Chapter 2 Double Drugged

Sophia My body wasn’t my own. The cold water rushed over me, but it didn’t help. If anything, it made it worse. My skin felt hypersensitive, every drop that touched me sending a shiver through my already feverish body. My breaths came out in short, ragged gasps as I pressed my back against the cool tiles, my hands gripping my thighs as I fought against the unbearable ache. This was wrong. I knew it was, but no matter how much I tried to fight it, the need to get a man only grew stronger. My fingers twitched at my sides before I gave in, slowly dragging them over my burning skin. A shaky moan escaped my lips, and I clamped my mouth shut, horrified by the sound. What was happening to me? Why was I acting like this? Then it hit me. The drink. This was all Stella, but why? Why would she do this to me? A fresh wave of panic crashed into me, momentarily breaking through the haze of pleasure clouding my mind. I had been drugged—there was no doubt about it. But why? Was it just some cruel joke, or did she have something bigger planned? I shook my head, squeezing my eyes shut. Thinking was impossible. The heat in my veins overpowered everything else, drowning me in pure, raw need. Then, I heard it. A soft creak. The door is opening. My eyes snapped open in alarm. My breath caught in my throat as I turned toward the glass shower door, my vision hazy from both the steam and whatever drug was in my system. A shadow moved inside the bathroom. I should have screamed. I should have covered myself, run, and done something. But I couldn’t. My body refused to listen to me. The man didn’t say a word. He was naked. Completely undressed, and then I saw it. The huge member in between his thighs. I pressed my thighs together because the sight of his rock-hard member did something to me. I couldn't control myself. I wanted him. Holy shit! What is this? Why, by looking at his member, I turned into a needy slut. A moan escaped my lips, and I knew he heard it, but I didn't care. He didn't stop to look at me; he knew he wasn't alone, but he didn't care. He stepped toward the tub, his movements unhurried, almost lazy, as if he didn’t care that I was standing right there. As if I wasn’t even real. I pressed my back harder against the wall, watching as he slid into the tub, his head tipping back against the cool surface. His body was toned, muscles rippling under the dim bathroom light. Fuck, that member of his It immediately became my motivation to stroke myself. He groaned. His hand moved; it went straight to his shaft; and he started stroking it. Violently. I sucked in a breath as I realized what he was doing. He didn’t look at me. Didn’t acknowledge my presence. He simply leaned back, his long fingers wrapping around his dick, stroking with slow, deliberate movements. Heat pulsed through me like a living thing. I want him; I want him to be stroking inside me. My nails dug into my thighs as I bit my lip, forcing myself to look away. But it was impossible. The way his chest rose and fell, the way his arm tensed with every movement—it was hypnotic. I moaned at the sight before me, and he did the same. We didn’t speak. We didn’t look at each other, but in that big, steamy bathroom, with the water running and our bodies betraying us, we felt each other. I should have run. I should have stopped, but instead, I closed my eyes and let the fire consume me. The sound of the running water filled the space between us, drowning out everything else. My body trembled, torn between fear and the uncontrollable hunger clawing its way through my veins. The cold shower did nothing to ease the heat, the ache growing more unbearable with every passing second. I knew this was wrong. I felt it deep inside me, but it didn’t stop my hands from moving—hesitant at first, then desperate. My fingers trailed over my skin, seeking relief that never came, my breath hitching in frustration. My knees threatened to buckle, a fresh wave of heat surging through me at the sight. I tore my gaze away, squeezing my eyes shut, but it didn’t help. The sounds, the wet slide of his palm, the way his breathing grew heavier—it was worse. I clenched my fists, nails digging into my palms as I fought for control, but it was a battle I was losing. My body was betraying me, my hands trembling, aching to move, aching to feel. And then I did. I mirrored his movements, unable to stop myself. Every touch, every caress only made the ache worse, the need more unbearable. My lips parted in a silent gasp as pleasure built inside me, rising higher and higher. I glanced at him again, and for the briefest second, his eyes flicked toward me. A single moment. A fleeting connection. But then, just as quickly, he looked away, as if I was nothing. As if none of this was happening. And yet, in that silent, steamy bathroom, with water dripping from our skin and our bodies shuddering from something neither of us spoke of, we were together. Even in our silence. Even in our isolation. I bit my lip, a soft moan slipping free before I could stop it. My body tightened, my breaths coming in ragged pants, everything inside me breaking, and then, in a haze of steam and heat and forbidden desire—everything shattered. I slid down on my butt on the floor and parted my legs without caring what he would think. I faced him and gave him a view of what was in between my thighs. His breath hitched. He turned to look at me; he continued stroking himself while I did the same. We moaned at the sight of each other, but we knew we wanted more. I don't know about him, but I wanted him inside me. “Please,” like a slut, I begged him. I couldn’t believe my own voice, but I don’t regret it.