Page 19

ADRIAN

T he first time I tasted her, that first flick of my tongue over a pair of swollen pussy lips, it was…

otherworldly. Transcendent. Like the first time I’d run a clean stainless steel scalpel over a bare chest cavity.

The first time I’d felt the push and pull of flesh beneath my hand.

The first time I’d heard the cracking of a live rib cage. Nothing could compare… until now.

Until I was buried nose-deep in Marisela’s bodily fluids, her nails clawing at the leather of the sofa.

Her head tipped back and her knees clenched around my head in a vise grip.

She was tangy but not bitter. A little salty, but not over-seasoned.

Just enough to leave you wanting more. So that each bite, nibble and suck wasn’t nearly enough to sate that hunger deep inside.

If I wasn’t careful, I was gonna come before she did.

And it’d be a pity to stain these pants.

For Marisela, it might just be worth it, though.

Because I finally understood the depths of my fixation on this woman.

It was primal, a need too great for me to ignore.

I wanted her. Every part of her. To own her.

Consume her. To mark her as mine even if that meant losing a part of myself to her along the way.

This need overshadowed everything else I thought I wanted in this life.

It didn’t matter how fully I dissected the brain, how much I understood its inner workings.

The chemical reactions that induced lust and promoted the human connection so that we were driven to procreate.

Because this feeling, this urge, was so much better than the nothingness I was used to.

It was even better than the pain… the rage… that inherent need I had to destroy…

There was only one motivator greater than revenge. One stimulant more rousing than the feel of your enemies’ blood on your hands. And it was pleasure.

I stared up at her from where my face was still buried between her thighs, on my knees for the first time since my father stopped having the strength to bring me to them.

Watching and listening and savoring. Marisela didn’t whimper.

She didn’t hold back. She leaned into all the sensations she was experiencing.

Arching her spine and shifting her hips until I was exactly where she wanted me.

Like she was the one in control. And as much as some part of me wanted to argue with her, some deeper part was too transfixed.

Under whatever spell this woman— this girl —had over me.

But I had to keep her on that edge, building higher and higher without actually jumping over, teetering on the precipice until the moment was right.

The moment when her neocortex was flooded with serotonin, dopamine, and norepinephrine and her senses were overcome by warmth.

That moment when she couldn’t tell where her pleasure began and where it ended, because it just felt like a continuous wave washing over her body and taking her deeper and deeper into its depths.

The timer on my watch beeped twice, counting down the last few seconds before the drugs should fully saturate Marisela’s system, and I took that as my cue to stop holding back. To stop all the taunting and teasing and coaxing. And finally grab her orgasm by the tail and tug it forward.

I wrenched her thighs apart, baring down with the weight of my forearms as I exposed her pussy to the stale air of the room that offered a slight chill when the AC finally kicked on.

Right on schedule. This place was temperature controlled, of course, but MDMA affected the body’s ability to self-regulate, making it easy to overheat and dehydrate if you weren’t careful.

Lucky for Marisela, she was in good hands. Gentle hands. Experienced hands. The kind of hands that could hook her up to an IV before she left if she needed it. And as wet as she was right now, she might just need it .

But she wasn’t just wet. She was relaxed too, her limbs melting against the sofa as I tugged the lower portion of her body to the end of the seat—all her squirming had her migrating higher and higher on the backrest—and lifted it to meet my mouth.

I lapped around her opening before pulling back again and slowly inserted the blunted nose of my mask inside her.

Just the tip. A respectable size that would ensure that little membrane of skin remained intact for me, while also giving her some added pressure to help intensify her orgasm.

She tensed but she didn’t fight me. Her sensitivity heightened and her heartbeat erratic—I could feel her pulse beating through her cunt—as I slowly pumped in and out.

My tongue stretching as far as it could reach and my fingers working their magic on her clit.

She was trembling, groaning… So lost to all the stimuli bombarding her nerve endings she was a puddle of weightless limbs in my arms.

I didn’t need the drugs to make her feel this way.

I needed them to fuel the addiction. To reprogram her mind and body to crave me as much as I craved her.

So that the chemicals in her brain associated this level of therapeutically-induced euphoria with everything I did to her.

Forcing her to have no choice but to seek it out. Seek me out when I was done with her.

I was more than a little aware it was like having a cheat code for the female anatomy. Then again, knowledge gave you power. The kind of power to outmaneuver your opponent. To think two steps ahead before they’d even taken to the board. And it wasn’t my fault I was studious.

Three more thrusts of my mask and twists of my thumb had Marisela letting out a guttural sound. High-pitched and breathy. Then she fell back against the sofa cushions, in a fit of giggles that had me grinning along with her.

Like I said, euphoria .