We’re meant to be broken.” He takes hold of my chin, tipping my head back until I meet his gaze.

I hadn’t realized I looked away.

“You and I can’t do happy or perfect or neat like you think you’re going to get.” His grip tightens. “Maybe you’ll see that eventually.”

“Get out,” I breathe.

He drops his hand and stands. “Dream of me.”

“I won’t.”

I don’t believe myself.

“We’re inevitable,” he says. “You’ll see.”

He makes it to my doorway before he pauses. He holds something up, but I can’t make it out in the darkness.

“I know you don’t remember, but if you want to… You know where I’ll be.” He tosses it onto my dresser. The object hits with a clunk of metal. The sound is loud enough to travel. He watches me a moment longer, then disappears into the hallway.

No window exits for him, I guess.

My breath catches in my chest. I almost expect the stairs to creak, the front door to slam—something to alert the Bryans of his presence. But he’s a ghost. Here one minute, gone the next.

Tears burn the backs of my eyes, and I touch my chest. The two wet spots left by his saliva. My breasts ache, even when I scrape my nail over my nipple. It sends little zaps straight down to my pussy.

I can’t do this.

I flop backward, mindful of the object taunting me from my dresser.

My hand has a mind of its own. It goes through the mess he left on the lower half of my shirt, my exposed abdomen, between my legs. It eases the path my fingers take, slipping along my clit.

Working myself up again.

One hand over my mouth, the other thrumming between my legs, I tip myself over the edge again, with the memory of Caleb’s mouth on my breast burning in my mind.

I breathe slowly, my muscles trembling, and finally get up from the bed. I close my door and flick the light on. If there’s one thing that must be true, it’s how Caleb Asher knows exactly how to get in my head.

My bracelet sits on the dresser.

He knew where to find it.

He went there for it.

I run my finger over the web of metal, shaking my head. I can’t do this right now. I can’t forgive him.

I leave it where it is and crawl back into bed. I don’t have the energy to try to deal with Caleb’s mental games. After everything that’s happened today, my mind hasn’t stopped spinning.

My conversation with Amelie about Caleb’s meddling… she thinks I shouldn’t let him get away with it. Well, I won’t.

And then the more devastating piece of news: Savannah texted him the picture.

My eyes pop open again. I can’t believe that I forgot about it. Savannah is Unknown.

I should’ve suspected her sooner.

I sit up and grab my phone, scrolling through past messages with Unknown. I linger on the picture of Ian and me. Is it true? Does Savannah have that big of a vendetta against me that she’d try to ruin my life—and threaten me to stay away from Caleb?

She was at the party where the video was taken. And while she had some noticeable absences from school, I’m pretty sure she was there the day Ian dragged me into the woods.

It makes sense, too. She didn’t like that I came back and never hid the fact. She could’ve driven by and seen me arriving at the Bryans’ house.

How she got my number would be another question, though.

And how she’s kept up the façade in school.

But has she? She’s never hidden the fact that she doesn’t like me.

I put my phone on the nightstand, flopping back.

The suspects include: Amelie, Savannah, and Ian.

Yes, Ian, even though he was the one in the picture. He could’ve paid someone to take it and send it to Caleb. He could’ve paid Savannah.

Caleb should be included, too. His whole friend group is on my suspect list. Any of them could want me to stay away from him for his own sake. For his sanity.

It’s because of me that he’s been suspended from hockey.

It could be no one on my list.

This endeavor seems hopeless. My only solution would be to get Unknown to give me some bit of information I can use to tie back to them. Or catch them in the act…?

What act? Texting?

Everyone my age has a cell phone. And nowadays, it’s easy to block your number, make it private, or even get a number through a texting app.

I toss and turn in bed, my sleep tinged with worry. Every so often, my thoughts circle back to the bracelet on the dresser, and Caleb’s…

You’re killing me.

He’s confusing and complicated.

Eventually, I fall asleep. I dream of Caleb and my mother.

They’re arguing in his house, just beside the screen door. I can see them from where I’m crouched. Caleb has gray streaks in his hair. He’s older—maybe older than both my parents. My mom is red in the face. Their hands wave. Their lips move, but I hear nothing. Spit flies from Caleb’s mouth, and I instinctively hunch lower. Their anger scares me. I’m frozen in my hiding place.

I wish I could hear what they’re saying.

She throws a glass. Not at him, but at the wall. It shatters. I hear that.

I scream, and both of them whirl toward me. Angry faces, brows lowered and mouths agape.

Someone yanks me backward. I fall and go straight through the floor.

I fall and fall and fall.

Caleb catches me. His arm across my back, the other under my knees. He doesn’t seem surprised to find me here, but I can only stare at him. His face is young—fourteen instead of seventeen. A bit of acne, a slight padding to his face.

“Be more careful, Margo.”

“You were just fighting with my mom.” I look around. There’s nothing but high grass around us. “Where are we?”

“We used to come here.” He mirrors my actions, head swinging back and forth. “Don’t you like it?”

Don’t you like it?

“I don’t…” I don’t recognize this place. It’s just grass and bright-blue sky, the sun so hot on my skin. “Why were you fighting with Mom?”

His face hardens. “I wasn’t.”

He drops me.

The grass reaches for me, brushing my exposed skin. I fall through the ground again, straight into darkness. Straight into my bedroom. I land on the bed with a bounce, and it takes me a long moment to collect my breath.

It’s not the one at the Bryans’. It’s in the Ashers’ guest house.

I lunge for the door, but it’s locked. Everything is blurry. Big fat tears fall down my face, and I pound on the door. Panic constricts my chest, choking me. It heightens my terror.

Why am I scared?

I’m trapped.

There are no monsters in this room, but I can’t fight the urge to run. I scratch at the door. Pain pricks my fingers, my nails crack, but I still can’t stop.

“Let me out!” I scream. “Let me out let me out let me⁠—”

It flies inward. It hits me, and I tumble.

“Dad?” I moan, rolling onto my side. “Dad, Mom⁠—”

It’s not Dad. Why did I think it would be Dad?

Mom looms over me. She straddles me, pressing my shoulders into the floor. Her face is a mask of fury.

“Wake up, Margo.”

I open my eyes, and I’m in my bed at the Bryans’ house. My heart is going a thousand miles a minute, and I take a shaky breath.

It felt real. Too real. And for once, I remember every second of the dream.

I fumble for the lamp’s switch, needing to extinguish the shadows. As if that would banish the shadows lingering in my mind, too. The sudden light blinds me. I raise my hand to block it and stop suddenly.

There are long scratches on the tops of my forearms… and blood under my fingernails.

So while I was trying to get out in the dream, I was really just hurting myself.

My stomach cramps. This wasn’t a normal dream. It can’t be.

There are pieces of my past trying to come out.