The Wicked Trilogy: Caleb & Margo (Fallen Royals #1-3), page 11
Riley finds me in the same spot Amelie left me. Seconds or minutes later, I can’t tell.
“That was the most cunning and brutal thing I’ve ever witnessed,” she says.
I swallow shards of glass. Pretty sure my insides are all hollowed out. “Yeah.”
“Do you want to skip?”
I shake my head. “I really wish we had classes together,” I mumble. “I shouldn’t skip. I should go in there with my head held high…”
She chuckles. “Okay, well, I’ll check on you after our first class. We’ll see how you feel.”
When I get to homeroom, I shouldn’t be surprised that Caleb and Amelie are so close. She’s practically on top of him, leaning against his desk while he sits there. Her hand on his arm, his hand on her waist.
My phone vibrates.
Unknown: Told you to stay away. The weakest sheep get eaten by the wolf first.
I frown, glancing around the room. Half of the people in class are on their phones.
Me: Who are you?
Unknown: You’d like it to be that easy, wouldn’t you?
Yeah, I would. But I guess that would be too much to ask of an anonymous bully.
At least Caleb does it to my face.
I manage to successfully ignore the way Amelie brushes Caleb’s hair away from his face, and the hooting of Eli, and their friendly ribbing. Just kidding, I hear it all. But it gets easier after my first two classes. I don’t have anything to do with Amelie or Caleb until last period.
And because Robert decided to have us do our projects out of class, there’s no reason for us to even look at each other.
“You okay?” Robert asks.
I realize that the whole class is empty. “The bell rang a few minutes ago. Did you even hear it?”
I stare at my paper. We had been working on blending techniques with watercolor paints, and it’s a mess of muddled colors. “Sorry. I just had a bad day.”
He drags a stool over and sits next to me. He points to one of my groups, where I’d managed to make green fade into blue. “You did this one right. You can see the blue and the green, but there’s also the middle space where it becomes a new color entirely.”
I nod. “Yeah, it’s the only one I managed to do okay on.”
He shakes his head. “No, it just takes practice. Like this?” He taps his pencil next to the orange-into-pink one. “We don’t see the two separate colors. May I?”
“Sure.”
He cleans my brush and dips it in the pink. He pulls the brush down, the pink almost the same size as my little ombré square. He repeats the process for the orange, everything bigger… and suddenly I can see it.
“I was close.”
“Sometimes it’s hard to see the big picture when you’re so zoomed in.” He glances at me. “A lot can be said about taking a step back.”
“Like impressionism.”
He laughs. “Yeah, like that. Or relationships. How you see people, and how they see you.”
I mull that over. “Do you ever think you and Lenora are too… muddled?”
“Not often,” he answers.
God, is this my first relationship talk? With a father figure?
“I used to try to only see the good in her, but it doesn’t work like that. You have to accept every part of someone.” He taps my colors again. “Just like this. The colors are nice on their own, but if you only focus on the pretty parts, are they still beautiful?”
“I don’t think someone will accept all of my flaws.” I keep my attention on the paper, not ready to see whatever is going to come across Robert’s face next. They’ve been nice—more than nice, really. It feels like I’ve been welcomed into a complete family.
But maybe I’ve only been looking at the good pieces to convince myself that I belong.
“Someone will,” he says firmly. “And not just in a romantic sense. Lenora and I are lucky to have you, too. I’m sure Riley would say the same.”
I blush. “Maybe.”
He pats my shoulder. “Let’s go home, kiddo. The missus will beat us back at this rate.”
The school is a ghost town when we leave the classroom. We walk in easy silence back to his car, and I cast one look back toward the field where the teams have started practicing. I can pick out Liam and Theo in their football jerseys, easy to spot with their last names on their backs.
At the top of the cheerleading pyramid is Amelie, smiling like a conqueror. On the second level, seeming pained with Amelie’s knee in her back, is Savannah.
Interesting.
Only last week, she was the one on top. I give her credit where it’s due: she’s a good cheerleader. Except, clearly, Amelie is better. Brighter. Hell, she radiates joy even when she’s not trying.
I take a mental step back. Maybe she is trying, and that’s her secret.
And maybe…
“Margo?”
I stop, and my head snaps forward. I was about an inch from walking right into Robert’s car. “Oops.”
He frowns. “Did you think any more on trying out for a sport?”
“I don’t know what I’d go for,” I say.
He shrugs. “If you’re into a winter sport, there’s basketball or ice hockey—we have excellent women’s teams in both. Spring, there’s rowing, tennis, lacrosse…”
I perk up. “Rowing like… on the river?”
“Yeah, they get up early, though. I think they practice before school.” He unlocks the car and shrugs. “I won’t pressure you. There are a lot of things you can do, and we can arrange rides to get you to practice if you decide to go for rowing.”
“I’ll think about it.” I pull up the sport on my phone, reading about it as he drives back to his house. Our house.
Rowing—also called crew—can be in a one-person boat or teams up to eight. I don’t know what Emery-Rose Elite offers, but the videos of people skimming across the top of the water are fascinating.
“I think I want to try,” I say, once we’re out of the car. “Do you know when tryouts are?”
“No, but I can find out.”
He opens the door, and we’re greeted with a wonderful smell.
“We’re home, Len. Your cooking spells wonderful!”
She rounds the corner wearing a bright-red apron. She grins at us. “Just in time.”
“For what?” I ask. It’s barely three-thirty.
“For you to help me.” She pulls something from behind her back, holding it out to me.
“My own apron?” I ask.
It’s light blue.
A lump forms in my throat.
“Yes, it has your name on it and everything.” She taps the embroidered Margo on the top left. “Come on, before I burn everything.”
I drop my bag and follow her into the kitchen, where there are a million bowls. Okay, more like six, but still.
“This is…” I swallow.
“Overwhelming?” She pats my shoulder and shakes out my apron, putting it over my head.
I take the ties and secure it around my waist.
“We take this one veggie at a time. I’ll show you how to chop an onion without crying and then we’ll move on to easier stuff.”
She shows me, and I’ll admit that she’s as good of a teacher as Robert. Maybe that’s why they’re happy together. She gets to work seasoning chicken and preparing the oven. We work in silence for a few minutes.
“What are we making?”
“I figured we would start with chicken parm,” she says. “But we need to make the sauce, so once you’re done with the onions, we’ll put them in oil with some garlic, then add our fire-roasted tomatoes and the can of sauce.” She lifts one shoulder. “I like to cheat a little.”
“Sounds good to me.”
The meal comes together quickly, and the afternoon flies into evening. An hour later, she hands me oven mitts and lets me retrieve the dish from the oven. Cheesy, saucy chicken greets us. The top of the cheese is perfectly crisp and smells amazing.
“I didn’t think I’d be able to do something like this,” I admit. I carry it to the table and set it on a rack.
Lenora brings the salad we made over, along with a bowl of pasta and garlic bread. A full feast.
“I wouldn’t have been able to do it without your help,” she says. “My mother once told me to have at least one meal you’re good at. That you can make for potluck parties or holidays. If you have more than one, that’s fine. I always loved a good chicken parmesan. Something about it just tastes like home.”
I smile. “It’s a good one.”
“If you want to choose a meal to perfect in your own way, we can pick up the ingredients and make it next week,” she offers.
“That would be fun.”
Robert comes in, eyeing the table. “My mouth has been watering for the last half hour,” he admonishes. “And now that it’s ready, you don’t even call me?”
Lenora chuckles, kissing his cheek. “We were just about to, dear. Wash your hands.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
We all sit, hesitating for a split second before diving into the food. I put a bite in my mouth and groan. It tastes about ten times better because I made it.
“Food made with love.” Lenora sighs. “Always tastes good to the stomach and the soul.”
Robert tells her that I’m contemplating a sport, and I blurt out rowing. To my surprise, her smile widens.
“That was my sport in college,” she says. “It’s a lot of hard work, but so fun. I know the coach at Emery-Rose. In fact, we were on the same team in college. I’ll chat with her tomorrow and find out when tryouts are.” She wiggles her eyebrows. “Maybe you’ll want to rent a boat with me. I’d be happy to offer some pointers and see if it’s something you’d enjoy.”
“I’d like that,” I mutter.
This is a lot of family bonding. A lot of…
It’s hard to know love when you didn’t get it from your parents.
After we’ve eaten, I slip away to my room. There’s homework to finish and Caleb’s social media to stalk. I mentally add Amelie’s to my list as well.
It’s late by the time I pick up my phone and glance at the screen.
Unknown: Don’t get too comfortable, drug princess. Once a stray, always a stray.
I cringe, dropping my phone on the floor. There’s a drop of truth in the mystery person’s words. But… this came from ten minutes ago.
Did someone see me cooking with Lenora? Or maybe walk out with Robert?
I resolve to not look at the texts. I close my books and tuck them back into my bag, brush my teeth and change, then slip under the covers. Maybe some peace will come to me when I sleep.
16
Margo
My eyes open as my bed dips down.
There’s a shadow looming above me.
I open my mouth to scream, but all that comes out is a hoarse wheeze before a hand clamps over the lower half of my face. Strong fingers dig into my skin.
“Easy, love,” the voice whispers.
I blink a few times, trying not to hyperventilate, and finally my eyes focus on Caleb.
He pulls his hand away from my lips, raising one eyebrow.
“What are you doing here?”
“Am I unwelcome?”
“Y-yes,” I sputter. I try to sit up, but he’s lying on top of my comforter. It pins me in place. “Get out.”
He seems to contemplate it for a second, then rolls his eyes. “No.”
I watch him warily. He stands, kicking off his shoes. He pulls back the edge of my comforter and slides underneath.
“What are you doing?” I whisper.
He moves down so we’re face to face. He puts his elbow on my pillow, propping up his head. “You never apologized.”
I start. “What? Why would I apologize?”
“For going into my guest house without permission.”
I push up on my elbow, too, narrowing my eyes. “Excuse me, Mr. High and Mighty—”
His free hand shoots out, grabbing my throat and forcing me flat on my back. He leans over me, the picture of calm. “Do not test me.”
“It was my—”
His fingers tighten, and I automatically stop talking.
It takes me too long to realize the danger. That nice Caleb isn’t here tonight—his demons are.
“Caleb,” I squeak. I can barely suck air in. My face is on fire. “I’m sorry.”
He loosens his hold, but his face is still a calm mask. I don’t trust it one bit.
His hand moves over my collarbone and down the center of my chest. “You’re not wearing a bra?”
“It’s the middle of the night,” I breathe.
His finger flicks one of my nipples. My muscles clench in response.
He goes for the hem of my shirt. I try to fight him, but suddenly he’s hovering over me. He takes my arms and holds them above my head.
“Don’t move,” he orders.
My breath comes in sharp pants. “W-what are you going to—”
“Don’t speak.”
I press my lips together as his fingers return to the hem of my nightshirt. He raises it slowly, revealing my stomach, my rib cage, my breasts. He massages one breast in his hand, fingers rolling my hard nipple and pinching it. Pain and pleasure shoot through me. My back arches off the bed, and I close my eyes.
My heart skips when his hot mouth touches my other breast, clamping on my nipple. Every nerve is on fire, begging to be touched. But I can’t speak.
His tongue swirls on my skin. It’s the only warning I get before he bites me. Hard.
I yelp, my hands coming down and shoving at his head.
He lifts his head, grinning at me. “I warned you not to move, love.”
He stands, sweeping my sheets off the bed. He grabs the waistband of my shorts and yanks them down, taking my panties with it.
I’m burning with shame and a little too much desire for this situation. He drops my shorts, holding my white lace panties in one hand. With the other, he traps my wrists. And then, using my underwear, he ties my wrists to my headboard.
I watch him with trepidation, but I let it happen. Part of me is excited to see what happens. I have to know what happens next.
He lies back down next to me, staring at my naked body. He trails a finger from the old bite mark on my breast, down my stomach to my core. He swipes through my folds, and I lurch in surprise.
“You’re soaked,” he murmurs. “Because I tied you up? Bit you?”
I can’t answer as he does it again.
“If looks could kill,” he mutters. He thrusts a finger into me without warning. “So fucking tight.”
“I—”
He seals his lips over mine, biting my lip hard enough to draw blood. I just get wetter. One finger inside me becomes two, taking on a rhythm that I try to match with my hips. It’s an alien feeling—and one that I need more of. Right now.
I bite him back, pulling against the restraint. If he weren’t kissing me, stealing my breath, I’d be making ungodly sounds. He’s working me up higher and higher, his thumb playing with my clit as his fingers plunge inside me.
I’m flayed open.
He kisses down my jaw, my throat. “Will you scream? Wake up your foster parents?”
There’s something dirty about him being fully dressed while I’m naked.
There’s something inexplicably aggravating about how helpless I feel.
“No,” I whisper. I stare up at him. “I wouldn’t scream. Not now. And certainly not—”
He pushes a third finger into me, analyzing my reaction. My lips part, words dying in my throat. I widen my eyes at the new stretching feeling.
His other hand goes to my throat, caressing the spot where I’m sure he can feel my pulse leaping out of my skin. His eyes gleam with a challenge.
“You—”
“Don’t ask me to fuck you, love,” he whispers. “Because when I do, you will be screaming my name.” He latches on to my nipple again, sucking hard before his teeth scrape my skin.
I buck, fighting the feeling.
“Give it to me,” he growls. He slams his lips back on mine and flicks my clit, hard enough to feel like a slap.
I jump, groaning into his mouth when the orgasm sweeps through me. My core pulses around his fingers.
He takes everything.
Everything.
And yet, there’s a look in his eyes that says we haven’t even started yet.
He lifts his fingers; they’re glistening in the faint moonlight. He puts them on my lips.
“Suck.”
We’ve done this before.
I open my mouth to tell him to fuck off, but he takes the opening. He shoves his fingers into my mouth, and the taste of me takes over my senses. Tentatively, I touch my tongue to his fingers. He presses down on my tongue, and saliva fills my mouth.
His gaze are fastened on my lips.
I bite down on his fingers, scowling at him, and he jerks back.
He grins. “Didn’t take you as one into blood play.” He flips me over so my back is against his front. He puts his hand on my stomach, pressing me into him.
It’s possessive, and I’m still irritated. The most surprising part: he has an erection. It touches my ass, and I can’t help shift my hips back ever so slightly, wondering at the feel of him.
His hand comes up and tweaks my nipple again.
I freeze.
“Careful, love, unless you do want to wake up your foster parents by screaming my name.”
I frown.
His slow chuckle vibrates in his chest. “Just sleep.”
And the most surprising part: I do sleep.
Caleb curled around me wards off the bad dreams, and I wake up once, in the middle of the night, to find that I’d flipped around in my sleep. My cheek is plastered to his chest, head tucked under his chin, and I’m wrapped around him like an octopus.
As much as it disturbs me, I let his quiet shush drag me back under.
In the morning, he’s gone.
I stretch out, flipping onto my back, and realize that he must’ve left through the window not too long ago. The spot he was lying in is still warm.
