Page 128 of Wicked Games

In our haste, we hadn’t removed our shirts. But now… I grab the hem of my shirt and lift it off, letting it fall from my fingertips behind me. My bra is next. He drags my leggings over my hips, and I hold his shoulders to step out of them. Then panties.

He hops off the step and stares at me.

“Your turn,” I mumble, trying not to let my self-consciousness overwhelm me. I haven’t had this feeling before—shaky. The last time we hadgoodsex, in the hotel room after the ball, I trusted him. We’ve had crazy sex since then, but… I don’t know if I trust him now.

He captured my heart so slowly, I barely realized he was taking it. But my heart is just a fraction of the picture. And now, letting him peruse my body, it’s obvious there are still broken shards between us.

He wants it that way. He thinkshe’sbroken. The thought comes on suddenly, out of nowhere. But he’s so wrong.

I will file you smooth, I vow to him.One sharp edge at a time.

“Strip,” I demand. “Fair is fair.”

His eyebrow jumps up. “Have we ever played fair?”

I raise my chin. “Starting now.”

He just watches me for a moment, then nods. He unbuttons his pants and lets them drop around his ankles. Then boxers. He hesitates on his shirt, but I have no such reservations. Not when it comes to him.

I walk to him and take over, pulling his shirt over his head. I drop it on the floor and run my finger down his chest. He has hard abs and faint white scars. I circle around him, tracing an invisible path with my index finger, and he stands perfectly still.

I touch a pink, raised scar. This was a welt not too long ago. A welt at his uncle’s hand.

He shudders. Goosebumps rise on his skin.

I suck my lower lip between my teeth and keep going. There are old scars, barely visible in the low light. Circular ones that catch the light.

“Did he burn you?”

He sighs. “I don’t know what’s worse—growing up like you did, or like me.”

I lean forward and kiss one of the scars. He shivers beneath my lips, and my chest aches like he just punched out my heart. He had family, but at a steep cost.

“I wish I remembered what happened.”

He turns around and lifts my chin with his finger. “Do you?”

“You could tell me,” I whisper.

He shakes his head and pushes my hair off my shoulder. “You’d never believe me.”

My mind goes back to ten years old. One minute we’re happy kids chasing each other through his house.Blank.I’m scratching at the door.Blank.I’m at the park with Dad.

The gaping holes will drive me mad.

I open my mouth to ask another question.

“Leave it for tonight,” he says. “I wasn’t lying about my head hurting.”

Well, then. I climb into his bed, folding myself into a little ball with my back against the wall. I pat the space beside me. “You said you’d tell me what you remember.”

He joins me, picking me up and putting me on his lap. I wrap my arm around his shoulders. The room is a bit chilly, and goosebumps break out along my arms and legs. He draws a pattern on my thigh.

“What do I remember?” he muses. “Yelling at my uncle. Telling him enough was enough.”

“Yelling at him about what?”

“My right to live my life.”

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