Page 33 of Wicked Little Darling

I shut off the water as a volatile fury exploded through my system. I stumbled out of the shower, grabbed my towel and frantically wrapped it around my waist, then yanked the door open to find Dakota sitting on his bed, violin tucked under his chin, eyes closed as he dragged the bow across the strings.

He was playing my violin.

Myviolin. The one Mom bought me right before?—

There was nothing in my mind but a black mist of rage as I rushed toward him. He opened his eyes and moved the violin out of my path right before I fisted the front of his shirt in both hands.

“You asshole!”

I’d flown at him so hard and fast that he fell back onto the bed, his eyes locking onto mine, wide with surprise. “What?—”

“Why would you do that?!” I cried.

“I didn’t?—”

“What is wrong with you, you bastard?!”

“Reese—”

“That’sm-mine!” I squeezed my fists tighter. “That violin is the only thing I give a shit about on this Earth, and you—you?—”

A tear dropped onto Dakota’s cheek and rolled down the side of his face, and then my vision blurred when more came. Another one fell onto his bottom lip, and I glanced down as his pink tongue slowly slid out and licked it away. I was breathing so hard that I was wheezing, on the verge of hyperventilating, and as the explosive anger began to dissipate, melting away into a sad exhaustion that made my bones feel heavy, Dakota staredinto my eyes with a fervency that sucked the rest of my waning energy away.

“That’s not your violin, Reese. It’s mine,” he said softly. The natural harshness of his voice rasped against my soul in an almost soothing way, and I was so lost in his eyes that his words took a moment to break through the cacophony of despair in my mind.

I let out a breath as I trembled on top of him, and when I glanced over at his left hand, where he was still holding the neck of the violin, I finally noticed that it really wasn’t mine. The wood was cherry, not spruce and maple, and it was missing the chipped edging and scuff marks on the sides.

“What…” When I brought my gaze back to Dakota’s, he was watching me with a quiet intensity. “You play the…you have…a…”

Shame, humiliation, and anguish sloshed in my chest; a horrible mix of emotions that all piled on top of a tremendous guilt and disgust for myself.

“Definitely a tiger,” Dakota murmured, forcing my focus back onto him. His eyes trailed lazily across my face, stopping on my birthmark for a long moment. When they made their way back to mine, little wrinkles formed at the corners as his lips curved upward. “That was a compliment.”

My heart was beating so fast that I was having trouble breathing, and the horror of what I’d done made me want to bash my head into the wall.

To not stop until I couldn’t feel a thing.

“You’re naked,” he said, never breaking eye contact.

The flush those words brought forth scorched through my chest, flying up my neck and burning across my face.

He was right. I’d lost the towel at some point and now I was just sitting on him bare-ass-naked.

Dakota’s body was firm and startlingly hot beneath mine; I was straddling his waist in the most obscene way, but my lower body was hidden from his view because my wet chest was plastered to his. The more I paid attention, the more I could feel a responsive heat simmering in the pit of my stomach and starting to spread.

I’d forgotten my entire reality because I thought he’d taken my violin. Fucking hell, I was worse off than I’d thought. Just lying to myself every day and blocking it all out like it wasn’t happening. Like I wasn’t one light tap away from shattering completely.

I was thankful he wasn’t looking at any other part of me. The longer I lay on top of him, the more I didn’t want to get off because he’d see everything—every single scar on my thighs. Every single mark I’d intentionally carved into my skin, all my suffering forever etched on the surface.

Panic ricocheted through my bones, and my heartbeat—which had started to slow—began to pick up again.

He couldn’t see. I couldn’t let him see them, but I didn’t know how to get out of thiswithouthim seeing them.

I threw aside the ragged tatters of my pride and whispered, “Can…can you close your eyes?”

I felt like such an asshole for jumping to conclusions and getting myself into this mess. I probably deserved to have my secrets revealed; to be exposed because of my own atrocious behavior.

I’d called him a bastard, but I was the one making assumptions and attacking people like a fucking psycho.