Kyle stayed frozen in place as the digital clock on the nightstand blinked 3:00 AM in harsh red numbers. Hours had crawled by since Isabeau had curled against him, her body warm and maddeningly close. Every minute felt like an eternity as the drug coursed through his system, refusing to let him rest, refusing to let his mind settle or his body calm down.
The arousal was overwhelming, chemical, artificial—not born from genuine desire but forced upon him by whatever cocktail they'd slipped into that perfect meal. His mind churned with anger and frustration, thoughts spiraling between rage at being manipulated and the physical discomfort that wouldn't abate no matter how hard he tried to will it away. He was tempted, God yes he was tempted, to reach out and touch her. The way she pressed against him, the silk of her nightgown sliding against his arm with every breath she took, the scent of her expensive perfume mixing with something softer beneath—it would be so easy to just give in.
