Page 89 of Wicked Dreams

He shakes his head and unfolds his body from the mattress. My muscles tremble when he comes closer, but I don’t stand. My knees would probably give out anyway.

Nerves or anxiety or whatever.

He slides his fingers into my hair, feeling the silky strands. After a minute of stroking, he tangles them in my hair and tugs sharply.

My head falls backward, going with the pressure.

“You don’t fold when I threaten to shove my cock so deep down your throat you’ll be unable to breathe,” he murmurs. “And you don’t say anything about me touching you. Or hurting you.”

“I’m just letting you work out your trauma,” I say on an exhale.

His grip tightens. “Fuck you.”

“You keep threatening that, but nothing happens.”

“You’re a virgin, aren’t you? Sweet little lamb, holding on to that innocence with a white-knuckled grip. You talk a big game, you know that?”

“I learned from the best.”

“Your coke-whore mother?” he guesses. “Or your father?”

I nut-punch him.

I didn’t think it would actually work—I mean, I grew up around a lot of children, many of whom came to the group homes with bad habits. One girl would nut-punch the adult men if she didn’t get her way, and eventually started doing it to the boys who irritated her or stole her toys.

She didn’t last long… But I was always fascinated with how they folded.

Just like Caleb, folding in front of me.

I shove him away, my hair sliding through his fingers, and rush to the window. I shove it all the way open, letting in a blast of cold October night air. He should take the hint and get out.

I climb into bed, completely ignoring his mutterings, and yank the blankets up to my ears.

He’ll get the message.

He’ll leave.

Wrong again.

The blankets lift behind me, and a hot body presses to my back. I stiffen, even when the blankets settle around us, and his arm drapes over my hip.

His slow chuckle vibrates in his chest. “I love how you think you can get rid of me with a little pain.”

“Well, a girl can dream.”

“Dream about me.” He smooths my hair out of the way, shifting me closer. “Go to sleep.”

And the most surprising part: I do sleep.

Caleb curled around me wards off the bad dreams, and I wake up once, in the middle of the night, to find that I’d flipped around in my sleep. My cheek is plastered to his chest, head tucked under his chin, and I’m wrapped around him like an octopus.

As much as it disturbs me, I let his quietshushdrag me back under.

In the morning, he’s gone.

Chapter 21

Margo

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