Drugged Fucking and the Name Elowen

Evelina

The air in the penthouse felt thick, charged with a sudden, predatory energy that made the hair on my arms stand up. Alaric’s hand was a heavy, warm weight against the wall next to my head, trapping me in the small space between his body and the cold stone. I could smell him—that signature scent of dark spices and earthy cologne—but underneath it was something sharper, more volatile.

I looked up, trying to find the composed, demanding CEO I worked for, but the man standing over me was a stranger. His eyes were wide, the piercing blue of his irises almost entirely swallowed by pupils so blown they looked like ink spills.

"Mr. Sterling?" I whispered, my voice hitching. I reached out, pressing my palms against his chest to create some distance, but the feel of his rock-hard muscles beneath the thin fabric of his dress shirt only made my heart hammer faster. "Are you okay? You look... different."

He didn't answer with words. Instead, he let out a low, guttural sound and leaned in, his face inches from mine. His breath was hot against my skin, smelling faintly of expensive scotch and something chemical. Before I could process the danger, his mouth captured mine.

It wasn't a kiss; it was an assault. He didn't ask; he took. His lips were hard and desperate, grinding against mine with a primal hunger that left me lightheaded. His tongue forced its way past my teeth, seeking mine with a frantic intensity that stole the oxygen from my lungs. I tried to protest, but the sound was swallowed by his throat.

His hands didn't stay still. One gripped my waist so hard it would surely leave bruises, while the other tangled into my hair, tilting my head back to give him better access. He was moving with a frantic, uncoordinated strength. It clicked then—he was drugged. Whether someone had slipped something into his drink at the gala or he’d taken it himself, Alaric Sterling was not in his right mind.

"Alaric, wait—" I managed to gasp out when he pulled back for a second to trail his lips down my throat.

"You're here," he muttered, his voice a jagged wreck. "Finally here."

He didn't give me a chance to argue. He grabbed my arm and began dragging me toward the master bedroom. My heels skidded across the polished marble floor as I stumbled to keep up with his long, impatient strides. The penthouse was silent, the usual bustle of his life absent, making the sound of our heavy breathing echo off the high ceilings.

He threw open the double doors to his bedroom and practically tossed me onto the massive, king-sized bed. The mattress was soft, but the impact jarred me. Before I could scramble away, he was on top of me, his heavy frame pinning me down. The weight of him was suffocating and intoxicating all at once.

"Off," he growled, his fingers fumbling with the buttons of my blouse. When they didn't give way fast enough, I heard the sharp *snap* of thread. He ripped the fabric open, exposing my lace bra to the dim, amber light of the bedside lamps.

I knew I should stop him. I knew this was a professional suicide mission. But as his hands moved over me, calloused and hot, my own body betrayed me. The crushing pressure of my mother’s medical bills, the weeks of exhaustion, the hidden attraction I’d buried under a mountain of spreadsheets—it all bubbled to the surface. I wanted this. I wanted to forget.

Alaric reached behind me and unhooked my bra with a practiced flick, his eyes dark and wild as my breasts spilled out. He didn't hesitate, lowering his head to take one nipple into his mouth. He sucked hard, his teeth grazing the sensitive tip, sending a jolt of pure electricity straight to my core. I arched my back, a sob-like moan escaping my lips.

"God, you’re so perfect," he rasped against my skin.

He moved lower, his hands tugging at my slacks and panties, stripping them down my legs in one fluid, violent motion. I felt the cool air of the room hit my wet pussy, and then I felt his fingers. He didn't tease; he thrust two fingers inside me while his thumb found my clit, rubbing it with a bruising pressure that had me seeing stars.

"Fuck, you're soaking for me," he muttered.

I watched through a haze of lust as he stood up just long enough to fumble with his own clothes. He didn't bother taking off his shirt; he just shoved his pants and boxers down to his knees. His cock sprang free—massive, thick, and pulsing with a life of its own. It was a terrifying, beautiful sight.

He climbed back between my legs, his knees forcing my thighs wide apart. He positioned the blunt head of his cock at my entrance, and for a heartbeat, we both froze.

Then, he lunged.

He thrust into me with a brutal, punishing force, sheathing his entire length in one single, violent stroke. I let out a sharp cry, my hands clutching at the silk sheets as my body stretched to accommodate him. He didn't give me time to adjust. He began to fuck me with a raw, primal rhythm, his hips slamming against mine with a wet, slapping sound that filled the room.

Every thrust was deep, hitting my cervix, sending waves of intense, borderline painful pleasure through my nervous system. He wasn't being gentle; he was using me like a lifeline in a storm. His hands gripped my shoulders, pinning me to the mattress as he pounded into me, his breath coming in ragged, erratic gasps.

"Yes... just like that," he groaned, his voice sounding like it was being dragged over gravel.

I wrapped my legs around his waist, pulling him deeper, my nails digging into the muscles of his back. I was lost in it—the friction, the heat, the sheer overwhelming size of him filling me up. I could feel my climax building, a tight coil in my gut that was about to snap.

"Alaric... Alaric, I'm... I'm close," I whimpered, my head tossing back and forth on the pillow.

He didn't slow down. If anything, he sped up, his thrusts becoming frantic and shallow. His eyes were closed tight, his face contorted in a mask of drugged-up ecstasy. He was close, too. I could feel his cock twitching inside me, growing even harder if that was possible.

He leaned down, his mouth near my ear as he delivered the final, bone-deep thrusts that sent me over the edge. My pussy clamped down on him in a series of violent, rhythmic contractions, and I screamed as the orgasm ripped through me.

In that exact moment, as he began to spill his hot seed deep inside my womb, Alaric let out a guttural, soul-shattering moan.

"Fuck... Elowen..."

The name hit me like a bucket of ice water.

I froze, the pleasure still rippling through my body, but my heart turning into a block of lead. Elowen? I knew the names of every woman Alaric had ever been with in the last three years. I handled the NDAs. I sent the "parting gift" flowers. I knew the models, the heiresses, the actresses.

There was no Elowen.

But Alaric didn't notice my sudden paralysis. He was still lost in his release, his body trembling as he continued to pump into me, his voice a broken whisper against my neck. "Elowen... you're so fucking tight... I've missed this..."

He drove into me one last time, his entire body shuddering, and then he collapsed. His full weight came down on me, his head falling into the crook of my shoulder. Within seconds, his breathing changed from heavy gasps to the deep, rhythmic snoring of someone who had been hit with a massive dose of sedatives.

I lay there for a long time, staring up at the shadows on the ceiling. The wetness of his come was cooling between my thighs, a sticky reminder of what I’d just done. My body was still humming from the climax, but my mind was a fractured mess.

He didn't even know it was me. To him, I was a ghost. I was Elowen.

With a trembling hand, I pushed his heavy, unconscious form off me. He rolled onto his side, his face peaceful in a way I’d never seen before, completely oblivious to the wreckage he’d just made of my life.

I sat up, my legs shaking so badly I could barely stand. I gathered my torn clothes from the floor, clutching them to my chest like a shield. I hurried to the master bathroom, clicking the door shut and leaning against it as I finally let out a jagged breath.

The mirror showed a woman I didn't recognize. My hair was a wild nest, my lips were swollen and bruised, and my neck was covered in dark red marks. I looked like I’d been ravaged.

"Get it together, Evelina," I whispered to my reflection. "Professional. Be professional."

I cleaned myself up with a cold washcloth, scrubbing at the scent of him until my skin was pink. The shame was starting to set in, a cold, oily feeling in my gut, but I pushed it down. I had a job to do. If I didn't handle this now, he’d wake up in a hospital or a police station, and then I’d be out of a job—and my mother would be out of a life.

I stepped back into the bedroom. Alaric hadn't moved. I walked over to the nightstand and found my phone in my purse. My fingers hovered over the contacts before I found Dr. Faulkner, Alaric’s private physician. He was the only person who could handle this quietly.

The phone rang three times before a weary voice answered. "Sterling? It's nearly midnight."

"It's Evelina Thorne, Doctor," I said, my voice remarkably steady. I used my 'PA voice'—the one that could negotiate a multi-million dollar merger without a tremor. "I'm at the penthouse. I came by to drop off some urgent documents for tomorrow's board meeting and found Mr. Sterling in a... concerning state."

"Define concerning," Faulkner said, sounding more alert now.

"Dilated pupils. Incoherent speech. Heavy perspiration. He's passed out now, but his pulse seems rapid." I glanced at Alaric’s sleeping form, lying half-naked on the bed. "I think he may have been drugged."

"I'll be there in fifteen minutes. Don't call anyone else. Don't call 911."

"I understand," I said and hung up.

Now came the hardest part. I couldn't let the doctor see him like this—clothes around his ankles, the room smelling of sex and sweat.

I approached the bed, my stomach churning with a mix of resentment and lingering lust. I reached down and grabbed the hem of his pants, tugging them up his heavy, muscular legs. It was like moving a dead weight. I had to hike them up over his hips, my fingers brushing against the skin I’d just been pressed against.

"Mmm... Elowen..." he mumbled in his sleep, his hand reaching out blindly.

I felt a surge of pure, bitter anger. I grabbed his expensive leather belt and yanked it through the loops with more force than necessary, tightening it around his waist until I was sure it was uncomfortable.

"She's not here, Alaric," I hissed under my breath. "I'm the one cleaning up your mess. Again."

I tucked his shirt in as best I could, smoothed the sheets, and sprayed a heavy dose of his own cologne into the air to mask the scent of our encounter. By the time the doorbell rang, the room looked like nothing more than the site of a stressful workday turned into a sudden collapse.

I met Dr. Faulkner at the elevator. The silver-haired man looked me over once, his eyes lingering on my messy hair and the scarf I’d tied around my neck to hide the marks, but he didn't say anything.

"He's in the bedroom," I said, leading the way.

The doctor performed a quick, efficient exam. He pulled back Alaric's eyelids, checked his heart rate, and took a small blood sample.

"You were right to call me," Faulkner said, packing his bag. "It looks like a high-concentration party drug. Likely something slipped into a drink. He’ll be out for at least eight more hours. He’ll wake up with a hell of a headache and very little memory of the night."

"Will he be okay?" I asked, my heart skipping a beat.

"Physically? Yes. He has the constitution of an ox. But he needs rest." Faulkner looked at me. "You should go home, Ms. Thorne. You look like you've had a long night yourself."

"I'll stay until—"

"No. I'll have his private security detail take over from here. Go home."

I didn't argue. I couldn't get out of there fast enough.

I rode the elevator down in silence, staring at my reflection in the polished brass doors. I looked composed again, the professional PA, but inside, I was screaming.

The night air was cold as I stepped onto Park Avenue, the city lights blurring into long, neon streaks. I hailed a cab, my mind spinning in circles.

Who was Elowen? Why was her name the only thing on his lips when he was at his most vulnerable? And how the hell was I supposed to look him in the eye tomorrow morning and hand him his coffee like I hadn't just been pounded into his mattress while he called out for another woman?

As the cab pulled away from the curb, I looked back at the glowing lights of the penthouse. I had saved his reputation tonight. I had kept his secret. But I realized, with a sinking feeling in my chest, that the biggest secret in that room was now mine.

And it was a secret that felt like it was going to burn me alive.