Chapter 4

CHAPTER FOUR

Wyn

It took me several long minutes before I was brave enough to leave that bathroom. What's weird is that Lucas gave me absolutely no explanation about why he finger fucked me. Was it just a game, to see if he could?

I'm so damn confused it's not even funny.

I meet Alexis for coffee a half-hour later, and of course, I tell her everything that just happened. She's just as confused as I am.

"Maybe he was trying to distract you?" she offers, holding her paper coffee cup with both hands. "Could that be it?"

I blow out a breath and lean against the backrest of my chair. "Yeah, I mean, I don't know. I thought he hated me. That's always the vibe I got from him."

And after his freak-out last night, what he did today is doubly confusing.

Alexis takes a sip from her coffee, and then sets the paper cup down in front of her, squinting against the sunlight. "Guys are fucking weird," she says. "They can completely divorce themselves from the act of sex. He probably just saw an opportunity and took it."

Yeah, I'm sure it meant nothing to him. He caught me when I was vulnerable, and took advantage of that. I should hate him. I do hate him. He's a fucking hypocrite.

"You're right." I take a sip of my lukewarm latte. What just happened between us was a freak thing, and I should just forget about it. But, daymn , the way Lucas played my body like a four-string guitar…

Nope, not thinking about that.

"What you r eally need is a good fuck." Alexis smiles, and I have to refrain from rolling my eyes. We're back to this again. "A nice big cock to make you forget about Lucas–fucking–West."

"I tried that already."

She waves off my comment. "A couple of us are hitting the club tomorrow, you wanna join?"

"I have an article due on Thursday," I say. An article that I haven't even thought about yet. I don't even have a topic. That's how behind I am.

Alexis just blinks at me. "You're not ditching us for an article, Wyn. Get AI to write it or something."

"M'kay, that's unethical, " I say in a lecturing tone. "But…" Damn, my blood is still buzzing from Lucas finger fucking me. Maybe Alexis is right. I need some real dick. "Okay. Let's do it. Maybe it'll clear my head."

"Yes, girl. Yes! " she squeaks, clapping. "It'll make you feel better. You'll see."

The rest of the day is kinda chill. I try to forget about the flower on my desk, and Lucas, and the mind-blowing orgasm I had in the women's restroom this morning.

When I head back home, though, anxiety knots in my stomach. Will there be another flower waiting on my bed? Or a severed horse head this time? With the breath snagged in my lungs, I unlock my door and push it open.

My bed is empty, and a quick look around reveals nothing has been moved or disturbed inside my apartment. Pushing out a relieved breath, I set my backpack down, and step inside, shutting my door, and locking it behind me.

I immediately strip off my dress and get into leggings and an oversized shirt. I can't sit around in my outside clothes. Yeah, no. The literal second I step into my apartment, I'm getting my comfy clothes on.

Pulling my laptop out of my backpack, I toss it onto my bed and grab a bottle of iced tea from my fridge. I drink half of it as I crawl onto the mattress. If I'm clubbing tomorrow night, then I'd better start my article now.

Setting my tea down, I open my laptop and a new document, staring at the flashing cursor. What could I write about? I blink, and a sudden sense of tiredness comes over me. How weird. I've had a long day, I guess.

Shaking my head, I yawn, and open my browser to search relevant topics to write about. "Ten Tips for Snagging a Beach Boy," maybe? The subject is just lame enough to pass with minimal effort. I could bullshit 500 words on that.

I'm looking up a couple of sources when I start feeling dizzy. The words on the screen are blurred, and I blink again to clear my vision. Still blurred. Actually, it's a little worse now.

My body sways, moving of its own accord, and I might feel panicked about that, but whatever is happening is making me feel oddly calm, almost euphoric.

What…the…fuck?

In what feels like slow motion, I glance over at my iced tea. Was it sealed when I opened it? It's the only thing I've consumed since being home. Did someone put something in it? The thought drifts through my mind, like an abstract thing. Like a piece of lint floating into my line of vision before drifting off again.

My head feels heavy, and I lie back on the pile of pillows behind me. Yasss. That's nice. My eyelids drift closed, and my body relaxes.

Wow, that's some good tea. I like. Ten out of ten would absolutely recommend.

I'm floating like that for…I don't know how long, just enjoying the slight vibration in my veins. I'm not aware of time, really, but at some point, I realize someone is standing at the foot of my bed.

It occurs to me that I should be afraid, but I can't summon up the feeling. I blink down at the figure. He's tall, broad-shouldered, wearing a black mask that covers everything but his eyes.

How strange.

Why is he here?

I'm still so tired, I can barely keep my eyes open, but I manage to hold his gaze. The light in my apartment has been switched off, but there's still just enough light to see.

"You…shouldn't…" God, I can't get the words out. My tongue feels like a giant cotton ball.

Reaching out, he grabs my ankle and drags me down to the end of the bed. I jerk back when he touches me, "fight or flight" kicking in, instinct muscling past the effects of the drug I've been given. I'm guessing it was added to my tea by this guy, whoever he is. Even my murky mind can work that little puzzle out.

The flowers.

I pull against his iron grip, but doesn't do any good. My legs dangle off the edge of the mattress, and roughly, he pulls my leggings off, followed quickly by my panties.

I can't even wrap my head around what's happening. It almost feels like a dream, and if it weren't for the very real feel of his warm hand on my skin, I might chalk it up to that. But his grip is hard, painful, and definitely not a dream.

The masked man kneels between my open thighs, one hand on each knee, spreading me wide. I'm completely open to him, my pussy exposed to a fucking stranger who just broke into my apartment.

This isn't good.

I summon every scrap of energy I can, fighting through the drugs. It's so hard, but I manage to twist my body, so I'm half on my stomach, trying to wriggle out of his grip.

I hear him laugh behind his mask like this is all a fucking joke. The fury that bubbles up inside me is instantaneous, and I whip around, swiping at his face. My movements are too slow, though, so he dodges me easily.

"What do you want?"

It's a dumb question. Somewhere beyond the haze, I know exactly what he wants. He has me on my back again, my legs pulled as far apart as they'll go. I'm not even sober enough to feel embarrassed by that.

Fuck him.

I continue to pull against him, but he pins me down to the mattress with his large hands easily. The fucking cunt bastard. He drugged me, and for that reason—and that reason alone —he has the advantage. Otherwise, I'd be digging his eyes out with my thumbs right now.

Dipping his head between my thighs, he slides his mask up, exposing his mouth. I strain to see his face, but the lower half of my body is blocking my view. Then I feel it. His tongue snakes out and touches my core. I jolt again as he drags his tongue up the length of my pussy to my clit, and I can't help it, I suck in a sharp breath.

"You fucking bastard," I try to yell, kicking at him. But none of my limbs are working the way they should. Everything feels heavy and sluggish.

That gets another laugh from him, the deep rumble vibrating against my pussy. Oh, that feels nice.

Shit.

No.

This is fucked up.

I continue to twist, and he continues his assault on my pussy. He sucks me as his tongue pushes into my channel. I moan, tormented by the feel of his mouth devouring me.

Holy shit. Is this really happening?

His hands move to the globes of my ass, pulling me into him, his nose pushing against my clit. My thighs close around his head, squeezing as his tongue takes me deep.

I should reach out and grab his hair or something, make him stop, but I can't seem to move. My arms fly out to my sides, though, and I grip the comforter for support, pulling weakly.

When he adds a finger, then another, to his onslaught, I actually come out of my physical body. My back arches and my head is thrust back like I'm possessed. Maybe I am. I do feel like I've been overtaken by some dark entity—a dark entity that currently has his tongue buried deep in my pussy.

The tension inside me builds, and the more I fight it, the more it intensifies. It's like my mind and my body are on completely different planets. My body is eating up this guy's attention like a greedy whore, and my mind is horrified.

Tears roll down my cheeks as I grip my comforter tighter, bunching it up, and pulling it over my face. My body is on fire, and I know there's only one way to put that fire out. Give in. Submit to this stranger's mouth.

But what would that say about me? That I'm willing to submit to a stranger's tongue? So, even with the drugs slithering through my system, I have to fight this. There's no other choice.

My heel finds his shoulder, and I push as hard as I possibly can, trying to dislodge him. He responds by sucking on my clit— hard —and I let out a scream.

His fingertips dig into my ass painfully as he holds me more securely, his face still buried between my thighs. Then he takes my clit between his teeth and bites down. That's all it takes. An orgasm slams into me so fast and so hard, stars explode behind my eyelids and all the air is sucked right out of my lungs. I gasp for several long seconds, until finally, the grip of pleasure loosens, then releases me and I melt back onto the mattress.

I'm panting now, staring up at the ceiling, wondering what comes next, when I see the stranger rise from his position between my legs. He doesn't move to clean me up or cover me. Instead, he re-adjusts his mask and stares down at me. I can't see his face, but he's giving off some serious psycho-energy.

"You came on my tongue like a whore," he says, his harsh tone grating over each word.

He's the second guy to call me a whore today.

I open my mouth to spit out a reply, but with the drugs still snaking through my system, I can't quite get the words out. I managed to scream something at him earlier, but I wonder now if it was even intelligible.

When it's clear I'm trying to reply, but can't, he chuckles under his breath. "My pretty little whore, how I'll devour you."

A split second later, he's gone and a quiet stillness drifts over the room like a shroud. I lay there, blinking into the darkness, my body still vibrating from that insane orgasm.

That was the hardest I'd ever come in my life. It was so good. But even as that thought enters my mind, the specter of shame instantly follows.

I just came on a stranger's tongue, and what's worse, I enjoyed it…