Chapter Forty-Two Abby

Fangs Zhou–my kidnapper, not my boyfriend–popped open the passenger door of his sleek black car. "Get in," he said, his voice cold.

"Thanks," I muttered, trying to ignore the chill that settled into my bones as I slid onto the leather seat. I buckled up and shot him a tentative smile, searching for some sign of the man who cared for orchids with a gentleness that didn't match his reputation. "Nice night for a drive," I ventured, hoping to chip away at the silence between us.

He didn't bite. Just started the engine, the purr of it filling the space where words should have been.

We drove through the city's veins, streetlights sketching shadows across Nathan's face, revealing and then hiding the dragon tattoo that snaked along his skin. It was like watching him shift between two selves—the ruthless enforcer and the philosopher who'd once sought understanding in books rather than blood.

"Your place on Shannon Street," he broke the quiet without looking at me, "it's a real dump."

I bristled but kept my cool. "On a waitress's pennies, you don't get to choose the penthouse suite. San Francisco doesn't come cheap." I didn't want to admit that even my FBI salary wouldn't stretch much further in this city…and he definitely didn't need to know that.

"Ever feel unsafe walking home?" His question had an edge, like he was sizing up an opponent rather than making conversation.

"Of course. The walk from Chinatown to Shannon Street isn't exactly a stroll through a park." My laugh was hollow, bouncing back at me off the car windows. I remembered the self-defense moves my dad taught me, the weight of a gun in my hand. But I also remembered the fear that comes with knowing you're alone in the shadowy corners of the city.

"Someone bothered you?"

"I mean. Have you been in San Francisco long?" I tried to keep the conversation going, my fingers fidgeting with the strap of my bag.

"Don't be cute. That was a real question."

"I know. And yeah, I mean, yeah. Of course."

Nathan scoffed. Silence claimed him again. I wanted to delve deeper, to peel back the layers of Nathan Zhou, but as we drove back to his place—the house that I couldn't, wouldn't call home—he retreated further into himself. His jaw was set hard, and I caught myself watching the way his hands gripped the steering wheel, the tattoos that marked his skin shifting with each subtle movement.

"Did I say something wrong?" I ventured after minutes stretched between us like an aching chasm. I needed to hear his voice, to break through the wall that had suddenly sprung up. But he remained silent, the air thick with unspoken words.

His silence felt like a rebuke, wrapping around me tighter than the seatbelt across my chest. I shifted uncomfortably, trying to read his expression in the passing glow of streetlights. The playful man who had met my dad, helped my roommate, the one with a surprising gentleness hidden beneath the veneer of violence—that man was nowhere to be seen now.

We pulled into the parking garage of his apartment, and I followed Nathan inside, the weight of his silence pressing down on me. In my mind, I rehearsed apologies and excuses, ready to smooth over whatever misstep I'd taken. But as the door shut behind us, sealing us away from the world outside, I knew instinctively that words alone wouldn't bridge the distance Nathan had put between us.

"Did I do something wrong?" The question fell from my lips before I could stop it, my voice betraying the nervousness that clawed at my insides. The shift was sudden, as if a switch had been flipped—the warmth of his presence replaced with an icy detachment that sent chills down my spine.

Nathan turned on me, his eyes hard.

"Get on your knees," his command was sharp, a blade slicing through the silence.

I obeyed without hesitation, letting my backpack slip from my shoulder to thud against the polished floor. My heart hammered against my ribs, each beat a reminder of the danger and the thrill that came from being this close to him.

He reached out suddenly, his fingers wrapping around a fistful of my hair. It wasn't gentle, but it wasn't meant to be—it was a claim, a declaration. "You need to remember that you're not my girlfriend," he growled, his voice low and unyielding. "You're my possession. I don't give a fuck if you like me."

It felt like he definitely gave a fuck if I liked him.

"I understand," I managed, my voice steady despite the burn in my chest. The rumbling beneath my sternum was my heart, protesting against the man before me.

Nathan pulled my head toward his hardened cock, and my lips traced the outline of his impressive erection over his pants. But I didn't have time to even think about it; soon, Nathan's grip on my hair pulled me to my feet, his movement swift and sure. The room spun for a moment before I found my balance, my body responding instantly to his commanding presence. Wetness pooled between my thighs as if my own treacherous desire sought to betray the fear that gripped my heart.

"I don't give a fuck what you think at all," he muttered under his breath.

Really? Then why are you so mad?

But I said no such thing. I wasn't crazy.

He dragged me toward the living room with unyielding purpose, each step punctuated by the sharp tug of my hair in his fist. I stumbled after him, half dragged across the threshold where shadows mingled with the sparse light filtering through the curtains. The familiar surroundings now felt like a predator's den, and I was the quarry.

With a force that left no room for resistance, Nathan seated himself on the couch and hauled me over his lap. He pressed me hard against his erection, my pussy rubbing against him.

"You could just come like this, right?" he asked. "Just humping yourself on me, because you're such a fucking cockthirsty little slut."

I didn't have time to answer him. My dress, a simple fabric that suddenly seemed too thin, too vulnerable, was yanked up over my hips with one swift motion. I braced myself, skin tingling with the anticipation of punishment and something far more complicated.

The first spank landed with a resounding crack that echoed off the walls, heat radiating instantly from the stinging impact. I gasped, rocking my hips, the pain and pleasure mingling as I let out a harsh cry. "Nathan!"

But he wasn't done.

His hand didn't hold back, delivering firm, measured blows that left my flesh burning and my breaths coming in ragged gasps.

"Remember the deal," he said. "I want your opinion–"

Smack.

"–only when I ask for it–"

Smack.

"Do you understand?"

I nodded, whimpered, I thought I said yes. Each strike was a harsh reminder of his power over me, an assertion of ownership that pushed me deeper into this dark whirlpool of sensation. My body writhed in his lap, one arm keeping me firmly on my belly, the other hand hitting me over and over…

"You're so wet, aren't you?" he asked. "You love this shit."

He didn't wait for an answer. He didn't want one.

His hand slipped between my thighs, fingers probing with a practiced touch that coaxed my body to respond despite the smarting pain of my rear. "Don't you dare come before I say," he warned, his voice a rough whisper that carried all the threat of his position. "Only good toys get that privilege."

And then he plunged his fingers into me.

A gasp tore from my throat at his invasion, my nails digging into the plush cushion as he claimed my body. His fingers moved with a brutal precision, curling and thrusting with a rhythm that had me writhing in his lap. The pain from his spanking was morphed into a different kind of burn, one that left me aching for more.

For a while, Nathan remained silent, enthralled in his exploration of my body. His fingers moved expertly, stretching and pressing against me in ways designed to draw gasps and pleas from my lips. I was teetering on the brink, the tension building within me like a bowstring pulled taut.

"Please," I heard myself begging, the word slipping out through gritted teeth.

The silence stretched on, punctuated only by the obscene sounds of my arousal and the harsh rhythm of his breaths. He was unyielding, indifferent to my pleas for release.

The more I squirmed under his touch, the tighter his grip became.

"Beg," he said.

I whimpered, the words tumbling from my lips in a desperate flurry. "Please, Nathan...please..."

His response was a low chuckle, dark and intoxicating. "Beg more," he ordered, his fingers never ceasing their ruthless assault.

Tears sprang to my eyes as the pressure built, a pleading mantra filling the room with my desperate cries. "Please...please...Nathan..."

"Make me believe it," he said.

I choked on a sob, my body shaking on the precipice of release. Each swipe of his fingers drove me closer to the edge, my desperation mounting with every denied climax. "Nathan," I cried, my voice echoing in the silence of the room. "Please...I need...I need..."

A harsh noise tore from his throat, somewhere between a grunt and a growl. "That's it," he seethed, his fingers moving with renewed intensity. "Beg me."

Tears streamed down my cheeks as the desperation peaked, threatening to consume me. "Nathan...please...I need you...I need you..."

"Why are you crying?" he asked, fingering me so hard, so fast.

"I...I can't..." was all I managed to gasp out before the pleasure coursing through me became unbearable. The tears were streaming freely now, blurring my vision and mingling with the sweat that trickled down my face.

"You weren't supposed to come," he said.

"I didn't—I haven't—"

"But you will," he hissed out, his fingers unrelenting, pushing me towards the edge. His other hand snaked up, capturing one of my hands from its death grip on the couch and placing it over the bulge in his pants. "Feel what you do to me."

His arousal was a hard, pulsing demand that startled me even through the fabric of his pants. I whimpered, squirming at the dual sensations of his fingers inside me and the proof of his desire underneath my palm.

"Please..." I begged again, my voice coming out as a ragged whisper as the heat inside me coiled tighter. The force of the impending climax was terrifying...and intoxicating. I had never felt like this. No one had ever made me feel like this.

Nathan moved his hand and unzipped himself, pulling out what had been straining against his pants. The sight of him, thick and pulsing in the dim light, pushed me higher. My body rocked against his hand, riding his ruthless fingers as I pumped him.

His groan echoed in the room, a low growl that vibrated through me. "That's it, Abby," he praised, the sound of my name on his lips sending a jolt straight to my core. "Keep begging."

"Please let me come," I said, my voice barely a whisper as I pumped him in my hand. His fingers moved with renewed vigor inside of me, pushing, stretching, making me squirm with a need I'd never known before.

"You can come when I'm inside you," he said, his voice strained. His hands moved to the hem of my dress, pulling it over my head and tossing it carelessly onto the floor.

With a swift movement, he unbuckled his belt and pushed down his pants, freeing himself. His hands on my hips guided me to hover over him, ready to take him in.

"But that's not begging," he rumbled, his voice laced with satisfaction. "That's demanding."

I gasped, biting my lower lip to trap the plea that threatened to spill out. His eyes were dark as he watched me, and I could see the hunger brewing within them. His gaze took in every inch of my exposed body–from my flushed cheeks to my trembling thighs–as if he were memorizing the contours of my skin.

He pushed himself against me, the tip of him nudging at my entrance, teasing with a promise too alluring for my spent nerves. My chest heaved with erratic breaths, the anticipation of finally having him inside me making me dizzy.

"Please. Please," I begged, letting the word tumble out on a broken breath.

His fingers tightened on my hips, pulling me closer still. His heated gaze never left mine as he finally allowed me to lower myself onto him, filling me in one agonizingly slow push. He groaned, his head falling back against the cushions as his eyes squeezed shut, the muscles in his jaw twitching with exertion.

His fingers tightened on my hips, pulling me closer still. His heated gaze never left mine as he finally allowed me to lower myself onto him, filling me in one agonizingly slow push. He groaned, his head falling back against the cushions as his eyes squeezed shut, the muscles in his jaw twitching with exertion.

I bit my lip to hold back the sob that threatened to escape as he stretched me further than I thought possible. My hands clenched tightly at his shoulders, fingers digging into his firm flesh as I tried to adjust to his size. A sensation of being filled completely, of being owned utterly by this man coursed through me.

Nathan remained still beneath me, allowing me time to acclimate to the intrusion. The tension in his body was palpable, a testament to his control. After a few minutes that felt like eternity, I felt him shift beneath me, one hand moving from my hip to stroke my face gently.

"Move," he whispered hoarsely.

I paused for a moment, gathering myself, before doing as he commanded. And as I moved, he let out a guttural groan. His head tipped back, eyes closed, as if the sensation was too much to bear. The sight of him, so unrestrained and unguarded, made my heart clench in my chest.

With each movement, the pleasure built inside me again. Each slide of him within me brought a wave of aching pleasure that had me gasping. Nathan's hands were on my hips now, guiding me in a slow and punishing rhythm that had me moaning his name.

He pushed me off him. "On the floor. On your hands and knees."

I looked at him, surprised by the sudden command. But I obeyed, sliding off his lap and onto the floor. I positioned myself as he'd commanded on the uncomfortable tile floor, heart pounding in my chest.

Nathan rose from the couch and moved behind me. His hands gripped my hips, pulling me back against him. His body slid against mine, a smooth glide of skin on skin that had me gasping for breath.

Then he was inside me again, filling me with one firm thrust.

A moan ripped through me, echoing throughout the room as Nathan started to move. His pace was relentless, his grip on my hips punishing as he pulled me back onto him over and over again. The angle of his entry hit a spot within me that had my toes curling, pleasure washing over me in tidal waves.

"So fucking tight," he ground out between clenched teeth.

His hand slid down from my hip to between my legs and his fingers found my clit.

"Come now," he said. "I want to feel your cunt tighten around me."

I didn't think it was possible to be any more conscious of him, to feel him any deeper. But as his fingers strummed that sensitive bundle of nerves, Nathan Zhou was all I knew, all I could comprehend. Pleasure spiked within me, sharp and overwhelming, and I cried out.

I couldn't stop it from happening this time–the dam broke within me and I came shuddering around him with a desperate sob. My hands slipped on the slick tiles, unable to support my trembling body as wave after wave of ecstasy ripped through me. He continued thrusting into me as I convulsed around him, his grunts mirroring my own cries.

His fingers on my clit didn't let up, pushing me through the aftershocks of my orgasm until I was panting and begging him to stop. The room spun around me, my body trembling from the intensity of what had just happened, from the feel of him still buried deep within me.

Nathan groaned and his thrusts became more erratic, faster and harder until he was pounding into me with a frenzied urgency. "Abby," he growled, his voice rough with need. His grip on my hips tightened almost painfully as his pace quickened, driven by a desperate need that echoed my own.

"Say it," he demanded, in a voice that was both rough and barely controlled. "Say you're mine."

I couldn't form the words, my mind still reeling from the force of my climax. I nodded instead, hoping he would understand.

He growled, his grip on me tightening painfully. "No. Say it. Out loud."

"I'm...I'm yours," I stammered out, the words sounding alien to my own ears. I didn't know if it was a lie or the truth. But at this moment, here with him, I didn't really care.

A guttural sound burst from him as he released himself inside me, his body shuddering with his own release. His grip on my hips softened as he slumped against my back, his labored breaths hot against my skin.

For a long time we stayed there on the floor, a tangle of limbs and sweat-slicked skin. Nathan was still inside me and I relished the weight of him, heavy and possessive. His chest pressed against my back, his breaths gradually returning to normal.

He finally pulled away from me, his withdrawal leaving me feeling strangely empty. I rolled onto my side and watched as he staggered to his feet, his body glistening with sweat. I didn't know when he'd undressed; I'd been too turned on to pay any attention, too involved in our game, playing his pet.

For a second, it looked like he was going to help me up.

He didn't.

"Go clean yourself up, Abby. You're a mess."

I scrambled to my feet, cringing at the sticky feeling between my thighs. The tiles felt cold against my bare feet as I padded upstairs to the bathroom, Nathan's dismissive words echoing in my mind like a harsh slap.

I thought maybe something had been growing between us.

I washed my face. The tears had stopped. I wasn't crying anymore, I was never going to cry over this man again.

He'd set the terms of the game. My feelings were hurt…so hurt I wanted to scream.

But I could get over my feelings, as long as I managed to stay alive. As long as I managed to play his game.

And he had no idea, but I completely intended to win.