Chapter 6-What Is Wrong With Me?

Hazel’s POV

Before I could blink, he pulled me to him.

One second, I was glaring at him; the next, my back hit the bed with a soft thud that sent a tremor through my spine. My gasp filled the silence. The silk sheets were cold against my skin, but his body hovering above me burned like fire.

“What the hell—”

My voice broke off when his hand gripped my chin roughly, forcing me to look at him. His blue eyes were darker—stormy, dangerous, and full of something I couldn’t name.

“You’ve always wanted this,” he said through clenched teeth. “And now that I’m giving it to you, you’re fighting me?”

My heart pounded so hard it hurt. His words didn’t make sense. None of this did.

I opened my mouth to tell him to fuck off, to push him away—but before I could even think, his lips crashed against mine.

The world tilted.

Every rational thought vanished. My mind went blank.

It felt like someone had hit a switch inside me—like my brain stopped working and my body took over. His lips were rough, demanding, desperate. The kiss wasn’t gentle; it was war. And somehow, my body responded like it had been waiting for it all along.

No.

No, no, no.

This was insane.

I didn’t want this. I didn’t even fucking know this man.

But my body… betrayed me.

My hands pressed against his chest, not to push but to feel. My spine arched off the bed, heat crawling up my neck. A sound slipped from my lips—a soft, broken moan that didn’t even sound like me.

Oh God.

That didn’t come from me.

I wanted to deny it, to bury it somewhere in the back of my mind, but his mouth moved against mine again, stealing the air from my lungs. I could taste him—bitterness and heat—and my thoughts blurred until all that existed was the weight of his body and the rhythm of our uneven breaths.

“Stop,” I tried to say, but it came out as another breathless sound.

His hand moved to the side of my face, then lower, tracing the edge of my jaw before sliding down the curve of my neck. My pulse leapt beneath his touch. I hated it—how my body reacted, how it trembled like it recognized him.

He groaned against my mouth, the sound low and rough, like he was fighting something too. His lips trailed down my throat, and my breath caught when his teeth grazed my skin.

No. This wasn’t right.

This wasn’t my professor. This was the dumb ass King.

The same cruel man who treated his queen like shit.

So why did it feel like every nerve in my body had caught fire?

His breath was hot against my collarbone. I bit my lip hard enough to taste blood, trying to snap myself out of it, but then his hand moved again—down my arm, down my side, until it found the edge of my robe.

“Don’t—” I started, but he didn’t listen.

The sound of fabric tearing filled the room.

He ripped the robe off me in one brutal motion and threw it somewhere behind him. Cool air brushed my bare skin, and I gasped, arms instinctively flying up to cover myself.

“Stop!” I said, breathless.

He didn’t stop.

His eyes flicked down, dark and hungry, and then he tore at the thin nightgown beneath, shredding it like paper until I was left trembling under his gaze.

He didn’t even give me a second to breathe before his mouth was on me again—lower this time. The heat of his lips burned against my skin, and when I felt the rough drag of his tongue on my nipple, my body jolted.

I should have fought. I should have screamed. I should have pushed him off.

But instead, my hands grabbed his shoulders. Not to shove him away—but to hold on.

He groaned again, the sound vibrating against me as his lips found the sensitive spot on my chest. My breath hitched. My mind screamed stop, but my body melted deeper into the bed, every inch of me trembling from the confusion of it all.

“You’re so wet for me,” he growled against my skin, his voice low, primal.

My eyes flew open.

I shook my head, denial crashing through me. “No,” I whispered, but the word was weak, shaky, a lie my body refused to believe.

Then he kissed me again, harder this time, swallowing the sound that escaped me. The world spun. I didn’t know what was happening anymore—where I ended and he began.

My heart was pounding out of control. I could feel every beat in my throat, in my chest, between my legs.

When had I lost control?

His hand slid down, fingers brushing places that made my whole body tense and shiver at once. A choked sound left my lips—half protest, half something else entirely.

He lifted his head, eyes locking onto mine, dark and unreadable. For a moment, I thought I saw something there—pain? Desire? Anger? I couldn’t tell.

Then his mouth was back on mine, urgent, consuming.

Somewhere in the haze, I realized his body pressed closer, harder. I felt the roughness of him against my skin—and then something else.

Something hot. Heavy. Hard.

My breath caught. My eyes flew open.

When the hell did he take his pants off?

His hips pressed forward slightly, and I felt it—him—rub against my stomach, sending a shiver straight through me. My pulse roared in my ears, a warning, a plea, a thousand thoughts tangled together.

No. This couldn’t be happening.

I wanted to scream, to run, to disappear—but I couldn’t move.

Then I felt him shift, his hand sliding down, guiding himself lower, until I felt the hard length of him brush between my legs.

And in that instant—everything stopped.

My breath. My heartbeat. The world itself.

I froze.

And before I could stop myself, my hand landed on his face with a hard slap.

“You fucking bastard!”