Page 35 of Filthy Hot Prince

No, I had said.

Yes, he had groaned.

Stop, I moaned in pain.

It’s okay, a few more—See? You love it, he whispered.

Please don’t, it hurts. No, I cried out.

I blacked out again.

The dryness in my throat woke me up, my mind a jumbled mess of throbbing headache and—something sticky between my thighs. I wanted to puke. My thighs coated with it as I panicked, wincing when the soreness between my legs felt prominent.

My memories were jumbled. Maybe it was a stupid nightmare. Yes, that must be it.

“Let me clean you up, Val. You have beer all over your thighs,”helied to me, leading me to the bathroom and gently holding my arms and patting my hair when he cleaned me up.

No beer could be that thick.

It must be a bad dream. He wouldn’t…no. He wouldn’t. I was drunk, and it was a bad dream.

But my dress was torn from the side, my bra unclasped. The shirt I had worn before was missing and so wasmy underwear.

“Did something happen?” I asked him in a low voice, scared.

Scared of what?There was nothing to be scared of. He was my best-friend. The Golden Boy in the school was my best-friend.

His citrus scent overpowered me as he stood up, washed my hands, and fixed my dress with soft fingers. His voice was gentle but firm. “Nothing happened, Valeria.”

Right. Of course. I was overthinking. He couldneverdo that. He would always protect me—

But why were his friends faking concern about me? Why didtheyhave my shirt? Why were they asking me to smoke with them? Why were they laughing?

“Where are we going?” I asked, trying to turn on my phone, but the broken glass of the mobile was visible. It was brand new and Mr Benjamin and Mabel had bought it for me last month on my sixteenth birthday.

He drove the car, offering me his phone to call. “I am taking you home, Val. Where else would I take you? Your parents trusted me to take care of you. I willalwaystake care of you.”

I nodded, thankful for his sweet words.

His song played in the car, the radio station host complimenting him. His band was doing well.

He would never do that.

But my underwear was still missing.

And it was blood that had coated my thighs, not beer.

“Valeria. Wake up!”

“Stop!” I pushed hard at the broad shoulders, didn’t wanthimto touch me again.

Not again. No, never again.Oh God.

“It’s me, Khalid. It’s okay, Valeria. It’s just a dream.”

I woke up with a start, my heart beating too loudly under my palm as I touched my chest. I sighed in relief. I was wearing clothes, especially my underwear.

It was okay. I am okay.

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