Oh god.
My body feels like rubber. Limp and useless. There's this weird buzzing sensation everywhere—aftershocks. Leftover orgasms still pulsing through my system like electrical currents that won't stop firing.
I try to move and can't. My muscles won't cooperate. Everything feels disconnected, like I'm operating a body I don't quite remember how to control.
How did I get here?
The last thing I remember is?—
The vibrator. His cock. Coming so hard I saw white.
And then... nothing.
Just black.
How long was I out?
I blink, trying to focus. His hand is stroking my hair. Gentle. Possessive. Like I'm some kind of pet he's calming down after?—
After what?
My mind starts working again, piecing together fragments. The exam table. The restraints. Him fucking me until I passed out.
And then nothing.
Nothing.
Oh god.
The realization hits me.
He drugged me.
He fuckingdruggedme.
That's the only explanation. You don't just black out like that. You don't lose hours—because it has to have been hours, my body feels wrecked in ways that couldn't have happened in minutes—you don't losetimeunless something was done to you.
He fucked me while I was unconscious.
While I waspassed out.
The panic slams into me all at once. Fight or flight. Every nerve ending that was buzzing with pleasure two seconds ago is now screamingdanger danger danger run run RUN.
I move.
My body shouldn't be capable of it, but adrenaline is a hell of a thing. I'm suddenly up, stumbling off his lap, my legs barely supporting my weight but I'mmoving.
"Scarletta—"
I don't look back.
The stairs. I see them now—completely open, leading up to the main floor. How did I miss them before? Doesn't matter.I'm running, my feet slapping against the wood, my thighs screaming in protest.
"Scarletta, wait?—"
He's behind me. Following. I hear his footsteps, heavy and fast.
I reach the top of the stairs and keep going. The main floor is dark except for?—
