Page 38 of Wicked Games

It’s not a bad idea.

I did what I wanted to do: I broke her. Getting caught wasn’t part of the plan, and neither was her memory issue. I expected her to know exactly what her parents did. I expected meekness, and instead was met with fire.

It’s thrown a dazzling wrench into my plan.

We belong together.

I lost her once. I’ll be damned if I’ll lose her again.

Chapter 11

Margo

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 holdingmywrists 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 thatitch, 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.

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