Page 85 of Wicked Games

I’ve been trying to get her to remember. But this particular instance? Watching Lenora and Robert shaken over a note from the past, and then Margo’s instant grief at her mother being back in town?

Maybe I have a heart after all.

“What did the note say?” She glances over her shoulder at me. “I’m assuming you read it.”

“She wanted her parents to forgive her.”

Margo covers her mouth. “For what?”

“Drugs? Being a fuck-up? Does it matter?”

She goes quiet.

I step closer. “You want answers, don’t you?”

“Sometimes I’m afraid of the answers I’ll find,” she admits. She inches toward me, too, until we meet in the middle of the room.

I lift her hand.

She’s wearing the bracelet.

My heart screeches to a stop. I can’t breathe. When did she do that? Before or after she left my house this afternoon?

“Why did you put it back on?”

“Because I won’t let you go,” she answers, meeting my gaze. “Okay? Go ahead and do terrible things, and I’ll just hold on tighter. Sometimes I hate you, but I can’t help myself. You’re mine.”

Triumph floods through me, plus something else. A white noise in my ears.

Goosebumps.

I lean down and do what I’ve wanted to since I saw her this afternoon, pinned under me. I grab the back of her head and touch my lips to hers. She pushes up into me and deepens the kiss. I nip her lower lip. She groans, sliding her hands up my arms. Her fingernails scrape the nape of my neck, into my hair. The only safe part of me.

She walks me toward her bed, and we both go down without tearing our lips away from each other. I hover over her. All the pain in the world couldn’t deter me from this.

My dick hardens at her tongue stroking mine. I want to be inside her, foster parents be damned.

She lifts her hips, gasping into my mouth when she feels me. I shift, the head of my cock rubbing through our clothes. It’stoo damn good, and it isn’t even the real thing. Her breathing changes, and I move against her. It takes all my willpower to stop myself from letting my dick take control. From tearing her sweatpants down and pounding into her.

I lean to one side and push my hand into her panties, sliding my finger through her wet folds. She arches into me, her head falling to the side. Her pussy squeezes around my fingers.

“My—”

“Hush,” I whisper, my teeth grazing her earlobe. It’s been too fucking long, but I’ll have to wait a bit more. I work her higher, alternating between thrusting my fingers into her and stroking her clit with my thumb.

She tucks her face into my neck, her whole body shuddering as she comes. She bites my shoulder, her fingers digging into my biceps. And then it’s over, and her body relaxes. She blinks up at me, frowning.

A fierce emotion goes through me—one that I’m not particularly familiar with—and it unnerves me. She’s dug her way under my skin, buried herself in my bones.

She reaches up and grips my chin, forcing me to look at her.

“Don’t do that,” she says. “Don’t hide.”

I watch her face. “I’m not.”

“You’re trying to hide,” she argues. “Don’t.”

I should’ve seen Margo’s transformation coming. I broke a follower—the lamb nickname I mock her with—and she turned into a wolf.

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