2. Chapter Two Abby

Chapter Two: Abby

I had him under me...and I should probably kill him. But I was pretty sure I wanted something else.

The cold steel of the blade in my grip was a reminder of the perilous line I walked with Nathan "Fangs" Zhou, the notorious son of the most powerful Triad boss in San Francisco. Yet there I was, straddling him, the edge of my knife kissing his throat, while another kind of tension built between us. I felt the heat of his body radiating through the thin fabric of my robe and panties—heat that seemed to call out to the core of my being.

His sweatpants did little to hide his reaction to my teasing movements. Each time I rubbed against him, I could feel him grow harder beneath me, each ridge and contour of his arousal pressing insistently against my moistening heat. The sensation was maddening, sending ripples of pleasure coursing through my veins.

Compounded by the danger was the undeniable turn-on that fluttered in my belly. His eyes, those dark pools reflecting a storm of emotions, were locked onto mine as I continued my dangerous dance on top of him. His arms were longer than mine, a fact made apparent when I noticed he'd retrieved his own blade. Yet he didn't use it, didn't lash out or try to flip our positions.

Instead, there was an almost curious glint in his gaze, a question unspoken but understood.

What was I going to do next?

"Abby..." His voice was low, a rumble that resonated within the room and vibrated against my skin.

"Shut up," I snapped, more at myself for the way my name sounded on his lips than at him for daring to break the silence. This was insanity—the daughter of the law, the law herself, with the son of anarchy—but here we were, caught in a moment that defied every rule I'd ever lived by.

I couldn't move my hands away, not now. To do so would be to surrender, to show weakness, and despite the heat that gathered between my legs, I wasn't ready to yield. Not yet. I needed to maintain control, to keep this precarious balance where I held the power. Or at least the illusion of it.

"Careful, Abby," he taunted quietly, the corner of his mouth twitching upward. "You wouldn't want to slip, would you?"

"Quiet," I hissed, feeling the erratic thump of my heart against my ribs. I was playing with fire, and we both knew it. Despite everything, here I was, grinding down on him, feeling the insistent push of flesh against flesh, separated only by the flimsiest of barriers.

"Looks like you're enjoying this as much as I am," he remarked, the words dripping with a mixture of challenge and raw desire.

And damn him, he was right.

I bit back a retort, hyper-aware of the way my body betrayed me. The tension coiled within me, wound so tight it was painful, and through it all, I was acutely conscious of the blade at his throat—a line that couldn't be crossed.

"Enjoying threatening a man's life?" Nathan murmured, his voice a low rumble that vibrated against my thighs. "Does it turn you on, Abby? Is this what gets you off?"

"Shut up," I snapped, but there was no heat behind my words. Instead, they were laced with something darker, something forbidden. Gritting my teeth, I pressed the knife slightly closer, the sharp edge kissing the skin of his neck—a warning that was both real and hollow.

His laughter was soft, mocking. "You're just as twisted as I am—if not more," he said, eyes gleaming with unspoken understanding. "You like the danger, the power. Admit it."

I hated that he recognized the thrill that surged through me despite the peril. My breath hitched as his words struck a chord deep inside me.

"Let go of your knife," I demanded, my voice steady even as my insides quaked. "Throw it away from you."

Nathan's gaze locked onto mine, searching, assessing. For a moment, neither of us moved. Then, with deliberate slowness, his fingers loosened around the hilt of his own weapon. He let it clatter to the hardwood floor far out of reach, his attention never leaving my face.

"Happy now?" he growled, the edge in his voice belying the fact that he had just been disarmed by the woman straddling him.

"Ecstatic," I replied dryly, stilling my hips to emphasize my point. The metal of the blade glinted ominously in the morning light filtering through the windows.

Inside, I was anything but calm. The reality of what we were doing—and what I was allowing to happen—crashed over me. Yet the desire pooling within me refused to be ignored, fueled further by the knowledge that Nathan Zhou, feared and formidable, was momentarily at my mercy.

"Take it out," I instructed, the steel in my voice belying the heated flush that spread under my skin. "Slowly."

Nathan complied with a hint of a smirk, lifting his hips just enough for me to slide my hand beneath him. My fingers fumbled briefly before finding the warmth of his flesh through the fabric. With a swift tug, he was free from the confines of his pants.

I shifted, pulling aside the delicate barrier of my panties. The air between us crackled as I hovered above him, our eyes locked in a silent battle of wills and want.

"Is this what you want?" I asked, though it was more a challenge than a question. His hesitation was brief but palpable, his mouth parting as if to speak.

But words were unnecessary; the answer lay clear in his dark gaze, clouded with desire. Before he could articulate a response, I positioned myself over him and descended, taking him inside me with a deliberate slowness. His head tilted back, revealing the corded muscles of his neck where my blade had rested moments ago.

The sensation of him filling me was almost too much. He was big, stretching me in ways that sent a shockwave of pleasure radiating throughout my body. I had to pause, to catch the breath that seemed to have left me.

"Abby..." His voice was strained, the use of my name sounding like a plea intermingled with a curse. It was all the confirmation I needed.

"Tell me, Nathan," I said, leaning close so my lips brushed his ear, "is this how you thought it'd go? You, the feared Fangs Zhou, at the mercy of a fed?"

His hands flexed against the floor, a visible sign of restraint—or perhaps an urge to touch. But he didn't move them toward me. Instead, he exhaled sharply, a mixture of frustration and arousal evident in his expression.

"Careful, Agent," he warned, his voice low and rough. "You're playing a dangerous game."

"Maybe," I conceded, rising slowly before sinking down again, setting a rhythm that was both torturous and intoxicating. "But aren't the most dangerous games the most fun?"

His laugh was humorless, a dark sound that resonated with the complex tangle of emotions we found ourselves in. We were enemies, bound together by a forbidden attraction that defied logic and duty.

"Fun isn't the word I'd use," Nathan finally said, his brown eyes burning into mine. "But there's no denying...it's something."

"Wow, how flattering," I murmured. "Now shut up and let me ride you, Nathan."

I gasped, picking up pace, driven by a craving for him, for him, for more of him. And as I rode him, as I felt him move beneath me, I knew one thing for certain: whatever this ‘something' was, it had changed everything.

"Are you going to behave if I let you touch me?" I asked, the question coming out more breathless than I intended. There was a raw edge to my voice, betraying the intensity of the moment.

Nathan's gaze was locked onto mine. Finally, with a barely perceptible nod, he gritted out a "Yes."

I pulled away from him a little, my heart hammering against my ribcage as he brought his hand up to my waist. His fingers were rough, calloused from a life I was only beginning to understand—a life of violence and power. But here and now, his touch was anything but violent. It was possessive, yet reverent as he guided me, urging me deeper onto him.

The sensation of him pushing into me sent a shockwave through my body. Our movements became synchronized in desperation and desire, each thrust a shared escape from the reality waiting for us beyond his living room.

"Fuck, Abby," he groaned, his control slipping with each passing second.

"Shut up," I shot back, my own resolve fraying as pleasure built inside me. This wasn't supposed to be enjoyable, this was a means to an end. But as I felt him inside of me, with every pulse and beat of our frantic hearts, it was impossible to think of anything else.

I started speeding up, my body moving on instinct. Nathan's hands tightened on my waist, his eyes darkening further, a sign that he was close. He fought against it, his jaw clenching, trying to hold back.

"Let go," I commanded, locking my eyes with his. I needed this—needed to see him unravel beneath me.

With a final push, his restraint shattered. He came hard, his release triggering my own climax. I tried not to crumble on top of him, fighting to stay upright as waves of exhaustion crashed over me. My muscles quivered, but I kept moving, milking him through it until we were both spent.

"Damn you, Abby Harper," Nathan breathed out, a mixture of admiration and something darker lacing his words.

"Right back at you," I replied, too drained to muster the energy for anything more than honesty.

After the frenzied blur of limbs and breaths, we were silent. The room was still charged with the intensity of what had just transpired, but a different tension now hung in the air—thick, heavy, and impossible to ignore. I held the knife to his throat, a cold line of steel pressed against the warmth of his skin.

I watched him carefully, my breathing finally slowing down as I tried to read any sign of betrayal or mockery in his expression. I wondered if he would go for the knife.

His dark eyes met mine, revealing nothing but the calm acceptance of a man who'd walked on the sharp edge of danger all his life.

"So are you going to behave?" I asked, my voice steady despite the wild beating of my heart.

"Yes," Nathan replied simply.

"Good," I said, easing the pressure of the blade without removing it entirely. "We can talk. I'm not going to hurt you...as long as you don't hurt me."

The corner of his mouth twitched upward in an almost imperceptible smirk. "Fair enough."

And then, as if the absurdity of our situation suddenly dawned on him, Nathan started laughing. Not just a chuckle or a snort, but a deep, hysterical laughter that seemed to bubble up from somewhere deep within him. He laughed with the kind of abandon that should have been impossible given the circumstances—with me still straddling him, his release still warm inside me, and the knife at his throat.

And he wasn't going soft.

His laughter was infectious, and though I tried to suppress it, a giggle escaped my lips, too. This whole scenario was insane—we were enemies, brought together by lust and need, both fully aware that when this moment ended, nothing would stop us from being on opposite sides again.

But for now, at least, I was relatively sure he wasn't going to kill me.