Chapter Twenty-Five Abby

The last bite of dinner settled heavy in my stomach, like I'd swallowed a chunk of lead. The silence that followed was thick, a tangible thing that seemed to choke the air from the room. I watched Nathan across the island, his eyes dark and unreadable, as distant as if he were planning his next move in some high-stakes game I wasn't privy to.

"Need help cleaning up?" My voice cut through the quiet, sounding too eager in my own ears. But anything was better than this wordless standoff.

Nathan's gaze flicked to me, a slight furrow creasing his brow as if he weighed the risk of my offer. "You want to help?" he asked, skeptical.

"Sure," I said with forced brightness. "You wash, I'll dry. Unless you think I'm gonna take you down with a dish towel."

A ghost of a smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. It didn't reach his eyes. "Abby, I'm twice your size. There's not much you could do that I couldn't stop. But if you want to try…"

"Right." I chuckled, feeling the tension ebb slightly. It was good for me that he wasn't feeling threatened. "Because clearly, I'm the master of spoon-fu."

It was a bad joke. "That's racist," he said flatly.

"Wait, is it? I—"

He smirked. "I'm fucking with you, but just so we're clear," he started, standing and collecting the plates, "if you try anything—" He paused, letting the threat hang unsaid between us.

"Got it," I interrupted quickly, pushing back from the table. "Threats noted. Spoon attacks off the table."

I followed him to the kitchen, the clatter of porcelain and silverware filling the space where our conversation should have been. Standing side by side at the sink, we fell into a rhythm; he scrubbed, I dried. The mundane task should have been comforting, but with every brush of his arm against mine, with every glance I stole at the dragon tattoo peeking from under his shirt, I felt like I was playing with fire. Nathan "Fangs" Zhou wasn't a man you toyed with. And yet here I was, dabbing at dishes while trying to remember that this man was more dangerous than any weapon in this kitchen.

When we were done, I grabbed a plastic cup and filled it with cold water from the tap. I was careful to avoid his gaze, focusing on the cascading water filling each glass before I drained it. The cool liquid was a balm to my parched throat, and I couldn't stop myself from drinking greedily, one glass after another.

"What the fuck are you doing?" Nathan's voice sliced through the silence, an edge of annoyance—or was it concern?—coloring his tone.

I set the empty glass down with more force than necessary. "I haven't had a chance to drink any water today," I snapped back, feeling the pressure of his scrutiny. "I'm going to take advantage of it."

He furrowed his brow. "Right."

I drank another glass of water. Without a word, Nathan walked over to a locked cabinet at the far end of the kitchen. He tapped in a code, just like the codes on the other locked doors in this house, and the cabinet doors swung open to reveal rows of bottles, an arsenal of spirits. His hand paused over the selection before pulling out a corkscrew and a bottle of wine, then he shut and locked the cabinet again.

Okay…so not all the locked drawers and cabinets had handcuffs in them. Some of them had booze.

Good to know.

"Didn't peg you for a wine guy," I commented, trying to keep my voice light as he worked the cork free with a practiced twist.

He didn't respond, just poured the deep red liquid into a plastic cup—a stark contrast to the rich drink—and pushed it across the bar toward me. Then, he poured himself a glass of it, in a proper wine glass.

Asshole.

I eyed the cup skeptically. "What's the occasion?"

"Drink," was all he said, not a suggestion but a command.

The wine swirled in the cup as I picked it up, watching the play of shadow and light through the red haze. It smelled like oak and something darker, something that reminded me too much of the blood that I knew stained Nathan's hands.

"Cheers," I muttered sarcastically, taking a small sip and watching him over the rim. He didn't toast, didn't sip—he just watched me, his expression unreadable.

"Finish it," he urged.

I hesitated. "Why?"

"Scared it's poisoned?" he asked, a hint of amusement in his voice now.

"Wouldn't put anything past you," I replied, letting my FBI training peek through the facade of vulnerability. I met his gaze then, challenging, defiant.

"My methods are rarely that delicate," he said flatly, taking another sip of his drink. "Drink, Abby."

I took a larger gulp of wine, proving I wasn't afraid of him or his games.

"Good girl," he murmured, almost approvingly, and I felt a shiver run down my spine—not of fear, but something far more dangerous.

"Stop calling me that," I shot back, setting the cup down harder than before. My head was already spinning, the combination of exhaustion, hunger, and now the wine muddling my thoughts.

He smirked, his gaze sliding up and down my body as if he was appraising a piece of meat. "Are you sure?" he asked.

I could feel myself close to tears again, though this time, I wasn't exactly sure why.

"Drink up," he said, pouring another glass full and sliding it across the marble countertop toward me. His eyes were on mine, daring me to defy him.

I lifted the glass but paused. "I'm dizzy already," I confessed, the room tilting a bit as I spoke. The truth was, I didn't want to lose control—not completely, not with him. There was something so tempting about throwing caution to the wind. Something about giving myself over to him completely.

But I couldn't. I wouldn't.

No matter what, I couldn't let him win.

"Half then," he compromised, which surprised me. His gaze never left mine.

I took a tentative sip, the rich flavor of the wine coating my tongue but doing nothing to soothe the gnawing tension inside me. Placing the glass back down, I left it half full, my message clear—I wouldn't be pushed further.

In an instant, the air shifted, charged with a dangerous energy. Nathan stepped closer, his movements deliberate, predatory even. I should have been afraid, should have been running, but instead, I was rooted to the spot, transfixed by the dark promise in his eyes.

"Take off your shirt, Abby," he murmured.

I stilled, meeting his eyes. "Do you want me to drink or–"

"I want you to be a good girl and do as you're told," he growled. "Now…take off your shirt."

My pussy throbbed at the tone of his voice, and bitterness and desire went to war in my chest as I put my cup down on the counter. I did as he said–reached for the hem of my shirt, pulled it over my head.

His eyes swept down to my breasts, drinking me in as I picked up my glass once again…and god, it turned me the fuck on, no matter how bad I wanted to resist him. I sucked in a breath, feeling exposed, vulnerable, but there was also a flicker of something else—anticipation.

"One more sip," he said.

"Nathan–"

"Do it," he said.

I nodded, trying to stop my hands from trembling.

"If you spill any wine," he said, his voice a whisper of silk and steel, "I'm going to lick it off every inch of you."

The threat hung in the air like a guillotine's blade, sharp and ready to fall. And damn me, I wanted it to. I wanted the cut, the rush, the madness of it all. I lifted the glass once more, my hand surprisingly steady as I brought it to my lips. The wine flowed smoothly, not a single drop escaping.

"Good," he murmured, his approval sending an entirely different kind of warmth spiraling through me.

"Are you always this bossy?" I teased with false bravado, trying to keep him off balance, to keep myself from sinking too deep into the darkness he offered.

"Yes," he said flatly.

The cup made barely a sound as I set it down on the cool marble of the kitchen island. It was empty now, and so was any pretense of control I might have harbored. His presence loomed in front of me, a force that seemed to push against my back without even touching.

"Now your pants," he commanded, his voice low and gravelly. Every part of me screamed to resist, to remember the badge that lay hidden, to recall the mission. But those thoughts were like whispers drowned out by the roar of my own heartbeat.

I wanted him…I wanted him so bad, and even though I knew it was wrong, there was no one here to judge.

I hesitated for only a second before I stood and my fingers moved with a mind of their own, sliding my shorts down and letting it fall down my legs. The cool air of the apartment kissed my skin, raising goosebumps, a stark contrast to the heat radiating off him.

"Good girl," he whispered, his hand finding its way into my hair. I could feel the tension in his grip, the promise of pain entwined with pleasure. It was wrong, so wrong, but the thrill of it shattered my resolve like thin ice.

Nathan's other hand explored the expanse of my exposed back before he took hold of me more firmly, guiding me down. My knees met the cold floor, and my hands steadied against the unforgiving surface of the island.

"Look at me," he ordered, and I did. His eyes burned with an intensity that both scared and excited me. This was Nathan Zhou—calculating, dangerous, and standing before me with a need that matched my own.

I could see how hard he was, and fuck, I wanted him so very much.

"Abby," he said, a single word laced with command and a dark promise, and I realized there was no more pretending. I wasn't just undercover; I was under his power, even if only for this stolen moment.

His hand brushed against my cheek, the touch surprisingly gentle. "Take it out," he said, his voice quiet but the command in it undeniable. I hesitated for a moment, but then complied, not breaking eye contact as I reached forward to tug on his waistband. My fingers slipped around the warmth of him, and my heartbeat quickened. He somehow seemed larger than he had before, and that scared me.

Thrilled me, too.

"Slowly," he ordered, and I obeyed, lowering his pants and boxers with a slow, measured pull. His gaze was predatory, watching my every move like a hawk watching its prey. My heart pounded in my chest as I took him in my hand, feeling the weight and heat of him.

I could see him flexing his jaw, an indication of the restraint he was exercising. He liked control and right now he had it. Even as I held him in my hand, he was the one manipulating the situation.

"Abby," he said, the grip in my hair tightening. "Go on. If you use your teeth, I will kill you."

A ripple of fear coursed through me, but it was quickly drowned out by the pulsing desire that had taken hold of me. My grip around him tightened reflexively, my thumb stroking along his length before I focused on the task at hand.

I lowered my head, my breath ghosting over his skin and causing him to shudder. My eyes flickered up to meet his. He watched me closely, his dark eyes brimming with a kind of savage hunger that made my insides quiver.

Slowly, very slowly, I took him in my mouth. His taste filled my senses—salt, musk, and something uniquely him. I heard a ragged sigh escape from him, watched as he threw his head back in pleasure. His hand still clenched tightly in my hair as I moved up and down on him slowly, following his unspoken command.

The noises Nathan made were low, guttural, punctuated by the occasional swear word in Mandarin. A part of me reveled in it—the ability to break this man's usual iron-clad control was heady, intoxicating. But the unease never left me, lurking behind every stroke and caress. His threat echoed in my mind: If you use your teeth, I will kill you.

Every so often, his grip in my hair would tighten, a silent reminder of who was really in control here. He guided my pace—slow then fast, shallow then deep—until I could barely breathe, my eyes watering from the strain.

"Enough," he finally growled, pulling me off him abruptly. I stumbled back slightly, panting for breath while he righted himself. I got to my feet, watching his every move. There was a fierce pride in his eyes as he watched me recover—a satisfaction at having pushed me to my limits—and something else...a glint of possessiveness that sent chills down my spine.

"Wait," he said.

As he paced towards me, he stripped off his clothes and let them fall on the floor with a thump. The sound echoed in the silence of the room, making my heartbeat quicken in anticipation. He approached me, reaching out to trace a finger along my bottom lip.

"Open," he commanded, and I obeyed, parting my lips to allow him entry. As he slid two fingers into my mouth, I tasted the salty sweat on his skin. He pulled them out slowly, holding my gaze with a predatory satisfaction that made my core clench in response.

His hand continued its path downwards, sliding against me. Effortlessly, he slipped one finger inside me while his thumb circled my clit. I sucked in a sharp breath as heat exploded within me.

"No," I protested weakly, but he only smirked, the corners of his mouth curling up in a predatory smile.

My eyes went wide as he slid another finger lower, pressing against the tight ring of muscles there. He looked at me for a second too long, as if he was asking me. And then he pressed a lubricated finger into my ass, and as he did, I gasped, my body arcing towards him involuntarily. Pain and pleasure intermingled in a way that had my heart pounding in my chest as if trying to escape.

Nathan's smirk widened at my reaction, and his eyes shimmered with a dark promise. "All of you is mine, Abby," he rasped, his voice rough with desire. "Every inch. Every hole."

His words sent a shiver coursing down my spine, doing strange things to my insides. I could only gasp in response as he stretched me, pushing the boundaries of what I thought I could take.

His fingers worked diligently inside of me; one moment teasing fleetingly and the next, assaulting the very core of me with a ruthless rhythm that pushed me to the edge of sanity. The room filled with the sounds of our panting breaths and the slick thrumming of his fingers diving repeatedly into my body.

The pleasure built until my vision blurred around the edges, until I was on the cusp of something monstrous and all-consuming. But before I could surrender myself to it, Nathan withdrew his fingers from me entirely. A whimper left my lips at the sudden emptiness, but it was soon replaced by a gasp as he lifted me off the floor and onto the island.

"All of you, every last bit, belongs to me now," he said, his voice low and dangerous. He spread my legs apart, stepping in between them. His hands found my hips, fingers digging into my flesh hard enough to leave marks.

His eyes bore into mine with an intensity that was almost unbearable. A bead of sweat trickled down his temple, hinting at the restraint he was exercising.

"You only get to come when I have my cock inside of you," he said.

And then he was there, inside me, fully sheathed in one swift, ruthless move. A cry tore from my lips as he stretched me, filling me completely. His grip on my hip convulsed as if he was trying to restrain himself, and for a moment he was still, his eyes darkened with desire as they stared into mine.

Every breath I took was shaky, filled with the spiraling pleasure of him inside of me. The island edge dug into my back and our heavy breathing filled the room as the tension between us grew almost unbearable.

Finally, Nathan moved; a slow pull out that had me biting my lip before he thrust back in hard. I gasped at the sudden movement, my nails scoring down his back at the sensation. His pace quickened, every thrust more powerful than the last until nothing else existed but him and the intense pleasure building up within me.

"My pretty little hole," he said into my ear, and despite what I wanted—to resist, to push him away, to tell him to stop—it was like my body knew to orgasm at his words, at his command. My climax hit me with the strength of a hurricane, ripping through me with such intensity that white spots danced in my vision. My body convulsed under him, pleasure rolling through me in waves.

"See? You are a good girl," he said breathlessly, the satisfaction in his voice sending another shock wave of pleasure coursing through me.

His pace faltered, his grip on my hips growing tighter as he rode out the aftershocks of my orgasm. With a final guttural groan, he pushed deep one last time and stilled. I felt the heat of his release inside me and nearly came again at the feeling. It was overwhelming, intense, and like nothing I had ever experienced before.

Nathan remained still for a few moments longer, his breath hot against my neck. I felt him soften and slowly pull away from me. He helped me to sit up, his hands tender now where they had been ruthless before.

"Fuck," he said as he pulled away from me. "You really do have the perfect pussy."

And if it wasn't for the fact that he had explicitly forbidden it, I was pretty sure I would have come again right then and there.