Dane's POV:
She. Did. Not.
The words hit like a flare going off in my skull. I shake hard, once, twice, a third time, moving my head until spots dance at the edge of my vision.
The dirty towel slips at last and slides off the side of my neck, damp and sour against my skin before it drops away.
The pain from my groin snakes upward, slow at first, then pulsing, a dull savage throb that climbs into my stomach and makes it roll.
For a second I swear I might actually throw up.
My breath hitches.
"Oh, I'm coming for you, Rain," I sing-song loud enough for her to hear, voice rougher than I expect, and I push off the wall and head for her room.
I barge the door open.
"You—you stay away from me." She yelped.
She's over by the window, half turned, fingers skimming the curtain like she's not sure whether to hide behind it or rip it down.
Her eyes are wide.
