Page 21 of Crown Of Desires

“What you were wearing didn’t qualify as clothing.” He hisses.

This motherfucker.

I’m one smart remark away from introducing my palm to his cheek.

“Your top is underneath the T-shirt.”

My bandeau. Skin-tight, strapless, cropped at the waist. I’d skipped the bra because they’re a medieval invention and I refuse to be convinced otherwise.

“I just improved the situation.” He casually shrugs.

“Improved?” I hiss. “By covering me up because you decided I needed it?”

His mouth twitches, just enough to aggravate me.

“For the record, I choose what I wear. It was my decision so, fuck you.”

“A reckless decision.”

“Still my decision.” I shoot back.

“Your tits were out for the entire world to see.”

“Not your problem.”

“My. Fucking. Problem.” He grunts, his gaze darkening. “Woman, do you want to turn me into a murderer?” For someone who doesn’t speak often, he’s surely talking a lot.

“I thought you weren’t jealous.” He stays quiet at that.

Before he can respond, I yank the T-shirt over my head and throw it straight at his face.

“Enjoy your contribution.” I hop off the counter and reach for my phone and bag on the nightstand.

“Elara.” He catches up in two strides.

“Go away, arsehole.”

“Let me drive you home. You fainted last night.” He orders in a low voice but I hear him alright, that’s how close he’d gotten to me, again.

His chest presses against my back as he tugs at my waist, pulling me closer and the world tilts.

The contact sends something inside me splintering and last night crashes into me all at once.

A flickering lamp registers in my mind. The haunting lullaby following close behind.

“This isn’t funny.” The girl in the pink dress says, she’s scared. She’s just as scared as I was in the arena.

Someone in the crowd touched me last night. A student at our university groped my chest and just smiled, calling it an honest mistake.

But it wasn’t. It fucking wasn’t, because a few minutes later, he touched me again.

Rock-a-bye, baby, On the treetop,

I tried to leave, but he caught my wrist and yanked me back until my body collided with his. I’d seen him around campus before, but trauma doesn’t care about familiar faces. It only remembers what fear feels like.

When the wind blows, The cradle will rock.

His dick pressed against my back and I tried to struggle in the crowd, I tried to shout, but my voice dissolved beneath the roar of the crowd.