Chapter 8

The air inside the planetarium dome still hummed with the residual electricity of the show, a low, vibrating thrum that seemed to resonate in the very marrow of my bones. We stood near the exit, the crowd thinning out as the last of the amateur astronomers and couples filed out into the cool, crisp night. My heart was hammering against my ribs, a frantic bird trapped in a cage of bone, matching the rhythm of his pulse where his hand rested over mine. We hadn’t spoken since the moment he had guided me to the back of the dome, away from the projected constellations, into the shadows where the real stars lived. The memory of his lips on my neck, the rough texture of his beard against my sensitive skin, the way he had whispered that dirty, possessive promise into my ear—*stay good for me, baby girl*—was still fresh, a brand searing through my mind. I could feel the ghost of his touch on my inner thigh, even now, as we walked toward the heavy doors. He kept his grip firm, his fingers interlaced with mine, a silent anchor in the swirling sea of people. He didn’t look at me,