25. Chapter Twenty-Five Abby

Chapter Twenty-Five: Abby

T he stench of smoke still clung to our clothes, a harsh reminder of the chaos earlier that evening. We moved upstairs in unspoken agreement, the ritual of preparing for bed now as familiar and worn as the steps beneath our feet.

Nathan's movements were mechanical, peeling off his own smoke-tainted clothes with mechanical precision. His black hair lay matted against his forehead, damp from sweat or maybe the night air. It was getting harder to tell these days, as summer shifted into fall and the air grew damp with fog.

"Shower?" His voice cut through the silence, slicing into the new normal we'd built, brick by bloody brick. His question was simple enough, but it hung heavy between us.

My pulse quickened, a response that betrayed my surprise. Nathan wasn't one for small talk or unnecessary questions. The kitchen episode had changed something, shifted the axis of our strange existence. I studied him for a moment, looking for the man who could snap bones as easily as stems, wondering what was going through his mind. But his gaze didn't meet mine; instead, it was fixed on some distant point, somewhere past me.

There was something about his offer—so mundane yet charged with the unsaid. It felt like a peace offering, a bridge over the chasm that had opened up between us. Or maybe it was a lifeline, thrown out to pull us back from the brink. My voice was steady, a contrast to the hammering in my chest, as I responded with a simple, "Okay."

Nathan nodded, the simple motion heavy with things unsaid. He turned on his heel, the dragon inked into his skin shifting with every movement—a silent guardian over muscles that had tensed and untensed in countless fights—a testament to his life etched in ink and scars.

He disappeared behind the door, leaving me alone with the ghostly echo of his steps. I hesitated only a moment, listening to the water begin its cascade. I shed my jewelry piece by piece, the metallic clinks tiny proclamations of my resolve. My clothes followed, each garment slipping away like layers of pretense until I stood bare.

The steam slipped beneath the door, carrying with it the muffled patter of water. I approached, my hand pausing on the cool wood before pushing it open. The sight that greeted me was nothing like the poised, dangerous man I knew in public. Nathan stood with his hands braced against the wall, the water pouring over him, turning his skin a glistening bronze. Each slow breath he drew seemed to fight against an invisible weight, and even without saying a word, I could tell—the man before me was drowning in air.

I stepped inside, drawn by an unseen force, my feet finding the wet tile as I closed the distance. The heat enveloped me, the steam clinging to my skin like a whisper. Nathan didn't turn, didn't acknowledge my presence with anything more than the subtle shift in his breathing. But I sensed him reaching out, spoken in his strained muscles and taut lines.

"Abby," he said, and my name sounded like a prayer on his lips.

My hands found him, wrapping around his solid frame from behind. The contrast of our naked bodies merging under the cascade of hot water sent a jolt of electricity through me.

I traced the familiar lines of his dragon tattoo, its intricate scales etched across his left side—a testament to his strength and the burdens he carried. My fingers roamed over his abs, up to his chest.

Nathan finally turned, his movements deliberate, and wrapped me in his embrace. His chin found the top of my head, a gentle weight that spoke volumes. Pressed against his broad chest, I could hear the steady throb of his heart—an echo of my own. This proximity wasn't new to us, but the stillness between us was unfamiliar—intimate in a way that transcended physical desire.

He wasn't hard, and the realization struck me with a curious blend of relief and concern. It might have been the first time we'd been this close without an immediate urgency for carnal fulfillment. In that suspended moment, our shared silence became a fragile truce, the absence of his usual heat a question hanging in the steam-filled air.

"Abby," he began, without any of the bravado or menace that others knew him for. His voice was a frayed thread, holding on to the last vestiges of control. "I don't know who to trust anymore." He paused, almost flinching as he confessed, "It's like the walls are closing in, and there's no safe haven left—not even in my own head."

My hand stilled over his dragon tattoo, and I looked up at him. Without a word, I pressed my lips against the inked depiction of the beast over his heart. It was a silent promise, an offering of peace.

"You can trust me," I whispered against his skin, feeling the thrum of his heartbeat against my mouth. "Even if you think you can't, Nathan. I'm here."

He could have pushed me away.

He didn't.

His fingers tightened around me, not with possession or need, but with something akin to gratitude. For a long moment, we stayed like that, the only sound the hiss of water cascading down around us. His body tensed, then relaxed incrementally as he reached for me–soft, not demanding.

Nathan's hand was firm on my jaw, his thumb brushing over my skin with an unexpected gentleness. His eyes, deep and searching, fixed on mine with an intensity that made the rest of the world fade away.

I held my breath for a second, half-expecting him to close the space between us with a kiss—a kiss I wasn't sure I was ready to resist. But instead, his voice broke through the sound of falling water, low and laced with an undercurrent of something dangerous.

"Abby," he said, his grip on my chin tightening just enough to remind me who he was. "Tell me about your meeting with the FBI."

I exhaled slowly, steadying myself against the wave of emotions his touch stirred within me. He had always been good at catching me off-guard, but I wasn't some green recruit fresh out of Quantico anymore. I was an agent on a mission, and I couldn't afford to forget it—not even for him.

"Agent Hayes seemed suspicious," I admitted, my voice a whisper against the drumming of the shower. "But I managed to put them on the scent of the arsonist." I paused, watching as his expression remained unchanged. "Hopefully, that'll distract the FBI long enough to take care of the Serpents' problem."

Nathan released me then, stepping back ever so slightly. The water parted around us, droplets catching in his lashes and rolling down his cheeks. Those ink black lashes were so long, delicate and beautiful on an equally gorgeous face. It was always jarring to see him like this…something so stunning that could do so much damage.

He nodded once, almost imperceptibly, a trace of approval in his gaze.

"Good," he said. "Anything else?"

"Nothing that can't wait until after we're dry."

Nathan nodded again, his eyes trailing down my face, reading every nuance of expression as though searching for a crack in my fa?ade.

"Later, then," he decided, and with those words, the tension that had coiled between us began to unwind. He stepped closer once more, his presence enveloping me, and I knew that for now, the interrogation was over.

The steam from the shower enveloped us too, a misty veil that seemed to mute the outside world. I met Nathan's gaze, his brown eyes reflecting a turmoil that matched my own. I had something else to confess, and it weighed heavily on me.

"Agent Hayes asked about my necklace," I said softly, watching his reaction closely. The piece of jewelry was a constant reminder—a symbol of possession in our twisted romance.

His hand twitched, an almost imperceptible movement, but one I caught all the same. "And?" he prodded, his voice betraying a hint of tension.

I took a deep breath, the warmth of the water doing little to soothe the tightness in my chest. ""I think she might have noticed it doesn't come off. She was suspicious, so if you want to keep a collar on me, maybe you need to find one that unclasps," I murmured, bracing myself for his response.

Nathan's jaw clenched, a shadow crossing his features as if I'd just suggested severing an invisible thread between us. His brow furrowed, hurt flickering in his eyes before he masked it with indifference. "Is that what you want?" he asked, his voice low, each word laced with unspoken emotion. "To be…to be able to get rid of me?"

My heart ached at the thought, even as I stood my ground. "No, absolutely not," I assured him, reaching out to touch his arm. "But this isn't the way it was. I'm not your pet anymore, Nathan."

He flinched slightly, the term ‘pet' striking a chord. I continued, "I'm here because I choose to be, not because I have no other choice. I'm not going anywhere."

"Abby," he finally said, his voice barely above a whisper, tracing the outline of my face with an outstretched palm, "you've always been more than that to me."

I understood this. The care, the cruelty, the way it was all wrapped up in the same man.

"Then let's not pretend," I replied softly, meeting his gaze with determination. "I'm here with you, Nathan. For all that you are, and all that we've been through. But on my own terms."

He nodded slowly, the tension in his shoulders easing fractionally. We were both marked by the life we led, entangled in a dark world where trust was a luxury few could afford. But in that shower, with the water washing over us, we found a temporary sanctuary—a place where our bond could be something pure amidst the chaos.

"Yes," he said. "Your terms. That seems good."

"Really?"

He looked as if he might argue with me, as if he might inflict another emotional scar—but then his lips met mine.

It was a slow melding, a deliberate act that spoke volumes more than any words could. His kiss wasn't rushed or demanding; it was long, intense, laden with unspoken apologies and promises. Our nakedness felt incidental, not the focus, but simply a state of being as we explored the familiarity of each other's mouths.

I reached up to thread my fingers through his wet hair, anchoring myself to him. The water cascaded down his back, over the expanse of his scarred shoulders, the body that had been used as a weapon his whole life.

Yet here, under the gentle pressure of his lips, he was just Nathan.

My Nathan.

The kiss deepened, emotions swirling between us like the steam fogging the mirror nearby. We shifted slightly, and I found my back pressed against the cool tile wall. The contrast of temperatures sent a jolt through me, grounding me further in the moment. Nathan's mouth never left mine as his hand trailed down my body, igniting paths of fire wherever he touched.

His fingers found their way to my core, and I moaned against his lips, the sound swallowed by the intensity of our kiss. Each deliberate caress was an exploration, a silent conversation where he asked and I answered with the arching of my back, the curling of my toes. The pleasure built, spiraling tighter, and I clung to him, lost in the sensation he was evoking.

"Abby," he breathed, his voice a low rumble against my lips. It was all I needed to hear—the acknowledgment of my presence, my effect on him, our connection despite the stormy seas we navigated. Nathan may have been feared in the criminal community, a man who could command life and death, but here, he surrendered to the moment, to the ebb and flow of desire we shared.

And as I stood there, pressed against the cool tile with the man who was both my torment and my solace, I realized that this—us—was a choice.

And I chose him, again and again, with every heartbeat, with every moan, with every breath that mingled with his in the hazy warmth of the shower.

Nathan's touch was relentless, his fingers finding that perfect rhythm, pushing me closer to the edge with every stroke as his thumb found my clit. My grip on his shoulders tightened as I felt my body tense, a crescendo of pleasure building within me. His dark eyes locked onto mine, and in them, I saw a reflection of my own hunger—a silent plea for release.

"Let go, Abby," he urged, his voice a velvet command that caressed my senses even as his fingers worked their magic.

I couldn't hold back any longer. The dam broke, and waves of ecstasy crashed over me. I cried out, my voice echoing off the shower walls, as I came undone under his skilled touch. Nathan watched me shatter, a look of fierce satisfaction etching itself onto his features.

As the tremors subsided, he didn't waste a moment. Strong hands gripped my hips, lifting me until my legs instinctively wrapped around his waist. His hardness pressed against me, an undeniable promise of what was to come. And then, the world narrowed down to just us—the slick slide of skin on skin, the steamy heat enveloping us, the rhythmic beat of water drumming against the tile—every sensation amplified.

He pressed himself into me, all the way to the hilt. "Fuck, you're so wet and tight," he said. "You're so fucking hot. Being inside you…it's heaven."

I ground against him, desperate for more, craving the connection that only he could provide. Nathan's kiss had been the prelude to this dance, but now he pulled back, his gaze searing into me with an intensity that spoke volumes without a single word.

"Look at me," I whispered, reaching up to cup his face between my hands. His movements didn't falter, that relentless pace sending sparks of pleasure coursing through me. But it was his eyes I sought, those pools of midnight that seemed to hold both agony and ecstasy.

"I love you," I breathed, the declaration slipping out like a prayer meant only for him. He shook his head slightly—a denial, a refusal to accept the words that could bind him more surely than any oath taken in the shadows of his world.

But I couldn't stop the mantra, the truth of my heart that even now refused to be silenced. "I love you, Nathan. I love you." Each repetition was a whisper against the cacophony of our reality, a hope that love could be enough to save us both.

His jaw tightened, the slight tremble in his frame the only indication of the turmoil raging within him. Still, he kept moving, kept claiming me, as if by doing so he could stave off the inevitable reckoning that awaited us beyond the steam and the sanctuary of the shower.

And as we moved together, lost in each other, I knew this was more than a fleeting connection. This was the eye of the storm, the quiet center where two hearts beat as one, even if the world outside was determined to tear us apart.

The intensity in his gaze flickered, and for a moment, I saw the raw need to belong—to me, to this moment we shared. Then, as if ripping himself from a siren's call, he wrenched his look away and pinned me with a ferocity that spoke volumes of his internal conflict. His movements became relentless, an assertion of power, a desperate grasp at control in a world.

"I can feel how close you are," he said. "I can feel your pretty pussy tightening around my cock. Abby…"

My name on his lips was both an anchor and a storm, grounding me even as it sent me spiraling into my own climax, his name falling from my mouth as my hearing and vision both seemed to dim. I felt him bury himself deep, felt the jolt of his cum flooding my pussy, the water coursing between us as I clung to him.

Then, as quickly as the storm had peaked, it ebbed, leaving us drenched and breathless. He cradled me for a heartbeat longer, his touch gentle despite the violence of his passion moments before, and then he carefully set me down on my feet.

Without a word, he turned off the water and stepped out of the shower, leaving me to grapple with the aftershocks of what we'd shared. The absence of his warmth was immediate and jarring, and I hurriedly rinsed off before wrapping myself in a towel.

By the time I emerged from the bathroom, dry and dressed in the soft fabric of my pajamas, Nathan was already in bed. The lights were off, casting the room into shadows that seemed to echo the darkness I felt creeping into the edges of my heart.

I paused at the doorway, watching his still form under the covers, and wondered if the silence between us was a chasm too wide to bridge. With a sigh that felt like surrender, I slid into bed beside him, the distance of mere inches feeling like miles.

As I lay there, listening to the steady rhythm of his breathing, I allowed myself to believe, just for a moment, that when morning came, we might find a way through the night's consequences together.

Because I had no idea what I would do if I was wrong.