---
Chris leaned on the kitchen counter, eyes locked on the hallway. He could already hear her soft footsteps approaching—quick and heavy, like a storm coming right for him.
The door burst open, and there she was. Hair wild, eyes burning, cheeks flushed with fury—and something deeper he couldn't quite name.
"Zoey—" he started.
But her hand flew up, silencing him instantly.
"Don't you Zoey me," she snapped. "You're going to sit your ass down and explain what the hell you did to me… every single detail."
Chris didn't budge. His eyes trailed down her figure, taking in the way his oversized shirt clung to her body, barely covering the softness beneath.
Damn it. All he could think about was how sweet she'd tasted the night before.
He exhaled slowly. "What are you talking about?" he asked, voice low, eyes heavy with exhaustion. He hadn't slept a wink last night. He didn't have the energy for this—not right now.
Zoey scoffed. The audacity. The sheer nerve.
"You're really going to act like you don't know what I'm talking about right now?" she hissed. "You drugged me! You knew I wouldn't listen when you told me to stop drinking, so you spiked that damn wine and left me alone on purpose!"
Her voice was like fire in his skull, each word pounding harder than the last.
Chris clenched his jaw, staying silent. Her yelling only made the headache behind his eyes throb more violently.
Zoey's frustration reached its breaking point.
"Did you at least enjoy it?" she yelled. "Did you have a good fuck out of me!?"
The words hit like a slap.
Chris flinched—visibly. His head snapped up, his gaze locking onto hers with deadly precision.
"What did you just say?" he asked, his voice low, dangerously calm. His eyes narrowed, sharp and cold.
But Zoey was too far gone in her anger to notice the shift in energy. The temperature in the room seemed to drop, but she didn't care.
"I asked if you had a good fuck off me, you bastard! You drugged me to screw me, didn't you?!"
Chris shut his eyes, taking a deep breath, trying to steady the storm building inside him. Her words, her accusations—they stung more than they should have. The thought that she believed he'd stoop so low…
Without a word, he turned and pulled out two bottles from the cabinet behind him. He set them down on the counter with a thud.
One nearly empty.
One still half full.
"This," he said tightly, pointing at the almost-empty bottle, "is the one you drank alone. The spiked one."
He paused, then pointed at the second bottle. "This is the wine we shared."
Zoey's breath hitched. Her eyes flicked between the two bottles on the counter, her mind scrambling to make sense of it all.
"What... what are you saying?" she asked, voice quieter now, but still laced with suspicion.
Chris gave her a hard look, jaw clenched. "I didn't drug you," he said flatly. "You drugged yourself."
She blinked, stunned.
"You poured yourself another glass when I wasn't even in the room," he continued, voice harder now. "I had gone upstairs to take a quick shower. When I came back down, I saw the almost empty bottle "
Zoey's eyes widened.
"That bottle—the one you insisted on drinking from? It wasn't even mine," he said, grabbing it from the counter and setting it down with a thud. "It was something my friend brought over weeks ago. I told him to throw it out after I found out it was laced with something. But I forgot about it."
He ran a hand through his hair, clearly frustrated. "If I'd remembered it was still around, I would've gotten rid of it the moment you stepped foot in here."
"So you knew it was spiked?" she asked, softer this time.
"I only realized what you drank when I saw the bottle," he said, his tone sharp with regret. "And by then… you were already flushed, sweating, and moaning about how hot you felt."
Zoey flinched at the memory.
"You think I planned this?" he asked, stepping closer. "You think I wanted it to happen like that?"
She took a shaky breath but said nothing.
Chris's voice dropped, rough and low. "You were in pain, Zoey. I didn't want to leave you like that."
He looked away for a second before continuing, "So yeah. I used my mouth to relieve you. You were shaking, begging for something—anything—to make it stop."
Her cheeks turned crimson, but Chris kept going.
"Right after that, you fell sick. Like, really sick. I had to give you meds, hold you up when you couldn't walk straight, stay up all damn night just to make sure you didn't pass out cold."
She stared at him, heart racing.
"I didn't lay a finger on you after you passed out," he finished, voice hard. "I just made sure you were okay."
He stepped back, rubbing the bridge of his nose.
"You can believe whatever the hell you want, Zoey," he muttered. "But don't ever accuse me of being a fucking predator again."