12. Isla
CHAPTER 12
ISLA
I didn’t know how long we stood like that—my head against his chest, his arms wrapped around me. The house was quiet around us, the air charged but still. I could feel the steady beat of his heart. Strong. Solid.
Real.
He didn’t try to rush me or press; he just waited. Somehow, that made it easier to move. As I shifted back, I looked up at him, and Zayn dipped his head, brushing his lips over mine.
I let him lead me upstairs, our fingers touching but never quite intertwining. There was no music, no dramatic declarations—just the sound of our breathing and the subtle, unspoken ache of everything we hadn’t said.
Zayn pushed the bedroom door open but didn’t turn the lights on. The space was bathed in the faint glow of the moon outside—moody and quiet.
I walked in first, but I could feel him behind me, the way his energy filled the room, even when he didn’t speak.
I switched on the night-light, then slowly turned, and he was there, watching me as if I were the answer to a question he hadn’t realized he had been asking.
I took a step closer.
Then another.
When I reached him, I didn’t ask for permission. I didn’t need to.
My hands moved to his shirt, my fingers brushing the buttons slowly and deliberately. “Let me,” I whispered. He didn’t move, didn’t help or resist—just allowed me to undress him as if it meant something.
Because it did.
With each button undone, the knot in my chest loosened. Something quiet, protective, and…mine.
When I pushed the shirt off his shoulders, he let it fall, his hands finding the hem of my top and lifting it over my head with the same reverence. We undressed each other in near silence. No fumbling, no urgency—just heat that built slowly and steadily, curling around the edges of our restraint.
Zayn kissed me like he meant it. Like I was the only thing that existed in the whole damn world. He didn’t hold back, and neither did I.
I just let myself want him.
He dragged his hands up my body from my hips to my breasts, cupping them, testing their weight, his thumbs brushing gently over the stiff peaks of my nipples. My moan was smothered by his low groan as he dropped his hands, skimming my skin softly, slowly, down my sides, around to my back, and eventually cupping my ass, kneading the soft flesh as he kissed down my neck and across my collarbone, his tongue tasting my skin.
Fingers trailed lazily up my spine, one hand tangling in my hair, pulling my head back while his mouth owned my lips, possessing me, claiming me. The backs of my legs pressed against the mattress. Then, he gently guided me back, following me down.
Zayn settled in between my legs, and I spread them wider for him, feeling the heavy weight of his cock against my center. My hands roamed across his body, touching him, moving over his body until I reached his cock, my hand wrapping around him, and I began to stroke it.
“You okay?” I asked him softly as I added a little pressure to my grip.
Zayn’s forehead rested against mine before he pulled his head back, watching me with hooded eyes as I worked his cock. He dipped his head, his mouth claiming mine once more, his tongue stroking mine as I picked up the pace slightly. This wasn’t to be rushed. I wanted to take my time, but Zayn had other ideas.
He moved back, my hand falling away from him as he kneeled between my legs, his eyes hungry with need and lust. Gently, he placed his palms on the inside of my thighs and pushed my legs wider, his gaze dropping to where I ached for him.
I swallowed, my breath coming in short gasps as I panted with need. “Zayn…”
“Not yet, babe,” he whispered, his strong arms wrapping around my thighs, pulling my ass gently off the bed, his mouth covering my clit, his tongue stroking through my wetness, teasing me with his gentleness when all I wanted was for him to fuck me.
Zayn took his time—his hands mapping my body as if he had something to memorize, as though he’d never touched me before and would forget it all if he moved too quickly. His mouth followed the path of his hands, and by the time he finally pushed into me, I wasn’t afraid anymore.
Not of him. Not of what we were. Because, honestly, it didn’t feel like losing control. It felt like giving it to someone who already had it—who had me—and wasn’t going to break it.
Our bodies moved in rhythm, breath for breath, the silence between us broken only by the softest sounds—the catch of his breath, the quiet moan in my throat, the whispered curse when he hit deep, toying with my orgasm, edging me until I tugged his mouth back to mine, my kiss urgent and demanding as I wordlessly begged him to go faster. Harder. My legs tightened around his hips as my orgasm built, and his mouth was at my breast.
“I’m— Zayn… I’m?—”
His mouth covered mine as my climax peaked, my body squeezing around him, my nails digging into his shoulders as Zayn groaned low in his throat and drove his hips into mine one final time before following me down into bliss.
When it was over—when our heartbeats began to slow and the outside world was blissfully quiet—I curled into him, chest to chest, my cheek against his shoulder.
Zayn didn’t speak.
He just wrapped his arm around me like he knew I wouldn’t sleep unless he did. And maybe he was right. Because that night, when I finally closed my eyes, I knew I was no longer afraid.
The morning light came in soft and lazy, stretching across the concrete floor like it had nowhere better to be.
I blinked slowly, the edges of sleep still clinging to me like it wasn’t ready yet to let me go. Zayn’s arm was slung over my waist, heavy and warm, and I didn’t move. Not right away as I relished the feeling of something else unwilling to let me go just yet.
His breathing was steady. He looked younger like this. Softer.
If I’d met this version of him first, I would’ve never stood a chance. Had I ever ? A small smile crossed my face at the thought. I pressed a kiss to his shoulder and slid out from under his arm, grabbing the oversized hoodie I’d tossed over the chair yesterday as I tried on some new clothes.
In the kitchen, I padded barefoot, flipping on the kettle out of habit. There was something surreal about doing everyday things in his space. Like this life wasn’t really mine, but I was pretending it could be.
The knock came sharp and fast. Three times.
I jumped and panicked, wondering who it could be and if I needed to answer it, and I hurried to the stairs in case I was supposed to be upstairs and it was someone who shouldn’t see me. The door opened before I could get there.
But it was only Rye.
He looked…annoyed. And that was putting it lightly. His sharp gaze scanned the lower floor, then settled back on me. His jaw ticked. “Where is he?”
I cleared my throat. “Still asleep.”
“He didn’t show up at the club.” He stepped fully inside, closed the door behind him, and walked past me to the kitchen. I followed him, unsure of what else to do. “We had a lot going on last night: three deliveries, a meeting he was supposed to attend, and a supplier needing hand-holding.”
“He’s—”
Zayn’s voice sliced through the air as he entered the kitchen. “He’s here now.”
Rye turned. Zayn stood shirtless, low-slung sweatpants resting low on his hips, sleep still etched in the corners of his eyes—but the energy surrounding him had changed.
He wasn’t soft anymore. He was Zayn McCabe again.
“Didn’t know I needed to punch a clock, Rye,” he said as he moved past him and kissed my temple without missing a beat. “Morning.”
I flushed but didn’t move away. If he wanted me out of hiding, I’d be damned if I flinched now.
Rye’s eyes flicked between us. “You didn’t answer your phone.”
“I was busy,” Zayn said simply, grabbing a mug from the shelf. “What’s the emergency?”
Rye didn’t answer. His gaze lingered on me again. “You sure this is the right time for you to be—open about this?”
Zayn didn’t even blink. “There are no secrets between us. Not anymore.”
He looked at me when he said it. Like a promise. Like a warning. My heart thudded as I gave a slight nod in agreement.
Rye exhaled through his nose, clearly not loving the answer but accepting it. “There’s pressure coming down on us from a few directions. Delaney’s crew doesn’t like how you handled Patrick. Patrick definitely isn’t happy.”
“He’s still alive, isn’t he?” Zayn muttered, taking the coffee from the fridge. “He can take that as a gift.”
“They’re wondering why.” He glanced at me again before he carried on. “They’re not the only ones wondering.”
“Let them wonder.”
Rye’s silence said plenty, his eyes on me as Zayn turned back to me, gently brushing my hair back from my face. “You good?”
I nodded, but the shift in the room was undeniable. The world had crept back in, dragging the weight of their lives behind it.
Zayn turned back to Rye. “You didn’t bring breakfast?”
Rye gave him a look that would have terrified me had it been sent my way. “No, I didn’t bring you breakfast, you asshole. Your housekeeper was in this morning. There’ll be food in the fridge.”
Zayn looked at the fridge and then the clock hanging over the breakfast table. “Didn’t realize it was so late,” he admitted, turning to look at me, his eyes running over my bare legs appreciatively and making me very conscious I was naked under this hoodie, and while it was too big on me, it wasn’t so big it covered a lot of me. “I slept like a log,” he said as he watched me.
“Mmhmm, I bet you did,” Rye muttered, crossing to the coffee machine. “I’m making coffee.” He shot a glare at Zayn, who was still watching me. “I’ll make you coffee if you can stop eye fucking Isla for more than thirty seconds and concentrate on your business.”
“So I can eye fuck her for twenty-nine seconds?” he asked his friend, his top lip tugging upward, but from this angle, Rye couldn’t see it. The frustration on Rye’s face made me giggle, causing Zayn’s smile to widen.
“I’m not dealing with you two like this,” he grumbled. “I don’t get paid enough to watch this shit.”
Zayn moved closer to me, his eyes heated as he focused on my lips. “Then I suggest you don’t watch,” he murmured, and his thumb brushed over my bottom lip, a dark promise in his eyes. “And leave. I need a minute.”
Rye sighed loudly. “This is bullshit. When you’re done, I’ll be in the office.”
“Here?” Zayn asked as he pulled me into his body .
“Yes, here . I leave this house, and there’ll be no telling when you’ll be back.”
I heard him stomp away, but my eyes were fixed on Zayn, whose hand was running up my thigh, cupping my bare ass.
“Fuck, Is, if I knew you were naked under this, I’d have been fucking you against the wall a lot sooner.”
Some lust-crazed demon obviously possessed me as I leaned back against the counter, my legs parting to allow him access to my pussy, and he slid a finger inside, watching me as he filled me. “Then what are you waiting for?”
Zayn’s groan as he kissed me made me feel giddy. Strong hands gripped my hips, and I was lifted onto the counter. His kiss was dominating as his hand tangled in my hair, holding me where he wanted me, and his other hand pushed down his sweatpants, and then he was pushing into me, filling me slowly, his thumb on my clit as his hips started to move.
“You feel so fucking good,” he whispered against my lips.
I didn’t respond. I couldn’t. He was hitting me just right, and all I could do was feel. My legs wrapped around his waist, and my moan was loud when he pulled my hair, tilting my head back to expose my neck for him to kiss down it.
“God, I could hear you moan like that all day, Is.”
“It’s because of what you do to me,” I murmured, feeling his smile against my skin.
Zayn pushed me back until my back hit the counter, and then he pulled me towards him, my ass half off the surface as he picked up his rhythm. He pushed his hoodie up over my breasts, exposing them. His eyes were hooded with desire.
“Fuck, baby, look how pretty you are, open and spread for me.” He bent over me, his mouth capturing a nipple, teasing it as he fucked me slowly, torturously.
My body was on fire. I needed release. I needed him to give it to me. I needed him never to stop. My legs tightened around his waist, and I cried out when his thumb went back to circling my clit.
“Fuck,” he said lowly. “You’re squeezing me so good.” He continued to pump into me, and I knew I wasn’t going to last much longer.
“Zayn…I need…”
“I know.” He nodded, his chin on his chest as he watched where we connected. “I’m going to give it to you, Is.” His thumb started strumming against my clit faster, and the increase in speed was exactly what I needed. That bundle of nerves—so tightly coiled and sensitive—was being played expertly as Zayn made me his, each deep thrust hitting that perfect spot inside me with devastating precision. “Come for me, Is.”
My back arched off the counter, my hands scrambling for purchase as the wave of pleasure tore through me. Zayn slammed into me relentlessly, and I met him with every thrust, my senses drowning in the ecstasy only he could give. My body clenched around him, dragging him over the edge. I heard his groan—deep, guttural—as he followed me, and somewhere in the haze, I hated that I wasn’t fully present to watch him come undone.
A soft kiss was pressed against my lips, tentative and gentle. Zayn started to pull back, but I opened my eyes and wrapped my arms around the back of his neck, pulling his mouth back to mine. I kissed him deeply, expressing everything I felt without saying a word.
“Shower?” he asked when I let him go, feeling him pull out of me as he lifted me and placed me on my feet, holding me to steady me.
I could feel him inside me, feel his release trickling down my thigh. “Yeah, I need one,” I agreed, slightly mortified that I just had wild sex with him on the kitchen counter with Rye in the house, and now his cum was running down my leg.
“Let’s get you cleaned up,” Zayn said with a kiss to my temple. “Then I need to come down here and deal with Rye and whatever the fuck happened at the club.”
“Is it bad?” I asked, feeling guilty because I knew his absence from Elixir was my fault.
“Don’t know yet,” Zayn said, pulling up his sweatpants. He caught my look and smiled. “Don’t fret, Is. This is the shit I was born to handle.” He leaned over and kissed me once more. “Come on, shower time.”
I followed him as he led me upstairs, reeling from the fact he was being so open. He didn’t try to hide it from me. And maybe that was the scariest part. Because I wasn’t sure how much longer I could pretend this didn’t feel like more.
Like forever.