Page 79 of Wicked Games (Fallen Royals 2)

And now Margo thinks she’s come back for her?

“Your mother is a drug addict,” I say. “She came for money and nothing else.”

She flinches like I hit her.

“She comes back every so often to beg at the shoes of the Asher family. Doesn’t matter who. Once we find out she’s in town, we do whatever we can to make her leave.”

She presses her hand to the windowpane. “Stop it.”

“I’m telling you the truth now, Margo. You asked for it.”

Stupid girl, chasing answers she has no stomach to withstand.

“And I’ve been trying to save you from it.” The words out of my mouth surprise even me. 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.”

I shake my head. I did read it—had to know what it was, if it was of any importance. And turns out, it was. Isabella ‘Josie’ Jenkins hid her last goodbye. “She got high and drove on purpose, hoping something would happen. She wrote that letter just in case she was right.”

Margo covers her mouth. “What?”

“So there went any blame laid at your mother’s feet.”

“Why did they call her Josie if her name was Isabella?”

“That, I don’t know.” 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.

“Why did you put that back on?”

“Because I won’t let you go,” she answers, meeting my gaze. “Okay? So do terrible things, and I’ve decided I’ll just hold on tighter. God, sometimes I hate you, but I can’t help myself.”

Triumph, 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 back of my neck, into my hair.

She walks me toward her bed, and we both go down without tearing our lips away from each other. I hover over her. 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’s too 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.

“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.

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.

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