The experimental drug had been in my system for exactly forty-seven minutes.
I stood in front of the bathroom mirror, palms flat on the cool marble counter, watching my own reflection. My pupils were already wider than normal. A fine sheen of sweat clung to the hollow of my throat. Every breath felt a little too deep, a little too warm, like the air itself had thickened around me.
I had volunteered for the trial three months ago. Phase Two. A new compound designed to heighten female sexual response—blood flow, nerve sensitivity, psychological receptivity. The researchers needed married women in stable relationships who were willing to document the effects during actual intercourse. I fit the criteria perfectly. Newly married. Physician. Comfortable with my body. And, if I was honest, curious.
The first dose was supposed to be mild. A slow, controllable rise. Instead, heat had begun pooling low in my belly almost immediately, spreading outward in slow, insistent waves. My nipples had tightened against the soft cups of the bra I was wearing, and the simple act of shifting my weight made the silk of my panties drag across skin that already felt too sensitive.
I exhaled slowly and reached behind my back, unhooking the bra. The straps slid down my arms. My breasts felt heavier than usual, the nipples drawn into tight, dark peaks that ached when the cool bathroom air touched them. I cupped one breast, thumb brushing over the tip, and a sharp little pulse went straight down between my legs.
“Fuck,” I whispered.
I was already wet. Not the polite dampness of ordinary arousal. This was thicker, warmer, the kind that made the silk cling to me when I pressed my thighs together. The drug was working faster than the briefing materials had suggested. Or maybe my body was simply more responsive than average. Either way, the timing was perfect.
Tonight was supposed to be the night we finally consummated the marriage properly. We had been careful during the engagement, saving the full act for after the ceremony. Ethan had been patient. I had been patient. Now the waiting was over, and the drug was supposed to make every touch feel amplified, every thrust deeper, every orgasm more intense so I could accurately report the effects.
I stepped out of the panties and left them on the floor. The lingerie I had chosen for tonight was deliberate: a deep crimson set, almost the color of raw wine. The bra was little more than structured lace that lifted and presented, the cups so sheer my nipples showed through clearly. The matching panties were equally thin, the fabric between the legs already darkening with my wetness as soon as I pulled them up. A garter belt framed my hips. Sheer black stockings. Nothing else.
I turned sideways in the mirror, studying the way the lace sat against my skin. My stomach was flat, my waist narrow, the curve of my ass high and full. The drug made me look at myself differently—more critically, more hungrily. I ran both hands down my sides, then back up to my breasts, squeezing gently. The pressure sent another wave of heat rolling through me. My clit throbbed once, hard.
I needed him.
I needed Ethan’s hands on me. His mouth. The thick length of him pushing inside me until the empty ache finally stopped.
I slipped on my panties back and left the bathroom and walked into the bedroom. Ethan was standing near the bed, already half-undressed. He had taken off his shirt and was working on his belt. The low light caught the lines of his torso—broad shoulders, the defined ridges of his abs, the narrow cut of his hips. A thin trail of dark hair disappeared beneath the waistband of his trousers. I had mapped that trail with my mouth more than once during the engagement. Tonight I was supposed to follow it all the way down.
He looked up when he heard me and went still.
“Jesus, Lena,” he said, voice low. His eyes moved over me in a slow, deliberate sweep—breasts, waist, the dark triangle of lace between my thighs, the stockings. “You look…”
“Sexy baby,” I finished for him. My voice sounded rougher than I expected. “I took the trial dose forty-five minutes ago. It’s already working.”
He crossed the room in three strides. His hands settled on my waist, hot and large, thumbs stroking the bare skin above the garter belt. I felt the contact like an electric current. My nipples tightened further against the lace. I pressed closer, letting him feel the heat of my body, and felt the answering hardness beginning to form against my stomach.
“How does it feel?” he asked, mouth close to my ear.
“Like I need you inside me yesterday.” I reached down and cupped him through his trousers, feeling the thick shape of him swell under my palm. “I keep thinking about how deep you’re going to go. How long you’re going to stay there. I’ve been touching myself in the bathroom just imagining it.”
His breath left him in a short, rough sound. He kissed me hard, tongue sliding against mine, one hand sliding down to grip my ass and pull me tighter against him. I could feel every inch of the growing length of his cock now, pressing insistently against the soft lace of my panties. The drug made the pressure almost unbearable. My hips rolled forward without permission, grinding against him in a slow, needy circle.
Ethan groaned into my mouth. His fingers slipped between my thighs and rubbed over the soaked lace, finding how wet I already was. The friction made my knees weak.
“You’re dripping,” he muttered against my lips. “Fuck, Lena…”
“I know.” I kissed him deeper, sucking on his tongue, rolling my hips against the hard ridge of his cock. “I need it. I need you to tear these off and fuck me. I’ve waited so long—”
His hand slid inside the waistband of the panties, two fingers gliding through my wetness. I moaned into his mouth as he rubbed slow circles over my clit, the drug amplifying every stroke until my thighs started to tremble.
“Ethan—”
“I’ve got you,” he said, voice rough. He pushed one finger inside me, then a second, stretching me open while his thumb kept working my clit. “You’re so tight. So fucking wet. I’m going to take my time with you tonight.”
I clung to his shoulders, hips rocking against his hand. The empty ache inside me was getting worse with every second he touched me but didn’t fill me properly. I needed his cock. I needed the thick stretch of him pushing all the way in and staying there.
“Please,” I whispered. “Don’t make me wait anymore. I need you inside me. Now.”
He kissed me again, harder, and started walking me backward toward the bed. His fingers were still buried in me, curling, rubbing, driving me higher. My back hit the mattress. He followed me down, settling between my thighs, the hard length of his cock pressing against my soaked panties through his trousers.
I reached between us and fumbled with his belt, desperate to get him free. My hands were shaking. The drug made every second of delay feel like torture. I could already imagine how he would feel pushing into me, thick, hot, stretching me open after months of waiting.
Then his phone rang.
Fuckin Fuck!