7. Chapter Seven Nathan

Chapter Seven: Nathan

F ucking Abby.

She had gotten me into this mess—put us both in danger. Ba had me by the throat, and Abby had me by the balls…and I didn't have any fucking control.

I raced back to the house, anxious that Ba had already done something to her. In that single meeting, he'd threatened Alex, Justin, Abby, and myself—and for what? To show me that I was his asset? To set me straight?

I didn't know…but I didn't trust him for a second.

I found Abby sprawled on the patio lounger, sunlight dappling her bikini-clad skin, phone in hand as she flicked through posts. A sense of irony twisted in my gut.

I'd thought I could cage something as wild as Abby, but now? Now, it was clear who the captive really was.

She smiled at something on her screen, like we weren't in the middle of the storm. The locked silver necklace around her neck, supposed to be a symbol of my ownership, glinted mockingly in the light. It might as well have been a shackle fastened around my own neck, binding me to her with chains stronger than steel.

And in that moment…I was angry. The shock had worn off after Tyler's death and dismemberment, and it was clear now that she was the one who had changed everything, who had twisted me up and put us all in danger.

Yet here she was, sitting on my balcony without a care in the world.

I clenched my jaw, fighting the urge to confront her about everything that had been eating at me since yesterday morning. Instead, I sat down beside her, the familiar scent of her skin hitting me like a wave. She was a vision, the sun lighting up threads of gold in her chestnut hair, her freckles dark against pale skin. She looked up, green eyes fixing on mine, and her smile faded.

"Nathan…you're back," she whispered.

I nodded, tearing my gaze away from her. "Yeah."

"And…?" She shifted to face me, giving me a perfect view of her perfect body. "What happened?"

"I'll tell you later."

She was quiet for a moment, biting her lip. "Does that mean you forgive me?" she asked. "Are we…are we good?"

"Forgive you?" The words slipped out, laced with incredulity and a bitterness I hadn't intended to reveal. I reached out, almost involuntarily, my fingers tracing through the silk of her hair. It was soft, soothing even…

…but it did nothing to douse the anger simmering inside me.

"Abby," I growled. I needed to talk to her, wanted to tell her everything. When she'd just been a waitress, just the girl I'd claimed as mine, she'd been the perfect confidant.

Now, though, she had teeth.

And pets with sharp teeth needed to be disciplined if you wanted to domesticate them.

With more force than I knew I should use, I hauled her to her feet, her eyes wide with surprise—or was it excitement? I never knew with her, when she'd admitted to having dark fantasies, to liking it when I bruised her.

The phone slipped from her grasp, clattering on the tiles of the patio as I dragged her inside. Abby stumbled, her bikini-clad form a stark contrast against the cool interior of my beachfront home. I pushed her to her knees, the forcefulness of my actions betraying the tumultuous emotions that churned within me.

"Seems like you're forgetting your place," I rasped, my voice cold, devoid of the warmth it once held for her. My grip tightened around her wrists, lifting them effortlessly over her head. She tried to speak, but I cut her off.

"Shh, no more words." I unzipped my pants with my free hand, letting my cock spring free. "You're just a toy, remember? A hole for me to use when I please." The harshness in my voice sounded foreign even to my own ears.

But it was necessary; she had to understand the rules had changed.

She had lied, and she needed to be punished.

Abby's eyes locked onto mine, defiance and something darker glimmering within their depths. Her lips parted, perhaps to argue or plead, but there was no room for discussion. Not now. I shoved myself into her mouth, feeling her warmth engulf me.

"Better not bite," I warned, though part of me—a twisted, sick part—wondered if I wanted her to test me. I held her hands firmly, pinning them above her as I set the pace, reminding her of who was in control here. Or at least, who was supposed to be.

Her gaze never wavered from mine, a silent challenge in the midst of her submission. She sucked with a fervor that clawed at my insides, and I could feel the control slipping through my fingers like sand. It was infuriating how she could turn this around, make me feel like the one who was powerless, even as she knelt before me.

"Fuck, look at you," I growled, watching her take me deeper. "Just like the little slut I always knew you were." There was no love in my words, only a biting venom. "I collared you for a reason, Abby. Because you can't be trusted."

She hummed around me, vibrations sending shivers up my spine. My hips jerked involuntarily, thrusting into the heat of her mouth. Was she getting into this? The thought ignited a fresh wave of anger and desire in me.

"And now you'll be used, just like the toy you are," I spat out, each word punctuated by a thrust. "You think you're in control? You think you've got me wrapped around your little finger?" I scoffed, but there was an edge of uncertainty to my voice.

"Remember who owns you, Abby. Remember who put that pretty little collar around your neck." My grip on her hair tightened reflexively. "That's right, you belong to me. And I'm going to use you however I see fit."

The air between us was charged, every insult and degradation hanging heavy, yet it only seemed to spur her on further. She was the living embodiment of my greatest weakness, and as much as I hated her for it, I couldn't deny the intoxicating power she had over me.

"Keep going," I commanded, voice husky with lust. "Show me how good of a pet you can be."

Gritting my teeth, I pulled her up just shy of my breaking point, dragging her by the arm to the kitchen island. The cool marble contrasted against the heat of our bodies as I shoved her forward, yanking down her bikini bottoms with a rough tug.

"Look at you," I sneered, finding her slick and ready for me. "All wet for your captor. You're as much a psycho as I am."

My fingers slid through her arousal, a cruel smirk twisting my lips as I mocked her desire. It was twisted, this game between us, but it was the only one we knew how to play. I dragged my fingers up to her ass, a place I hadn't used her yet—but fuck, I wanted to.

"Dirty sluts like you," I hissed, pressing one slick finger into her asshole, "should have all their holes used."

Did she understand that? That she was mine to use, in every depraved way I wanted?

But even as the thought crossed my mind, my stomach knotted. I couldn't bring myself to hurt her—not really. There were lines even I wouldn't cross, unspeakable things I couldn't do to her despite everything.

And I asked, even though I knew it made me weak…because she made me weak.

"Do you want it?" My voice cracked with a mix of anger and lust, my hands betraying the tenderness I felt even now. "Tell me you want it, Abby."

"Please, Nathan," Abby's voice was a ragged whisper, laced with need, as she started begging. Her plea rang in my ears, drawing me closer to the edge of madness where only she could push me.

"Remember this," I warned her, shoving another finger inside her, stretching her wider. "I'm big. It's going to hurt." But she was so wet, her arousal collecting on the fingers that shoved in and out of her ass in a steady rhythm.

"Fuck me," she demanded, her eyes locked onto mine over her shoulder, her voice growing bolder with each word. "In the ass, Nathan. Do it."

Her hips pushed back against me, grinding against my cock, begging for more than just my fingers. With every fiber of my being screaming at me to resist, I found that I couldn't.

Not when it came to her.

"Fine," I growled, giving into the inevitable. My hands gripped her hips as I lined myself up with her entrance. "You're such a fucking slut, aren't you, Abby? Always getting what you want."

Then I shoved inside her.

She cried out, a strangled sound that made my cock twitch as the tight ring of muscle squeezed around me. As I entered her, her tightness enveloping me, I knew I was lost in her all over again. I thrust into her, each move punctuated by filthy words that spilled from my lips unbidden.

"You're mine," I rasped, even as the irony of the statement clawed at my insides. "My little plaything. My pet. You think you control me, but you don't."

Yet, with every moan that escaped her lips, with every desperate clench of her around me, I could feel the lie in my own words. She held the reins, and we both knew it. Abbey had become the master, and I was nothing but a slave to her desires—a pawn in the twisted game we played.

"Tell me you love it," I commanded, my voice breaking as I sought her gaze, looking for any sign that she felt even a fraction of what consumed me.

"More," she begged, relentless in her pursuit of pleasure. "Give me more, Nathan."

And who was I to deny her?

I lost myself to her demands, my body moving with a primal urgency as we chased our mutual release. She met me thrust for thrust, her cries mingling with mine in the still air of the kitchen until they crescendoed into a shared climax that left us both gasping and clinging to the edge of sanity.

Panting, I pulled out, leaving her there on the cool marble, her body still quivering from the aftermath. I turned away, desperate to put some distance between us, even if just for a moment. In the bathroom, I leaned heavily against the sink, staring at my reflection.

The man looking back was a stranger—wild-eyed, hair tousled, a faint flush still on his cheeks from the exertion. He needed to get free of her, but the twisted part of him—the part that craved her chaos—knew he was tethered to her with chains stronger than any metal.

"You're losing control," I muttered to my reflection.

It was true.

She held all the cards…and she had from the very beginning.

When I returned to the living room, she was standing there, composed as if our world hadn't just tilted on its axis. I grabbed my keys off the hook, determined to escape the confines of these walls, if only for a short while.

"I'm going for a drive," I announced, my voice more steady than I felt.

"Nathan, we need to talk," Abby said, her tone suggesting it wasn't a request. "You can't just leave every time things get too real."

"Watch me," I spat back, the coldness in my voice not reaching my eyes. "You don't control me, Abby."

With that, I stormed out, slamming the door behind me, the sound echoing through the house like a gunshot. Out in the unforgiving daylight, I climbed into my car, the engine roaring to life beneath my hands. As I drove away, the rearview mirror offered up one last glimpse of the house—and of her, watching me leave yet again—but I refused to look back.

Abby might own every dark corner of my heart, but I clung to the illusion of control, however fleeting it might be.