Rhaegar leaned down, bracing one arm on either side of her body, caging her beneath him.
"Caelith..."
His voice was hoarse, seductive.
She bit down upon her lip and refused to answer.
Slowly, he lifted a hand and brushed his fingers against her cheek. The touch was feather-light.
Then his hand slid lower, coming to rest against her throat. He was not squeezing; his hand was simply resting there.
She could feel the heat of his palm—scalding hot—the roughened pads of his fingers grazing slowly across her skin.
Her entire body trembled.
"Rhaegar…"
Without warning, he lifted his hand.
Smack.
A soft sound landed against her thigh. It did not truly hurt, yet the sensation was somehow more humiliating than pain itself.
She froze in disbelief, and then color surged violently into her face.
"You… you struck me?"
He said nothing, and then, another soft smack followed, slightly heavier than before.
