19. Isla
CHAPTER 19
ISLA
Taking a long sip of water from the bottle, I reminded myself I was soaking in the ambience of the club, enjoying the night. The pounding beat of the music and the flickering lights blurred together, but since I had switched to water, it was no longer as hazy as it had been. Still, the night had slipped away from me. We had been here much longer than I had planned, but Sienna was having a blast. I kept telling myself I was here for her, but that didn’t stop me from glancing towards the entrance or the VIP booths above us. A part of me expected to see Zayn again. I knew he was here—this was his club, after all.
I tried to convince myself I wasn’t waiting for anyone, but despite my best efforts to focus on the night and my friend, my focus kept drifting. It was as if I was under his spell, caught between duty and an inexplicable pull I refused to name.
The club thrived around me. Friends laughed, bodies moved in synchronicity to the music, and at least three well-known sports stars walked casually past me as they were ushered to the booths above. Yet, I felt detached, like a silent observer tethered to the restless longing inside me. My thoughts kept straying to the feel of his mouth on my skin, his tongue at my pulse, and the ache of my lips, and I wished that brief brush of his lips had been more.
What was wrong with me?
Was the allure of Zayn so much greater than the fact he still screwed me last week? And not the hot and sweaty, take-your-breath-away kind of screw. The cold, calculated, you’re-fucked kind of screw.
There were moments when I almost believed I heard his voice in the murmur of the crowd—a low chuckle that would send a shiver of anticipation down my spine. I shook my head, chiding myself for even entertaining the thought. I wasn’t here for him. I was here for Sienna and to prove I could hold everything together no matter what he’d done. And yet, as the night passed, I had to acknowledge, even if only to myself, that I was, in fact, lingering.
I no longer knew if it was by his design or my own silent surrender to a force I neither understood nor wanted to admit.
I pulled my phone from my purse, considering a message I might never send—a feigned injury, a casual check-in. Instead, I tucked the phone back into my purse. Every so often, I would turn to the feel of being watched, and I would catch a glimpse of a familiar silhouette, but I told myself it was mere coincidence, a trick of the light.
The fact that I was waiting for something, someone, who was dangerous, made me nervous. That wasn’t me. I wasn’t this person whose pulse raced at the thought of being in Zayn’s hold. In his control.
In the din of the club, I knew that the longer I stayed there was an admission of my vulnerability. I needed to keep my wits about me.
I needed to leave.
Reaching out, I tugged at Sienna’s arm. She was so drunk, not in a clumsy, ugly way; she was still aware of what she was doing. Instead, she was in that happy place that would be followed by a heavy head and sore feet the next morning.
“Hey, Sienna?” I called, pulling her gently to my side. “We’ve been here far longer than either of us were supposed to be,” I reminded her, smiling at her as she grinned at me. “We both have work tomorrow. I think we need to go, right?”
“Where’s Zayn?”
I blinked in surprise, but I shouldn’t have been. She’d been almost obsessive in her questioning since she saw him watching us on the dance floor and she’d seen him with his arm around my waist afterward, speaking into my ear as a lover would.
“I don’t know,” I told her. “Working, no doubt, this place is packed.” I pointed to the doors behind us. “You ready to leave?”
Sienna pouted, but I saw her look at the doors with something akin to longing. “But…”
Knowing she was putting on a brave front, I sidled closer. “Chris will be looking for his fiancée,” I reminded her, waggling my eyebrows suggestively.
Sienna giggled. “He does like when his honeybun is tipsy,” she confided with a grin.
“That settles it,” I told her with relief. “Let’s get you back home while you’re still just tipsy.” Tipsy, my ass.
Five minutes later—which felt like five hours—we reached the top of the stairwell, ready to leave. Now that I had made the decision, I was not waiting for another encounter with Zayn; I wanted out of Elixir.
I looked down the stairs and met Rye’s cool gaze. It didn’t deter me. Each step away from the club’s pulsating neon glow felt like a reclaiming of control—a small rebellion against the magnetic pull of the man who haunted my thoughts. At the bottom of the stairs, I hesitated when Rye didn’t immediately move to let us pass.
“Rye?” I greeted, hating how it sounded more like a question.
“Leaving so soon?” he asked, his eyes glinting with amusement. “Did you get everything you needed?”
“We had a nice evening, thank you,” I replied stiffly. He said nothing and just stepped to the side, but I could feel him laughing at me.
Outside, the warm night air wrapped around me, a stark contrast to the sultry heat inside. This was more welcome, fresher. I pulled my phone from my purse, half expecting a message from Zayn, but my messages remained empty.
I called a cab, fighting the feeling of disappointment as Sienna spoke enthusiastically about our evening. As I half listened to her, I couldn’t help but wonder if I was running from something or simply reclaiming a piece of myself that had been overshadowed by his actions last week. The rhythmic thump of Elixir’s bass still echoed in my mind, its promise of reckless abandon and dangerous temptation now replaced by the steady beat of my own resolve. I had enough chaos in my life—why add Zayn’s unpredictable storm to the mix?
As Sienna mumbled that she was sleepy, I felt relieved when the cab pulled up. After helping her into the cab, I took one last look back at the club. I had survived another round with Zayn. After tonight, the uncertainty of seeing him again was over. I was in control, and that was exactly how it was meant to be.
Sienna’s fiancé took his sleepy bride-to-be off my hands and carried her now-sleeping form into the house with a promise he would have her call me in the morning.
Not long after, I let my tired body into my apartment. I kicked my shoes aside, peeled off my dress, and draped it over a chair. I headed straight for the shower, eager to wash the night away. The hot water was a small mercy, and I felt like it was dissolving the lingering tension from Elixir.
Knowing how late it was, I reluctantly stepped out of the shower, aware a busy day awaited me and a few hours of sleep were better than none at all.
Wrapped in a towel, I completed my nightly skin-care routine. I was grateful Zayn made me switch to water, though I would never admit it, as I got ready for bed.
A soft knock echoed through the quiet apartment. I paused mid-thought, the sound slicing through my solitude.
For a moment, I considered ignoring it. After all, a knock at this time of night couldn’t be a good thing. But the knock came again—insistent, measured. I approached the door with a mix of trepidation and curiosity. It wasn’t unheard of for Julian to turn up really late and crash on my couch.
I slowly opened the door, and there he was.
Zayn stood framed by the pale streetlight filtering behind him, his eyes locked on to mine. My heart stuttered in a way I’d fought so hard to avoid, every instinct screaming to slam the door shut. Yet, as I stared at him, I couldn’t bring myself to move away.
“What are you doing here?” I managed, my voice a whisper against the quiet of the night.
Zayn offered me that half smile, the one that carried its own blend of challenge and invitation. “I couldn’t let you disappear without a proper goodbye,” he said, his tone low and even as his eyes traveled down my body slowly before rising to meet mine once more.
For a moment, time seemed to stretch between us. In that suspended silence, every ounce of control I had fought to maintain…wavered. Despite everything, despite my desperate need to run from him, here he was, uninvited yet impossible to ignore.
I stood there, towel clutched tightly around me, as he held my gaze in a way that both unnerved and captivated me. I forced my voice to remain steady. “It’s a bit late for a house visit.”
He took a step forward. “Are you letting me in, or do you propose to stand there in your towel?”
My mind raced. Every instinct told me not to, but I took a step backwards, my heart pounding. “Um…do you want to come in?”
Without a word, he stepped into my apartment. I closed the door behind him with a soft thud that seemed to echo loudly, clicking the lock into place. When I turned around, he was in front of me.
“Isla,” he murmured, his voice low and husky, as he closed the gap between us. I felt his hand brush against my cheek, and then, without thinking, I allowed his fingers to trace the line of my jaw. The warmth of his skin and the intimacy of his touch made it impossible to resist.
I tried to steady my racing pulse, but his nearness stirred something deep inside me—a fire I had fought so hard to keep contained. He cupped my face, his thumb softly brushing my lips as if daring me to move away. His gaze bore into mine, heavy with unspoken questions and heady promises.
I swallowed hard and nodded, unable to find words, even though I knew he hadn’t asked me a question. In that moment, all the tension, all the push and pull between us, converged into a single, undeniable need. He leaned in slowly, like he had all those years ago, giving me the chance to back out, but this time, I met him halfway. Our lips met in a kiss that was both desperate and tender—my tummy flipping as I surrendered, and every boundary between us shattered.
Zayn deepened the kiss with a raw and unpolished passion that sent shivers running through me. I could taste the night on him, whiskey, and that fiercely familiar sense of him that made my knees weak. I reached up, my fingers tangling in his dark hair, pulling him closer, anchoring myself to him as I burned under his touch.
For a long time, we existed solely in that kiss—lost in the heat of desire that defied every rule I had so carefully followed. His hands roamed over my body, firm and insistent, and his tongue danced with mine as he kissed me senseless, and I felt the weight of craving this man lift.
In his arms, I was both alive and vulnerable.
When we finally broke apart, his forehead rested against mine, and I could see the promise in his eyes that told me this was far from over.
“You’re mine tonight, Isla,” he whispered, his voice a promise and a threat all at once, his lips moving along my jawline and down my neck.
I attempted to pull away, to regain some sense of control, but his grip tightened. His hold felt both protective and possessive. The heat in the room and the pounding of my heart blurred into a single, overwhelming moment where nothing else mattered except those four words.
“Zayn,” I said breathily, half plea and half challenge. I knew I should resist how he always took charge, how he left me feeling defiant yet wanting more. But at that moment, I had no fight left.
He smiled then, a slow, knowing smile that sent a shiver down my spine. “Say yes, Isla,” he murmured. I nodded, and he tsked. “Use your words, Is,” he said, pulling me closer to him, his fingers on the fold of my towel, dipping beneath it to trace over my skin. “I’m not finished with you yet.” He breathed into my ear, his mouth moving to that spot just behind my ear. “Say yes.”
My eyes were closed, my body bowing into his, and the moonlight filtered through the window, casting our entwined shadows on the wall. I knew, no matter how much I’d tried to deny this, I was already lost in him. “Yes.”
His hands traced the curve of my waist, sliding over the fabric of my towel before he reached up and tugged sharply. The towel pooled at my feet, and Zayn leaned back to drink in the sight of me naked before him. “Fuck,” he groaned softly, his mouth back on mine, deep and unyielding, as if he were determined to leave no doubt about what he wanted.
His kiss was incredible. One hand slipped into my damp hair, tightening his hold, and his tongue swept into my mouth, tasting me, devouring me.
Zayn’s kiss was like him. Demanding. Controlling. Decadent.
He pulled my head back, and his lips moved down my neck, his lips trailing over my skin as he made his way down to my breasts. With firm but gentle hands, he kneaded my breasts, and my gasp when his mouth covered my nipple made him smile against my skin. His tongue flicked over and over, and it was no longer just him whose hand was tangled in hair.
“Zayn.” My moan was throaty and so husky I didn’t recognize my voice. With a cry of alarm, I was suddenly swept into his arms, and he carried me to my bedroom. Zayn followed me down onto my bed, and I had the dim realization I was naked and he was fully clothed.
“You have too many clothes on,” I protested as he returned his attention to my breasts. He divided his attention between them, and I was panting beneath him, no longer caring what he was wearing.
He moved, and his mouth was on mine once more. My hands moved over his chest, my fingers moving and unbuttoning his shirt, my hands sliding under it and touching his hard, taut body.
“You feel so good,” I admitted, my teeth catching his bottom lip and tugging slightly.
Zayn lifted his head from mine, looking at me, eyes filled with desire and danger. “I’m glad you approve,” he said with a sly smile as he pressed his hard cock against me, rocking into me, and my legs widened to accommodate him.
My back arched when his hand slid over the curve of my hip and dipped in between my legs, and I heard him growl when he felt my wetness. My hands were on his belt, tugging it loose, unbuttoning his pants, and pulling his zipper down. I needed to touch him. I needed to have him in my hand more than I needed to breathe. Pushing his pants over his hips, I slipped my hand into his boxer briefs, relishing the sharp hiss of fuck he gave as I wrapped my hand around his length. Zayn moved, but my grip never lessened as I stroked him, and when he settled back over me, I realized he had kicked his pants off.
His mouth was on my neck, nipping at the sensitive skin, then he was kissing me again. His tongue was dueling with mine, his fingers moving over the slickness between my legs, humming his approval as he circled my clit, and my body arched into his. One finger, then two, pushed into me, and I tore my mouth away from his to catch my breath. I loosened my grip on him, and Zayn half rolled us so we were on our sides, pressed together. He covered my hand with his, his mouth over mine as he spoke.
“Don’t fucking stop.”