Page 116 of Wicked Games (Fallen Royals 2)

He reaches over to his nightstand and finds a condom while I yank off my leggings. I climb back on him and unbuckle his pants, then tug them down far enough for his erection to spring free. Impulsively, I scoot back and lean down. We did this once—right after the masquerade ball—but this is going to be different.

“Ah, fuck,” he says.

Slowly, I lean forward and lick up his length. His groan is an encouragement, and I swirl my tongue over the head of his cock. I take him in my mouth, my tongue sliding around, and his thighs automatically tense. I open my jaw wider, letting him in deeper. He hits the back of my throat, but I don’t gag. My nostrils flare.

Deeper.

He hisses out a breath. I come back up, sucking and stroking him with my hand. His fingers wind in my hair, taking back an ounce of power.

“Fuck, Margo,” he grunts.

I keep going until he can’t control the movement of his hips.

He abruptly yanks me up onto his chest. “If you keep doing that, I’ll come, and where would that leave you?” He rolls a condom on, his eyes on mine.

I barely have time to catch my breath, then he drives up into me.

We both groan.

I put my hands on his chest, leaning back. He makes me feel complete. And yeah, that’s some bullshit we could go over in therapy, but right now? I let my head fall back and I feel it. I rise, thrilled at the sight of him between my legs, then slowly lower back onto him. I’m shakier than a newborn deer, every micromovement sending waves of electricity through me.

Once I’m steady, I move faster. Our thighs slap together.

His grip tightens on my hips, slamming me down onto him.

“Look at me.” His hand slips to my clit.

I gasp, holding on to him. It’s too much. There’s too much emotion assaulting me. He’s hitting a spot deep inside me, working me up higher. I freeze, and an orgasm crashes over me. It’s hardly over when he flips me onto my back and thrusts into me.

His pace is brutal, but it doesn’t last. He shudders above me, letting his head fall to my shoulder as he comes. His whole body jerks, then stills.

“Did that make your head worse?” I ask.

He snorts. “Maybe. But it was worth it.”

“Come on, lovebirds,” Eli yells from the top of the stairs. “Pizza is here!”

“Perfect timing,” Caleb murmurs. He kisses the tip of my nose and hops up.

I follow him into the bathroom, and we clean up in silence.

We walk into the kitchen, and Riley and Eli grin at us.

“Couldn’t wait until after we ate, huh?” Eli laughs. He throws an ice pack at Caleb.

My face heats up. We were pretty quiet, but—

“You reek of sex,” Eli continues. “Seriously, guys. It’s kind of turning me on.”

Riley jabs him with her elbow.

I go to the boxes of pizza, ignoring their chatter. I’m still tangled in a web of worry. He probably has a concussion. I just fucked a concussed person.

I don’t have an appetite. I stare down at the pizza, inhaling the scent of cheese and garlic, and my stomach turns over.

It isn’t just finding Caleb bloody and alone in his uncle’s house. It’s that plus the fact that he kissed my nose and my heart skipped a beat. It’s that Angela visited and she asked how I was doing, and for the first time in a really freaking long time, I was able to say, Great!

We talked about long-term fostering, going to court to petition for the Jenkins’s right to adopt me, the steps we’d have to take. She mentioned restarting therapy, and Robert and Lenora agreed.

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