She pushes the door open, stepping into the room.
She locks eyes with Marcel before staring at the drowsy boy in his grasp.
“What are you doing?” she asks, her voice monotone as ever.
She doesn’t look away from Marcel, watching him scramble for an excuse.
She walks further into the room, taking Persha from him.
“He’s drunk as hell.
I brought him up here to relax,” Marcel blatantly lies.
Zabi doesn’t look at him, busy checking the drowsy boy in her arms.
Persha grabs and pokes at her face, moaning in discomfort.
“I’m thirstyyyy,” he slurs out, his head tucked in between her shoulder blades.
She stands him upright, slinging his arm over her shoulders to balance him properly before staring right at Marcel.
He was sat on the bed, watching her every move.
She doesn’t say anything.
Fear eating at him, he makes up more lies.
“He gets handsy when he’s drunk, hahaha,” he laughs nervously.
She looks at him, remembering he and Persha’s relationship was a secret.
“Speaking from experience?” she asks him.
She watches his face go pale, his brain racking for a counter.
“I’m friends with his vice captain, so I attend parties he throws often…
you know…
before the whole new building…” he says, staring at her to see if she buys it.
She hums, turning around as she drags a drugged Persha out the door.
“Fuck,” Marcel curses after she leaves.
He gets his phone out of his pocket, shooting Christopher a text.
Apparently, he had already texted him.
“How’d it go?” he reads the text, giving him the bad news.
“Got interrupted.
Zabi came looking for him,” he hits send.
Almost immediately, Christopher replies.
“Shit.”
He gets up, walking into the bathroom in the room.
He leans over the sink, washing his face and hands before walking out the door, heading down to the party.
Persha was a mess, grabbing and pulling at her.
“I don’t feel gooood,” his words slurred, looking up to smile at Zabi.
She ignores his gaze, dragging him to another room to help him relax.
She wasn’t going to take him back to the party like this.
She opens another door, letting them into the room as she locks the door to avoid anyone from barging in.
Definitely, Persha wouldn’t want anyone seeing him in this state.
She drops him on the bed.
He groans.
She kneels to take off his shoes and socks so his feet can breathe.
It’s quiet the whole time.
She wonders if he’d fallen asleep.
It takes her a while to untie his second shoelace.
She stands back up, lifting his leg to put it on the bed, when Persha springs up.
She’s startled, stepping back.
Something wasn’t right.
He wasn’t right.
His pupils were blown wide.
She steps closer to him, grabbing his face to inspect him.
His body was burning hot.
“Persha…” she calls out.
“Hey, hey, snap out of it,” she says, tapping at his face, attempting to pull him out of whatever trance he’s in.
He blinks, looking directly at her, his pupils still dilated.
“Zabi,” he whispers her name.
She barely catches it.
His lips move, but she can’t hear him.
She leans in, ears to his lips, hoping to catch what he said.
“Repeat that…” she says.
“Touch me, please,” he says.
She hears it loud and clear.
She stands upright to look at him.
She doesn’t know where he got the surge of energy from, but he pulls her on top of him.
She falls face first into the mattress beside his head.
She leans on her palm, her eyes racking his face.
The sight knocks the wind out of her lungs.
His hands roam her back, fingers making their way to her head, back down her back, as he tries to take off her jacket.
“mmmmn..ngggh,” he whines when he’s unsuccessful.
Marcel must have drugged him with an aphrodisiac.
The bastard wanted to have his way with him without feeling guilty.
“Please~ touch me…” he says, breaking her out of her thoughts.
She looks down at him.
He had popped open the ropes of his corset, pants button open, his hands roaming his body.
He looks at her through long lashes, licking his lips. The source of this chapter is g.com.
“Fuck,” she curses.
He eagerly nods his head.
“Yes~ fuck me,” he whines.
Aphrodisiacs all work the same way.
You cum, and it leaves your system.
If she helps him in any way, it doesn’t make her any different from Marcel.
She can’t seem to tear her eyes off him.
She watches him dip his hands down his pants, palming himself, while the other pulls at his nipples.
“nng…
more~” he looks at her, drool pouring down his lips as his eyes water.
“It hurts…”
That seems to get her moving.
If she didn’t help him, he’d keep hurting.
She takes off his pants and his brief in one go, his hard cock springing out, bouncing on his stomach.
‘Just a hand job till he cums,’ she thinks.
She slides in between his legs, a hand beside his head while her other hand pumps his cock at a steady rhythm.
“Ahh~ mhhn~” he moans out, gripping her hand on the bed tightly while his other hand doesn’t stop pulling at his nipples.
“Ahh~ it feels good~”
His lewd moans encourage her as she increases the speed, pumping his cock faster, her eyes never leaving his face.
He was beautiful.
He looked unreal.
A weird thought considering their situation, but Zabi would love to sculpt him.
He’d look absolutely perfect as a sculpture.
He was perfect.
Plump pink lips, fair skin, and a lean athletic build.
She pumps him, his hips lifting from the bed, eager to feel more.
She pumps faster.
That takes him over the edge, painting her knuckles and his stomach in thick ropes of cum.
“Ahhh ngggh~” he moans.
She lets go of his cock, looking intently at him, then sits upright, using her second hand to check his temperature.
His skin was no longer as hot as it was.
“Thank God,” she whispers.
The boy was out like a light, soft breaths escaping his lips.
She gets off the bed, walking to the bathroom to wash her hands and clean up whatever mess had clung to her.
She stands in front of the mirror, drying her hands.
The boy was in the room fast asleep, unaware of the thoughts clouding her mind.
Zabi realized that night.
She likes Persha.