Chapter 37
Zayden
This weekend has been, so far, the longest and shortest weekend of my life. It was supposed to be a break for her, to help with her migraines. But so much has happened that I don’t know how to go back to normal after this.
After her meltdown earlier, I made her pasta, and dinner ended with her being the dessert. Now she’s lying on my chest with one of my earbuds in her ear, fingers brushing lazily across my chest as we listen to Taylor Swift.
I don’t move, or even blink too hard, like if I do, I’ll wake her or ruin the fragile quiet holding us both together.
I love seeing her like this, the girl beneath the glares and the mask. Because I know how it feels to wear one.
It’s exhausting—pretending all the time. Keeping everything locked inside. But this weekend feels like a detox.
She shifts slightly, lifting her head to look at me, eyes barely open. I hold my breath and just watch her as she looks around, frowns at the pillow next to me, then moves toward it anyway.
She stays there for like two seconds, then sighs before dragging herself back to my chest. I bite down on a smile, keeping still as she adjusts.
“Better,” she exhales, and just like that, she’s asleep again.
I adjust the blanket around us, and I don’t remember the last time I felt this content. I want to stay like this forever, but in a few hours, we have to go back and pretend.
I don’t remember falling asleep. One second, I was listening to her breathing, and the next, I wake up to her trying to move. My arms are around her waist, my face pressed into her stomach. She’s trying to escape slowly, like she doesn’t want to wake me up.
Too late, little storm.
I groan and tighten my arms around her. “Where do you think you’re going?” My voice comes out rough, still thick with sleep.
“Zayden, I have to pee.”
“Don’t care. I haven’t had my special breakfast yet.” I brush my nose to the soft skin above her center.
She huffs. “You want me to wet the bed?”
“Yeah. You will. After I’m done with you.” I grin, not opening my eyes, but I can hear her little gasp.
Her whole body tenses as I slide lower beneath the covers, trailing my hands down her hips. “And I’ll drink every drop,” I murmur against her skin.
“Freak,” she moans as I settle between her thighs.
I groan at the first taste of her, dragging my tongue along her opening.
I glance up at her from between her legs. “It’s your fucking fault I’m a freak.” I press deeper, hungrier, burying myself in her like she’s the only thing that’s ever tasted right. “You made me insatiable.”
Her body is mine to worship.
I shift her thighs wider as I suck harder, tongue curling just the way her body likes it. Then I slide two fingers in, finding the spot that will make her gush like a waterfall.
“Zayden—wait—I’m—”
“I know, baby. Make a mess of me and this bed.”
And she does.
Legs shaking, hands grabbing for anything as she comes hard, squirting all over my face and mouth. I hold her still, letting her ride it out as I drink in every drop like I said I would.
She’s still gasping when I crawl up her body and slide into her with one push. I try to go slow and savor the moment, because I don’t know when the next time I’ll get to feel her again. But the moment I think about going back, my hips move on their own, thrusting harder and deeper than I wanted to.
“Zayden…” she gasps.
The version of me I have to be again—the cold, broody hockey player who doesn’t feel anything.
Thrust.
The way I won’t get to hold her like this in daylight, won’t get to kiss her skin or breathe her in.
Thrust.
“Fuck,” she moans, nails digging into my back.
My dad and his fucking threats.
Thrust. Deeper and harder.
“God, you’re so deep,” she whimpers.
The fucking video, the messages, the secrets.
Thrust.
Thrust.
Thrust.
I fuck into her everything I can’t feel when we get back. Each thrust makes her cry out louder—curses tumbling from her lips as her body tightens around me.
“Oh fuck…right there. Yes! Please don’t stop.”
And I can’t stop even if I wanted to.
Then she touches my face, her fingers trembling as they brush the corners of my eyes, and that’s when I realize they’re wet. Not from sweat, but from tears, and I didn’t even feel them coming or know why they’re here.
I blink, but more fall. Onto her skin, her lips, and her throat. She doesn’t flinch or ask why.
Then I slow down.
“I’m sorry,” I whisper. “I’m so fucking sorry—”
“Baby, it’s okay.” She brings my face to hers, and something in me calms.
I kiss her like I need her to feel all of it. The fear. The ache. The quiet desperation in my chest. Her arms wrap around my back, legs curling tighter around me, and I flatten my chest against hers because I need more of her skin. More of her breath. More of anything she’ll give me.
I roll my hips into her, deep and slow. I want to stay buried inside her until the aches in my chest settle.
She whimpers into my mouth as I continue kissing her.
Then she comes around me, and I follow right behind her.
Our bodies shake as we kiss each other through it, swallowing each other’s moans and groans.
She’s pulsing around me as I release every drop inside her.
Mine.
She’s been mine since she saved me that night at the frozen lake.
We don’t move for a while. Her breathing evens out while I’m still catching mine. Still buried deep inside her. She feels like home.
“Come on, let’s clean up.” She shifts under me, nudging me gently to move.
I pull back and slide out of her. My gaze dips down to the mess between her thighs. She rolls out of bed, pulling me behind her, and I let her.
“Shower caps?” she asks as we walk into the bathroom.
I nod toward the top drawer beneath the sink. She opens and pauses when she sees two of them, a black and a blue.
She bites her lip like she’s trying not to smile, then she grabs the black one and holds it with a teasing smirk. “Bend down, big guy.”
She’s tall, about five feet seven inches, but I’m six feet five inches, so she still needs to stretch on her tiptoes to reach my head.
I oblige, leaning forward as she adjusts the cap over my head.
She grabs the blue one next, and before she can do anything, I take it from her. I turn her around and place it over her head, making sure all her braids are tucked in.
“We look cute.” She smiles, looking at our reflection in the mirror. Then she walks to the shower, turning the faucet and frowning as she tests the temperature.
When it’s perfect for her, she reaches for my hand and pulls me in with her. The water is hotter than what I’m used to, but I don’t complain.
I brace one hand against the tile as I let the water fall against my shoulders. My chest still feels tight, like I’m mourning the past couple of days. Then her arms wrap around my waist, her bare skin pressed against mine, and I breathe a little easier.
She reaches for a washcloth, adds some soap, and slowly rubs it over my back and shoulders. We take turns washing and rinsing each other quietly. When we step out, the cool air hits my skin.
She grabs a towel and starts drying me off before I can reach for it, and I let her. I can tell she needs to do this. Then she drops to her knees to dry my legs, and I’m standing there, unable to process the softness of it all until I feel her pause.
I glance down and catch her staring at my dick.
She tilts her head, eyebrows raised like she’s genuinely confused by my physique. “How,” she says, almost to herself, “is it that big when you’re not even hard?”
I blink.
“You’re literally walking around with a third leg.”
I laugh and pull her up to kiss her. She kisses me back, her body pressing into me where I’m getting hard again.
Then she pulls away, pressing her hand into my chest. “Zayden.” She’s breathless and smiling. “If we keep going like this.” She stares down at my already hard length. “You’re gonna have to carry me out here.”
I raise an eyebrow. “You say that like it’s a bad thing.”
She shakes her head, limping a little as she walks toward the bedroom. “?Cómo se supone que voy a patinar manana, maldito cabrón (How am I going to skate tomorrow, asshole)?” She groans, looking for a hoodie from the drawer.
“Wait, what was that?” I follow her into the room, grinning like the fucking asshole she thinks I am.
She glances at me over her shoulder and says, “Nothing.”
“You called me an asshole, and it was fucking hot.” I step behind her and wrap my arms around her waist. “You’re so lucky you’re sore right now,” I whisper against her neck, and her body shivers.
“Because if you weren’t, I’d fuck you so hard, you’d be using every fucking Spanish curse you know.
” I let my hard dick tease her ass a little, and she fucking moans.
Jesus Christ, help me. “And next time I’m fucking you, I need to hear every single one of them. ” Her body arches slightly into me.
I pull back before I lose my restraint and push into her perfectly tight asshole and grab a pair of sweatpants and a T-shirt from the drawer.
She grabs one of my hoodies and a pair of my sweatpants.
I dress quickly, even though I probably need a cold shower.
Once I’m done, I glance over at her. The sweatpants are a little too big on her, so she has to roll the waistband to keep them up, but she still looks ridiculously hot.
She could be wearing a plastic bag and still be the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.
I walk over to her where she’s leaning against the dresser. My hands rest on her hips, and I lower my forehead to hers, just breathing her in for a few seconds. She slides her hands under my shirt like she needs to feel me.
“Come on. You need food and some yoga to help with your soreness.”
She looks up at me, eyes wide like she wants to say something but is too scared to say it.
“I know,” I whisper, brushing my lips against her forehead. Then I scoop her up into my arms, and she doesn’t even fight me this time, just tucks her face into my neck.
I carry her to the couch and gently set her down, grabbing the blanket off the backrest and laying it over her legs. She watches me move around the kitchen like she doesn’t want this weekend to end.
Me neither.