Her fingers spread.
She did not want them to. They moved on their own. The drug was in her blood—deep now, past the stomach, past the intestines, into the veins, into the capillaries, into every nerve ending in her body. Her fingers found the waistband of her soaked panty. They pulled.
The cotton peeled away from her skin—wet, clinging, reluctant. It slid down her thighs. Over her knees. Off. She kicked it aside. It landed on the cold stone. A small, wet, ruined thing.
Her pussy was exposed.
