20. Margo
Chapter 20
Margo
M y bed dips, and my eyes fly open.
A shadow looms 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, baby,” Caleb whispers.
When I relax, he removes his hand from my lips and raises an eyebrow.
“You came back?”
“Am I unwelcome?” He smirks.
“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. You gave me a look when I dropped you off. I thought we were finally on the same page.”
“Yeah, right…” Okay, fine. I did give him a look, but it was more of a I hope you don’t sneak in through my window tonight expression. Clearly our wires got a little crossed.
Then there was the whole he’s mine thought process. As soon as I got inside, I realized… how fucking dumb am I?
Do I want Amelie or anyone else touching him?
No. Especially not in front of me. Or behind my back. Or in any innocent or nefarious capacity.
Do I want him touching me ?
No.
Well, except for when I woke up with his head between my legs… that was nice.
Nice. I just described waking up to that , and the subsequential orgasm, as nice .
I’m losing it.
He hops off the bed and sheds his clothes. Sweatshirt, t-shirt, jeans. Even his socks come off. He pulls back the edge of my comforter and slides underneath clad only in his boxers.
“What are you doing?” I shift to give him room… although I’m not really sure I want him to settle in. I mean, Lenora and Robert are right down the hall.
He moves down so we’re face-to-face. He puts his elbow on my pillow, propping up his head. “I was thinking about something after I dropped you off. You never apologized.”
I eye him. “Why would I apologize?”
“For going into my guest house without permission.”
I rise 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.
Clearly, when I said I was losing it, I should’ve said we were losing it. He’s lost his fucking marbles, too, judging by his dark expression. He stares down at me with a promise—or threat—to unleash all his demons on me.
All I need to do is continue down the denial road.
“I’m sorry,” I squeak.
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. “What kind of girls have you been hanging out with who sleep in underwire?”
His finger brushes over one of my nipples, and it pebbles under his touch. My lips part, but the question of where he’s going dies on my lips when he smirks.
“Wouldn’t you like to know?”
I grab his wrist, stopping his hand from moving farther south. “I would, actually.”
His gaze crashes into mine. “Currently? None.”
“None,” I repeat. “No one. Not a single girl?”
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?—”
“Quiet, baby. It’s just you, okay?”
I press my lips together.
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 and pinching my nipple. It’s aching pain and pleasure. My back arches off the bed. He pushes me down again. His palm burns up against my stomach.
Why am I letting him touch me like this?
Because no one ever has .
My heart skips when his hot mouth touches my other breast, clamping on my nipple.
Holy shit. 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 chuckles against my skin and allows me to push him off. Sitting back and kneeling next to my body, he shoves my blankets off of me. In a quick move, he grabs the waistband of my shorts and yanks them down, taking my panties with it.
“Caleb.” I sit up fast. My back hits my headboard, and I put my hand between my legs. Mainly to hide myself from him. My t-shirt slides back down, concealing my breasts.
I’m burning with shame and a tiny bit too much desire for this situation. He drops my shorts but keeps my white lace panties in one hand.
“If looks could kill.” He appraises me. “Do you not want me to touch you, little lamb?”
Well…
He sees my indecision plain as day. And he makes the choice for me. “Give me your hands.”
We watch each other in the dark. This is another test, isn’t it? Another fucking game. But this one… I guess it feels a bit safe, here in my bedroom. I offer my arms, and he loops my panties around each wrist. He moves to the headboard and ties it to one of the bars.
The position has my head back on the pillow. My heart lurches, but all he does is lean down and trail kisses down my jaw, my throat. “Will you scream? Wake up your foster parents?”
There’s something inexplicably aggravating about how helpless I feel. The more he touches me, the more I want to touch him back.
It’s just me, he said.
“No.” I swallow. “I wouldn’t scream. Not now. And certainly not?—”
He thrusts a finger into me without warning. I hadn’t even realized his hand had drifted, so focused on his expression. But the feeling is unlike anything else, and my mouth opens and shuts uselessly.
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 as he slowly withdraws and pumps it back in. Again and again until my legs shake.
He hasn’t touched anything else.
I tug on the restraint, and he kisses the corner of my lips.
“Don’t ask me to fuck you,” he whispers. “Because when I do, you will be screaming my name.”
He latches on to my nipple, sucking hard before his teeth scrape my skin.
I buck, fighting the feeling. He withdraws his finger from my pussy, and two push back in. It stretches me, and I groan. His thumb brushes my clit.
“Do that again.”
His laugh rumbles in his chest.
His slow assault continues. Each move brings me closer to the edge, although he seems content to take his time. He tastes my breast, my sternum. My other nipple, biting and sucking the flesh above it. That plus what he’s doing between my legs… My core pulses around his fingers.
He takes everything.
So when the orgasm finally crests, he releases my nipple and watches me. My face flames—and the flush takes over my body. He finally releases my pussy, and I sag against the bed.
The glint in his gaze conveys that we haven’t even started yet. Not truly.
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 pushes 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 is fastened on my lips.
I bite his fingers.
He jerks them out of my mouth and scowls. “Didn’t take you as one into blood play.”
“I could be into a whole range of things you know nothing about.”
“Is that a promise?” He undoes my panties from the headboard and carefully unwinds them from my wrists.
“Maybe,” I reply.
He rolls onto his back. He drags his boxers down, exposing his dick. It springs to attention, stiff and straight.
“Um…”
“Straddle my chest,” he orders.
“Why?”
“So I can lick your pussy while you choke on my cock.”
Oh, fuck. My face heats, and I shake my head—then stop. Because I just said I might be into a whole range of things… but I’m not going to know either. Not unless I try.
So I do what he says. I get up on my knees and swing one leg over, facing his dick. It’s a totally different angle this way, instead of on my knees while he stands above me.
I gather my hair and pull it over one shoulder, then lower myself.
I spit on him, and it twitches. I wrap my fingers around it and stroke it a few times, then… well, I just go for it. I take him deep, and he groans. He waits until I’ve found some semblance of a rhythm, a pattern, and then absolutely obliterates it by licking straight up my center.
“Keep going.” He nips at my ass cheek.
I lurch. His hands on my hips keep me in place, then drag me back harder against his face.
If I thought I wasn’t holding back… surely he’s just trying to outdo me. His tongue plunges into me, then moves to my sensitive clit. Everything throbs in time with his ministrations, and I try to keep up. I twist my hand around the base of his dick, then reach down and cup his balls.
He moans. His hips jack, forcing himself deeper into my mouth. He hits the back of my throat. He continues to fuck my face until his balls lift up toward his body. I only feel it because of my fingers on them, and it’s the warning I need.
He comes in my mouth.
Across my tongue, down my throat. I swallow hard, sucking until there’s nothing left. And then I focus on the sensation between my legs and the pleasure spiraling through me.
I press my forehead to his stomach and struggle to keep my composure—and to keep quiet. I come with a low groan, twisting the sheets up in my fists. And when I finally gain my sanity back, I pitch sideways off of him.
I take deep breaths, then roll out of bed and hurry into the bathroom. My chest is tight, restricting my lungs, and my heartbeat hammers so loud in my ears I can’t think straight.
How am I supposed to react to the way he always sneaks in and does wicked things to me?
Not to mention—he said I was the only one.
Do I believe him?
I just need to wait until he gets dressed and climbs back out the window. Which shouldn’t take him too long, right?
Wrong.
By the time I’ve cleaned myself up, washed my face, and re-brushed my teeth—because, ew , cum breath—I’ve wasted a good ten minutes. And my heart rate is back to normal. The anxiety holding me hostage has loosened its grip.
It’s late, but tomorrow is Saturday. I can sleep in… and then deal with the consequences later.
I leave the light on to see the damage Caleb caused to my bed and open the door. The warm glow spills across the room, slanting over my bed, and highlighting Caleb.
He’s lying on bed.
Still .
I glare at him, but he’s not even looking at me. He’s fixed the sheets and blankets, put his boxers back into place, and is curled on his side. His eyes are closed.
There’s an empty spot next to him.
“What are you doing?” I whisper-yell.
He frowns at my tone. “What are you doing?”
“Waiting for you to leave.”
“Huh.” He pats the space next to him. “I’ve been waiting for you to join me.”
“That’s my bed.”
“I’m in the right place, then.”
I narrow my eyes.
“No funny business,” he promises. “Come on.”
“There’s no talking you out of leaving?”
“I like some quality skin-to-skin action after sex.”
“That wasn’t sex.”
“It’s oral sex , baby.” He glances over. “You going to deny me?”
“Maybe I should.” I cross my arms. “Didn’t you once say that? The more I ask, the more you’ll deny.”
An idea takes hold.
I drop to my knees, so fast the impact travels up into my hips.
Caleb sits up slowly.
I lock my fingers together, as if to pray, and raise them. “Oh, please, Caleb. Please stay with me tonight.”
His gaze is thunderous, but I hold his eye contact.
“Get in bed, Margo.” A slow smile curls his lips. “Unless you’re still hungry. Then you can stay right there and I’ll fuck your face. Nice and slow.”
“Will you leave, then?”
“Do you want me to?”
“I just begged for the opposite…”
He shakes his head and unfolds his body from the mattress. My muscles tremble when he comes closer, but I don’t stand. My knees would probably give out anyway.
Nerves or anxiety or whatever.
He slides his fingers into my hair, feeling the silky strands. After a minute of stroking, he tangles them in my hair and tugs sharply.
My head falls backward, going with the pressure.
“You don’t fold when I threaten to shove my cock so deep down your throat you’ll be unable to breathe,” he murmurs. “And you don’t say anything about me touching you. Or hurting you.”
“I’m just letting you work out your trauma,” I say on an exhale.
His grip tightens. “Fuck you.”
“You keep threatening that, but nothing happens.”
“You’re a virgin, aren’t you? Sweet little lamb, holding on to that innocence with a white-knuckled grip. You talk a big game, you know that?”
“I learned from the best.”
“Your coke-whore mother?” he guesses. “Or your father?”
I nut-punch him.
I didn’t think it would actually work—I mean, I grew up around a lot of children, many of whom came to the group homes with bad habits. One girl would nut-punch the adult men if she didn’t get her way, and eventually started doing it to the boys who irritated her or stole her toys.
She didn’t last long… But I was always fascinated with how they folded.
Just like Caleb, folding in front of me.
I shove him away, my hair sliding through his fingers, and rush to the window. I shove it all the way open, letting in a blast of cold October night air. He should take the hint and get out.
I climb into bed, completely ignoring his mutterings, and yank the blankets up to my ears.
He’ll get the message.
He’ll leave.
Wrong again .
The blankets lift behind me, and a hot body presses to my back. I stiffen, even when the blankets settle around us, and his arm drapes over my hip.
His slow chuckle vibrates in his chest. “I love how you think you can get rid of me with a little pain.”
“Well, a girl can dream.”
“Dream about me.” He smooths my hair out of the way, shifting me closer. “Go to 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.