12
L eila
Zayn did a good job of collecting my belongings, he appears to have brought everything I asked for. I tug a pair of pyjamas from the black bag he dumped beside the bed. Nice ones, crimson silk. They were a present from my father for my birthday three years ago.
“Don’t let your mother see,” he had whispered. “You know how she disapproves of things she thinks are showy.”
My mother is Uncle Abdul’s sister, and they are very alike in their attitudes. As far as I could ever see, she disapproves of pretty much everything she associates with western decadence. The only reason I got any sort of decent education was because the Quran decrees it so it must be right.
Who am I to argue? It got me into medical school.
I dig out a toiletry bag containing my toothbrush, hairbrush, and a few other bits and pieces. I’ll wait for Zayn to finish his shower then I’ll use the bathroom. I settle down at the window to gaze out into the night.
Our apartment overlooks the gardens, which are mainly lawned, but there’s a copse of trees at the edge, screening the property from the road. Caernbro Ghyll is quite secluded and very private, which no doubt suits the owners very well. It also suits the wildlife. I spotted red squirrels earlier, in daylight, and now I see hundreds of rabbits bounding around on the grass. Their activities set off the floodlighting, but they appear oblivious. I suppose they’re used to it.
Oh, what’s that?
I lean over for a better view of the new creature plodding around the edge of the trees. A dog, maybe? Or a large cat? No, the movements seem too slow, more of a waddle than a stalk. It’s not something I’ve ever seen before.
“A badger.” Zayn is behind me, obviously interested in what has caught my attention. “There’s a sett in the trees. If you sit and wait, there will probably be more.”
“A badger? I thought there were none of those left.”
“There are plenty out here. In the spring you’ll probably see babies. Nice pyjamas, by the way.”
I glance over my shoulder. He’s wearing only a towel looped around his waist. His hair is dripping wet, and the ink glistens with droplets of water.
My mouth waters. Actually. Waters.
“I…I’ll just go and…and…”
He steps back with a smile. “Be my guest.”
I grab my toiletry bag, scuttle off into the bathroom, and close the door behind me. Several splashes of cold water on my face put me in a more collected frame of mind. Thus restored, I clean my teeth and freshen up my face with one of the moisturising wipes I like. Still, I wait a few minutes more before venturing back into the main apartment. Give him time to find some pyjamas of his own.
Obviously not long enough. Zayn is making the tea when I return, still decked out in his fluffy towel.
“Do you take sugar?” he calls over his shoulder.
“No, just milk,” I manage. Those tattoos are no less fascinating now that they have dried out somewhat. “I’ll drink mine in bed, if that’s okay.”
“Fine.” He ambles across to set my cup down on the bedside table. “I’ll join you.”
“What? No, you can’t!” Didn’t I make it clear that we won’t be sharing the bed?
“You think not?” That bloody eyebrow is raised again. If the wind changes, he’ll be stuck that way.
“I’ll use the settee,” I offer, eying the rather diminutive piece of furniture.
“You’ll do your back in. I already told you; the bed is big enough for both of us.”
“It’s not…not right.” I sound just like my mother.
“Whatever, that’s how it’s going to be. No settee.”
“You can’t just?—”
“Watch me.” He picks up his cup, takes an experimental sip, and saunters around the bed to the other side where the deposits the drink. “You don’t snore, do you?”
“Of course not.” I pull the duvet up to my chin. Maybe if he stays in his half and I stay in mine…
“Good.” He drops the damp towel on the carpet and climbs in beside me.
I’m horrified. Lost for words.
“You’re not wearing anything,” I manage to squeak.
“Nope. I prefer to sleep naked.” He leans over to pick up his cup. “You should try it.”
“No chance.” Actually, I do at home. When I’m alone.
“Switch the light off, when you’re ready.” He turns over so his back is to me. “Sleep well.”
Out of better options, I remain where I am, primly clutching the bedclothes like some sort of shield and trying not to move a muscle. After a few minutes, his breathing becomes regular, slow. The arrogant oaf is asleep.
Eventually, I venture to switch off the lamp and lie down, leaving the best part of three feet between us. I’m balancing on the very edge of the bed, but it’s better than risking contact with him. I’ll never be able to relax enough to get any sleep, but I suppose I’ll have to do my best.
I’m wrong. In no time at all, it seems, I’m out like a light. When I wake up, it’s still dark, and I’m snuggled up to something warm. No, not warm. Hot.
I slide in closer, stretch out my legs. It’s comfortable, cosy, and I have no trouble closing my eyes again to settle in for another few hours.
“If you don’t stop wriggling, I’ll forget all my good resolutions.”
The low rumble of a male voice brings me awake sharply. What the…?
“Leila, keep still, if you can. Not that I’m complaining, exactly.” My warm, cosy cushion moves in my arms, and I’m treated to the unmistakable bulge of his erection pressing against my thigh.
I try to jerk away, but it’s no good. His arms are around me, and they do feel rather good. “Let me go,” I protest. “You promised.”
“So did you, may-ri-jaan, but here we are.”
“What are you talking about? You were supposed to stay in your bit. And keep your hands to yourself.”
“So were you, but I guess you forgot.”
I manage to extricate myself and lean up on my elbow. “What…? How…?” He’s still pretty much where he was, and I’ve shuffled right over to his half of the bed. “How did you manage that?” I demand, indignant.
“Lie down, Leila. It’s still the middle of the night.”
“This is never going to work.” I sit upright. “I still think the settee?—”
“I’ll burn that fucking settee on the front lawn if you mention it again. Now, lie down and go back to sleep.”
I do as he says, carefully rearranging myself to the far edge of the divan. Maybe I should put a pillow barrier up, just to make sure.
His growled ‘goodnight’ puts an end to that notion. I close my eyes and hope for the best.
When next I crack my eyelids open, it’s daylight, but still quite early, I think. Much to my disgust, I’ve repeated my nocturnal behaviour and I’m once more nestled in his arms. I groan to myself but remain motionless and try not to breathe too heavily. Perhaps I can?—
“Morning, beautiful. Sleep well?”
Ah, right.
“Fine, thanks. What time is it?”
“Just after seven.” He rolls onto his back and cradles his head on his arm. “Fancy a coffee?”
“Not yet.”
“Me neither.” He rolls back to face me. “You look very, very fuckable. Are you always so gorgeous first thing in the morning?”
I glare at him. “Where do you get off, saying things like that to me?”
He shrugs. “Just telling it like it is, babe.”
Babe? I snort in disgust. “I’m getting up. I’ll get the coffee.”
I throw back the duvet, but he wraps his arm around my waist.
“Wait. Don’t go yet.”
“I need to?—”
My protests are silenced by his lips covering mine. I struggle, admittedly without much in the way of serious intent, which only prompts him to deepen the kiss. His lips part, so do mine. His fingers are in my hair, loosening the messy plait I fashioned last night. His arms are around me; he pulls me closer then rolls onto his back, bringing me with him to sprawl over his body. I find myself taking over the initiative, raking my fingers through his messy, wavy hair and scrambling one silk-clad leg over his abdomen.
He breaks the kiss to nuzzle my neck, my ear. “I love your choice of nightwear, Leila, but do we still need these?” His fingers are plucking the waistband of my pyjama bottoms before he decides to ignore the barrier altogether and slides his hand down the back of them to caress my buttock.
“You shouldn’t… We can’t…”
“I think we can. If you choose to.” More nuzzling, more kissing. “What do you choose, may-ri-jaan ?”
“I want…I want…” Something sparks in my head. I wriggle free of his embrace and sit up to glare at him all over again. “I told you what I want. Two years ago. Made a total fool of myself, actually. I bet you so enjoyed that, didn’t you? And now you think I’m going to do it all over again. Is that right? Is it?”
His smirk is so cocksure, I could actually punch him. As far as I can recall, I’ve never raised a hand to anyone, but in this moment, I’m close. I settle for another inelegant snort and tug my pyjama bottoms right again. “I’ll get that coffee,” I announce.
“Fuck the coffee. It’s you I want.”
“Tough. You had your chance, and you turned me down flat. Not again, babe .” I swing my legs over the side of the bed.
“Leila, wait.”
His tone is sharp. There’s nothing of the cajoling would-be lover now. I whirl around to regard him and wait.
“Get back into bed,” he instructs me. “We’re not done here.”
He won’t press the issue. Surely, he won’t . Even so, his expression is not that of a man thinking of backing down. I swallow hard and do as he says, reaching for the protective shield of the duvet once more.
I try to look away, but his fingers are on my jaw, gently, firmly turning my face to his. He forces me to meet his gaze and holds me there for several long moments.
“You’re scared,” he observes, matter-of-factly.
“I am not! I just?—”
“Tell your face that.” He gives me a lop-sided smile, “and you can lose that haunted look, too. I’m not about to rape you. But we do need to talk, and you need to listen this time. Really listen and actually understand what I’m saying.”
“I listened last time…”
“No, you didn’t. Or if you did, my meaning went over your head. You heard what you wanted to hear.”
“I heard what you said,” I retort. “A big, fat ’no thanks’.”
“Whereas what I actually said, was ‘not yet’.”
“You said?—”
“I told you it wasn’t the right time. It was too soon, you weren’t ready.” His gaze hardens. “I don’t take advantage of vulnerable young girls.”
“I’m not vulnerable.”
“No, not any longer, I agree. You’re two years older. Not a lot, it’s true, but you’ve lived independently, been studying, doing your own thing, living your own life. You’re under our protection now so you’re not running from anything…apart from me, perhaps. Or should that be, yourself?”
“I have no idea what you’re talking about. What I do know is that I wanted to sleep with you two years ago, but I don’t anymore.” The biggest lie I’ve told so far. He’s fucking irresistible with his beautiful dark eyes, his expertly styled wavy hair the colour of coal, his gorgeous tattoos and ripped body. I have a pulse, why would I not be drooling?
But I’m not ruled by my hormones. Zayn Malik is a player, I know that much, and he’s dangerous. He keeps bad company. He works as…well, I’m not sure what he does for a living, but it’s something I don’t really want to think about.
“I need to leave. I need to go back to my own flat.”
“Not possible yet.”
“Then when?”
“I don’t know. I’m working on it. A few days, perhaps.”
I blink and realise my eyes are brimming with tears. “Please, let me go.”
He swipes my eyes with the pads of his thumbs. “I didn’t mean to scare you, but it’s important that you understand. I never meant to reject you. To hurt you.”
“You didn’t. I?—”
“Yes. I did. I was clumsy, I should have taken more care with you.”
I can only gaze at him. Is it possible I misunderstood? “So, what now?” I wonder.
His mouth curls in a sensual smile. “Now, we lose these seriously sexy pyjamas, and we go back to where we were. You wouldn’t want to miss the good bit, would you?”
I tease my brow. The second-year medical student in me takes over. “Do you have condoms? Because I don’t want?—”
“I have condoms,” he assures me. “I’ll take that as a ‘yes’.”
He kisses me again, and this time there’s nothing of the tentative exploration, no hesitation. He knows what he wants. So do I.
I lie down on my back and remain motionless while he unfastens every single one of the buttons on my pyjama top. Neither do I move a muscle when he parts the slinky fabric to bare my breasts.
“Beautiful,” he mouths. “So lovely.” He lowers his head to take my right nipple between his lips. He’s achingly gentle when he scrapes his teeth against the swelling bud, even more so when he closes his mouth around me and sucks.
I arch. “Oh my God,” I moan.
He shifts to the other breast and repeats his game. He’s toying with me, playing, enjoying my response. And I’m putting on quite a show, it’s true.
I’m writhing against the mattress, grabbing at his shoulders, his head, pressing him closer to me. I can’t get enough.
His hand is splayed across my abdomen, circling slowly, caressing my flesh. He continues to suckle, all the time his palm circles lower and lower. The tips of his fingers slide beneath the elasticated waist of my loose trousers, then lower still. Now he is exploring, seeking, finding.
I let out a small cry when his probing fingers reach my core. His touch is featherlight, barely there, but so…so potent. The pad of his middle finger rests on my clit. He strokes softly, front to back, then side to side.
I spread my legs wide, lift my hips. I know about this, I’ve read the books, the clinical ones and the not so clinical. I understand the theory of arousal, but the reality is something else entirely.
“Oh God. God, God, God .” Hardy eloquent, but it’s the best I can manage.
“Liking that?” He’s released my aching nipples and is now working his way down my stomach, leaving a trail of wet kisses behind him.
“Yes,” I rasp. “Don’t stop.”
“Trust me,” he murmurs. “Enjoy. But first…” He peels my trousers over my hips and down my legs. I lift each foot to allow him to tug them away and drop them on the carpet.
My shoulders are pressing against the mattress, knees wide, my heels digging into the firmness beneath and my hips thrusting. I let the moment roll through me. I abandon myself to the ecstasy, the magic of his lips, his tongue, his fingers. Waves of pleasure pulse in my veins, sending sensation right to my fingertips, to the very ends of my hair.
He shifts down the mattress to nibble at my belly button, then lower still. He skims the smooth skin of my mound but doesn’t even hesitate. His face is between my legs, licking my clit, then he makes a point of his agile tongue and traces the outer lips of my pussy.
My senses shatter. I’m beyond coherent thought, lost in a maelstrom of undiluted lust.
“Zayn,” I cry out, his name dragged from the depths of my being. “Zayn, please…”
His tongue is inside me, probing, tasting, thrusting deep.
His thumb is on my clit, stroking and caressing, circling the greedy nub then pressing hard at precisely the right moment.
My climax seizes me, rips through me, shatters all conscious thought. I can only feel. Only be.
Wave after wave of pleasure assaults my nervous system. Every single one of my nerve endings is standing at attention, tingling. I swear if I was even listening, they’d be singing at the top of their lungs.
But I’m past all of that. I can only float on the tidal wave, dragged down, dragged under to swirl in the depths, to drown or not. Eventually, it seems like a lifetime, the sensation ebbs. My senses, such as they are, return. I surface to find myself gasping and clinging to Zayn like a lifebuoy. Like the only thing in my world that is solid and reliable.
I prise my eyelids apart, then blink in the strong morning sunlight.
He’s above me, propped up on one elbow, a smug smile plastered across his handsome features. “Back with us, then?”
“Shut up,” I mutter. “You did that on purpose.”
“Certainly, I did. Are you complaining?”
I narrow my eyes, try to come up with a witty rejoinder of some description, but fail utterly. I have to settle for, “Conceited bighead.”
He drops a kiss on my mouth before I can expand on my opinion, so instead I opt to go with the flow.
“We’re not done yet. Are we?” I whisper as soon as my mouth is my own again.
“No, we are not. Spread, baby.”
I do, and he reaches over me to extract a condom from the bedside table. He snaps open the foil and offers it to me to do the honours.
I take it and do my best, though totally lacking in expertise in these matters. Medical training doesn’t stretch to this, and I fear my efforts leave something to be desired. My ineptitude reminds me of something I need to say.
“I’ve never done this before,” I blurt.
“I sort of worked that out.” He eyes the tangled mess of the condom, then locks his gaze with mine. “Are you sure?”
“Of course I’m sure!” I snap. “I would have remembered.”
“I mean, are you sure you want to do this?”
Now I hesitate. Am I ?
I nod and meet his anxious gaze. “Yes. Quite sure.”
“Thank God,” he mutters. “Pass me another condom.”
He does the honours this time, explaining to me about squeezing the end to expel air, then unrolling it. Practice makes perfect, I suppose, because his attempt is much tidier.
“Show-off. Have you finished faffing about?”
He grins at me and positions himself at my entrance. “Ready?”
I expect this to hurt, at least at first. Like the rest, I’ve read about it. I grit my teeth and nod.
I suppose I expected him to take it slow, to enter me gradually, give me time to adjust. But there’s none of that. He rocks his hips sharply and gives one powerful thrust. He fills me to the hilt, and the sudden stab of pain takes my breath away. I can’t contain my surprised yelp.
“There, it’s done now. The fun starts here.” He lowers his shoulders to bring his lips close to my ear. His words are whispered, his breath feathers across my cheek.
“Are you sure? Because if?—”
“I’m sure.” He rocks again, withdrawing his cock, then slides back in, slow and smooth this time. “See?”
And I do see. I’m still sore, but that sensation is fast diminishing to give way to a burgeoning pleasure. He repeats the gliding thrust. The friction is wondrous, sending waves of sensual delight flowing through my body.
“Oh my.” I can only gasp, clutching at his shoulders for want of something solid and safe.
His mouth is against my throat, suckling and kissing and mumbling the occasional incisive remark.
“Fuck. Fucking beautiful. God, you’re tight.”
Pleasure mounts. I’m soaring towards orgasm again, my feet locked together behind his back and my nails raking his inked shoulders. “Zayn,” I grind out. “Do it harder. Harder.”
He increases the tempo, and the bed knocks against the wall behind us. I let out a screech when the surge of intense sensation overwhelms me. Every muscle I have spasms, as well as some I never even knew about.
He growls something in Urdu under his breath, a phrase I do believe I have not heard before, but it refers to something obscene. And seems very apt to me. My thoughts exactly.
He lets out a guttural shout, drives his cock into me one final time, then goes still. His breath is as laboured as mine.
We lie motionless for several minutes before he shoves himself up on his elbows and withdraws. I’m sorry to lose that delightful sense of fullness but too exhausted to protest. He unrolls the condom, ties the open end in a knot, wraps the whole thing in a tissue, and drops it on the carpet.
He smirks at me. “That was hot, babe.”
I agree, but don’t want to stoke his ego any further. I settle for, “Might have been. I’ll let you know after you’ve managed a repeat performance.”
His grin widens. “That deals with my next question. You’re all right, then?”
“Better than all right.” I abandon my attempt at playing it cool. “That was…”
He waits while I formulate a coherent thought.
“Awesome,” I conclude. “Really, really awesome.”
“Yes,” he agrees. “It was. Now do you want that coffee?”