As soon as the guy reached the bed, he loomed over me, his shadow falling across my face. His hand came down, rough and intrusive, fingers brushing against my skin as if he had every right to touch me. The contact sent a jolt of panic racing through me, and my stomach twisted so hard it felt like I might be sick.
Instinct took over. I jerked my head to the side, trying to escape his touch, my breath coming in sharp, ragged bursts. My hands shot up, clumsy and trembling, but I forced them against him anyway. I clawed and shoved, pushing at his wrists, his chest—anywhere I could reach—desperate to create space between us. My arms felt weak, like they belonged to someone else, but I poured every last bit of strength I had into keeping him away from me, into refusing to let him claim even an
