All she had to do was wait patiently inside, and soon enough, someone would assist Klein up to her room.
Once that happened, Tina could do whatever she desired with him.
Whitney, checking the time, noted that twenty minutes had passed without Klein’s return.
She wiped her mouth with a napkin, then asked a server for directions to the restroom before setting off to find him.
His earlier expression had been off, and concern gnawed at her.
Before she reached the restroom, she found him leaning against the wall, visibly struggling to maintain his balance. “Klein, are you okay?”
Klein’s voice emerged low and strained, barely concealing his discomfort. “I’m fine.”
Whitney’s concern deepened as she studied him. “Do you need help getting back? You look like you can barely stand.”
“No.” His refusal was curt, devoid of warmth.
Whitney sensed something was terribly wrong. She reached up to check his forehead, and upon contact, realized his entire body was radiating heat.
“Klein, do you have a fever? You’re burning up,” she said, her voice laced with worry. “Let me take you to the hospital.”
“No need.” Klein draped his suit jacket over his arm, his face flushed an abnormal shade of red. “There’s a lounge on the second floor. Just help me sit down for a bit, and I’ll be fine.”
Whitney didn’t hesitate, immediately assisting him into the elevator. She didn’t question where Klein had acquired a room key or why he refused medical attention.
She struggled to support him as they made their way to the bed-he was heavier than she anticipated.
In her haste, Whitney stumbled over his feet, and they both tumbled onto the mattress in a heap.
Their bodies collided, and Whitney winced slightly from the impact. As she attempted to push herself up, her gaze locked onto Klein’s, which was filled with a raw, burning desire.
Her heart raced, and she couldn’t help but feel a rush of heat. “Klein, you really do have a fever. I should call a doctor.”
Klein’s gaze was heavy, his breath hot against her skin as he spoke. “I don’t have a fever. I’ve been drugged.”
Whitney froze, her mind racing. *What kind of drug?*
Klein let out a low, bitter laugh. “An aphrodisiac. Sorry, but you mentioned wanting to thank me earlier. I’m ready to collect on that now.”
Before she could process his words, his lips crashed down onto hers with an intensity that left her breathless.
Whitney had never anticipated that Klein would lean in and kiss her. The moment felt electric, his warm palm cradling the back of her head while his other hand encircled her waist, drawing her closer into his embrace.
She felt an undeniable pull, a magnetic force that made it impossible to resist. Even through the delicate layers of their clothing, she could sense the heat emanating from his body, a warmth that enveloped her like a comforting blanket.
“Klein,” she murmured, her voice barely above a whisper, a mixture of surprise and longing.
He seemed to absorb every soft sigh that slipped from her lips, deepening the kiss as if trying to convey emotions that words could never capture. Whitney’s thoughts faded into a haze, rationality slipping away like sand through her fingers.
The once-quiet lounge transformed into a sanctuary filled with the intoxicating aroma of pheromones and unspoken desire. Their breaths intertwined, creating a rhythm that left her dizzy and lightheaded, the world around her fading into oblivion.
Finally, Klein broke the kiss, pulling back slightly, his breath coming in ragged gasps. “Sorry. Someone drugged me,” he admitted, his voice rough and strained, as if the admission itself was a struggle.
Whitney felt her cheeks burn with embarrassment, a deep crimson flush spreading across her face as her eyes shimmered with unshed tears. She found it difficult to meet his gaze, her heart racing. “Can you let go of me now?” she asked, her voice trembling slightly.
His body remained pressed against hers, and she could feel the undeniable evidence of his arousal, a sensation that made her heart race even faster. She dared not look into his eyes, fearing what she might find there.
“Sorry,” he repeated, yet his hand lingered around her waist, unwilling to release her.
Whitney focused on the sound of his uneven breathing, the tension in the air palpable. It took what felt like an eternity, but eventually, he pushed her away, creating a space between them that felt both relieving and agonizing.
Turning her back to him, she asked hesitantly, “Should I call 911?”
She recalled her own harrowing experience of being drugged, the bone-deep, crawling sensation that felt like an army of ants gnawing at her insides. She remembered the agony of that moment and shuddered at the thought of him experiencing the same.
“No need,” Klein replied, his voice firm but strained.
“Then how are you going to-” she started, but the thought hung in the air, unspoken.
‘There’s no way I’m helping him with that,’ she thought, her mind racing with possibilities.
Klein rose to his feet, his face flushed a deep shade of red, and made a beeline for the bathroom. “Don’t come in. I’ll handle this myself,” he called over his shoulder.
‘As if I would want to go in there anyway,’ Whitney thought, a mix of concern and frustration swirling within her.
“Okay,” she said aloud, attempting to sound composed. “If it gets too bad, just go to the hospital.”
She noticed the veins in Klein’s hand standing out as he gripped the doorframe tightly, and a wave of worry washed over her. Why did going to the hospital seem like a forbidden option for him?
The only response she received was the sound of water rushing from the shower, the noise echoing in the otherwise silent room.
Whitney couldn’t remain still. She felt the urge to leave, to escape the suffocating atmosphere, but thoughts of Klein lingered in her mind. If she walked out now, would she be abandoning him when he needed her the most?
‘How did he even get drugged in the first place?’ she pondered, her mind racing.
Then it struck her-the orange juice they had shared earlier.
With a sense of urgency, Whitney pulled out her phone, desperately searching for the quickest way to counteract the effects of the drug. When the answer appeared on her screen, she froze in disbelief.
Sex.
Whitney blinked at her phone, her cheeks heating with embarrassment.
Behind the frosted bathroom door, the sounds of the shower were accompanied by low, muffled groans that Klein was clearly trying to suppress. The combination of those sounds filled the air with an unbearable tension, amplifying her anxiety.
Finally, after what felt like an eternity, the ordeal came to an end. Klein stepped out of the steam-filled bathroom, a towel wrapped around his waist, his hair still damp but his eyes now clear and focused.
“I’m sorry. I lost control back there,” he said, his voice laced with regret.
Whitney remained silent, the weight of her emotions pressing down on her. She couldn’t bring herself to say “it’s fine” because it simply wasn’t.
Noticing her silence, Klein crouched beside her, concern etched on his face. “Do you want to hit me or something? Get it out of your system?”
“What?” she replied, taken aback by his unexpected suggestion.
He had an uncanny ability to catch her off guard, always managing to surprise her with his words.
Leaning slightly closer, he offered half his face to her, a playful challenge in his eyes. “Go ahead, hit me. It’ll make you feel better.”
Whitney stared at him, bewildered. ‘Is he serious right now?’ she thought, her mind racing.
With a complicated expression, she asked, “Are you okay?”
Suddenly, a commotion erupted in the hallway. “Which room is it?” a voice called out.
“This one,” someone replied.
Then, a loud pounding on the door made her heart race.
“Ah-” Whitney heard a familiar shrill voice.
Tina stumbled out, her clothes in disarray, her mind racing. ‘Wait, the man in the room. It wasn’t Klein,’ she thought, panic flooding her senses.
She felt utterly exposed, her innocence stripped away. She had given herself to a complete stranger.
“Excuse me, is the man inside Daniel Jenkins?” a voice inquired.
A swarm of paparazzi descended upon Tina, cameras flashing as they captured the moment. Her hands and feet turned ice cold, and her face drained of color. “Stop taking pictures! I said stop!” she pleaded, but her cries fell on deaf ears.
New Book: Back Home to Marry Off Myself
Loredana’s father left the family for his mistress, leaving them to fend for themselves abroad. When life was at its toughest, her father showed up with “good news” after 8 years of absence: To marry off Loredana to a paralyzed son of the wealthy Mendelsohn family.