Kicking open the door to a nearby suite, Preston scooped her up into his arms and strode inside.
Even as he gently laid her down on the plush mattress, she continued to violently tremble, muttering over and over.
"Don't touch me... please don't touch me..."
No matter how many times he tried to soothe her.
"It's me. It's Preston. You're safe."
She remained trapped in her drug-induced nightmare.
Curled into a tight ball, her skin burned with a feverish flush. A sheer sheen of sweat coated her forehead and chest.
He watched her delicate eyelashes flutter in pure terror, her toes curling into the sheets as her knuckles turned stark white from her white-knuckled grip.
"No... no..."
Seeing her fight with every last ounce of her strength felt like a knife twisting straight into his heart.
"I swear to you, I won't touch you," he murmured.
His voice was a low, steady rumble of absolute reassurance.
Even through the heavy haze of the aphrodisiac, that deep tone seemed to ground her, offering a fragile sense of safety.
He immediately set to work cleaning the puncture wound on her thigh. It was deep, but thankfully, the damage was localized.
Crouching by the bed, he meticulously wiped away the drying blood with agonizing care.
Though her mind was still spinning out of control, her body miraculously began to relax.
It was as if her instincts recognized the gentle hands tending to her. She subconsciously knew this man would never hurt her.
But the fleeting moment of peace was shattered as the drug surged through her veins with renewed vengeance.
She gasped for air, her chest heaving wildly as she writhed uncontrollably against the mattress, consumed by a suffocating wave of need.
Preston knew she was being tortured from the inside out.
His hands clenched into tight fists, his own sanity fracturing as he fought a brutal internal war between fierce restraint and primal desire.
He cared for her.
He loved her.
Which meant...
He absolutely could not take advantage of her in this state.

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