Chapter 26
We pull into the undercroft of a tall, glossy apartment building not too far from my own where Zayn parks his car and cuts the engine, the silence reverberating off the concrete walls.
Nerves creep up my throat and my skin feels extra sensitive against the silk of my dress, the slip of the material like a gentle caress across my thighs, as if in anticipation of what’s about to come.
It’s like a switch has been flicked inside me and my body has just been lying in wait for this moment, ready to respond.
Zayn comes around the car, opens the door for me and holds out his hand.
When I meet his gaze, so intense and unwavering in its focus on me, I know that there is nothing in this world that could stop me from taking it.
Electricity ricochets up my body the moment our skin connects.
He pulls me from the car then intertwines our fingers, leading me into an elevator where he hits the button to the top floor.
My hand feels sweaty inside his and I clench my thighs together to dampen the deep ache that’s been growing steadily inside my stomach. We stand side by side, our eyes colliding in the mirrored wall as the elevator rises, and rises, and rises.
His gaze is pure heat and want and possession as it roams my face, and I’ve never felt so sure about anything in my life as I do about Zayn.
I know him. I’ve known him from the moment I first laid eyes on him. My soul calls to his; it always has and it always will.
This man is mine.
Zayn might not be the boy I once fell in love with, but I’m starting to think I’ve fallen in love with the man he has become.
We step out of the lift and he unlocks the front door of his apartment with the swipe of a card, and I can’t wait a second longer.
I’m upon him in an instant. The moment he told me he wanted me, it was as though a ticking time bomb activated inside me and every second spent not touching him was agony.
His shoulders tense as I wrap my hands around his neck and pull his lips down to mine, but his surprise is brief. He lifts me off the ground and my legs wrap around his waist, drawing him closer.
I’m glad I didn’t kiss him in the hotel room when I didn’t know who he was.
This is the first kiss we needed after ten years apart.
His lips are soft and warm, but the kiss is urgent, frenzied. His hands grip my ass, tight, as my fingers fist the back of his inky hair and draw his lips harder against mine.
Our lips part at the same time, and I feel the hot lick of his tongue in my mouth. It’s wet, hot and aching. My core is on fire, an empty void just aching to be filled. I can’t get close enough to him.
My hands shake. Emotion floods my senses like a tidal wave. For the first time since in as long as I can remember, I feel safe. Safe inside the strong, comforting arms of my first love.
The door slams shut behind us and Zayn pushes me up against it, the wood cold and firm against my back.
For a blissful moment, it soothes the relentless ache between my legs as he rubs against me, hard.
I moan into his mouth, the friction overwhelming, the emotion pooling behind my eyes begging for release.
Zayn pulls his face away and his dark eyes search mine. We’re both panting, our chests rising and falling against each other in perfect synchronicity.
“Are you okay? Is this okay?” he asks. His eyes are wild on my cheeks, which I’m only now realising are wet.
“Yes,” I choke out, cupping his sharp jaw in my palm. “Happy tears. I want this. I want you.”
I try to pull his face back to mine, but he hesitates. “Are you sure?” His words are pained. “In the hotel room, I -” he shakes his head and closes his eyes, breathing deeply. “I didn’t know. I would have been more gentle.”
“No,” I grip his face with both hands and he opens his eyes. I know that no matter what I say, Zayn will always unfairly carry the weight of my rape on his shoulders. “I didn’t tell you. You were perfect then. You’ll be perfect now. Please,” my voice breaks, too heavy with emotion. “I want this.”
This time he lets me pull his face back to mine and our lips meet again, but even though the kiss is still feverish, the ache growing inside me to an almost painful level, Zayn takes control and slows it down to a lazier pace.
We relish in each other, in this moment that neither of us thought would come again.
Zayn pins my hips to the door with his own and starts a slow, agonising ascent with his hands up my body. He moves me forward just enough to slip my coat off my shoulders, and I moan at the feel of his hands on my bare skin.
He pulls away from our kiss again to glance down at my dress.
“You have no fucking idea what seeing you in this dress has done to me tonight,” he swallows.
There’s so much hunger in his eyes.
“Did you wear this to torture me?” He asks as a groan rips from his throat. “Because it fucking worked.” He pushes the thin straps over my shoulders and watches them slip down my arms. I arch my back away from the door, begging to be touched.
“That wasn’t my intention, but I’m not mad about it,” I breathe up at him. I was tortured by Monica tonight, too. His hands trace gently back down my arms and an inferno of need blazes through me. I’m feverish over his touch.
“Now that I can touch you, neither am I.”
He grips my ass and pulls me away from the door.
I yelp, clinging to his neck as he walks me into what I briefly register is a huge, open-plan penthouse apartment.
The kitchen and living space flash by, but I don’t have time to take in much more than the fact that Zayn’s apartment looks like the real-estate version of a Picasso before he carries me into his bedroom, and after a few long strides, tosses me onto his king-sized bed.
Then he steps back, his perfectly sculpted face half cast in shadows as moonlight filters through the glass wall.
I push my palms into the soft, white comforter and sit up, light-headed with anticipation.
“You, here on my bed,” he says roughly, running a hand across his jaw, “are the most beautiful thing I have ever seen.”
I go to say something, but the words get lodged in my throat. The moment feels heavy between us. I need Zayn over me, on me, in me. I feel like without his weight holding me down, I could just float away.
The first time I ever slept with Zayn we made love.
The second time, in the hotel room, when I didn’t know who he was, was hot and animalistic, purely driven by physical desire.
This time? I’m not sure what to expect.
I roam my hungry gaze down his body, which is annoyingly still dressed, and my skin sears with wanton desire.
“I need you naked,” I choke out. A low hum of pleasure escapes me when he grins and starts to unbutton his shirt, slowly revealing the firm ridges and slabs of muscle that lay beneath. The gleam in his eye as he shrugs the shirt from his shoulders makes my legs shift restlessly.
“I fucking love the way you look at me, Gianna.” The low rumble of his voice sends a hazy rush of lust to my lower stomach. “You’re the first person who ever made me feel seen.”
I bite my bottom lip between my teeth to stop myself from moaning. I want to lick every single inch of his silky caramel skin, tasting and dipping my tongue into every indent of his abs before moving lower and showing him how I feel about him with my mouth on his most sensitive area.
His eyes darken as if he can read my mind and he makes quick work of his shoes and socks before unzipping his pants. They fall open to reveal the undeniable bulge beneath his black briefs.
My mouth waters.
“Please,” I beg, kicking off my heels and rising to my knees. “Get it all off.”
I need his skin pressed against mine like I need my next breath. He kicks off his pants and stalks toward me. Instinctively, I reach for him. He groans when I run my hands over his toned shoulders, down to his smooth biceps, squeezing and rubbing as I draw him towards me.
He cups the nape of my neck and pulls on my hair, exposing my throat to him.
“For so long I thought I would never touch you again,” his voice is like sandpaper, and I know he’s choking on his own desire as much as I am. “It was fucking torture.”
He unzips me. His dark gaze sizzles my skin as the dress falls away and pools on the bed around me, baring me to him.
By my next breath, his lips have found my throat, leaving a wet, hot trail down their path as he drags his mouth lower. He kneels on the bed before me and gently pushes me back into the mattress, my back arching, giving him full access to make his way down and lock his mouth over my nipple.
Pleasure explodes through my body. My mind goes blank, unable to concentrate on anything but the wet heat sucking and pulling on one nipple, then the other.
My thighs slip against each other, my own slickness running out of me like lava.
I’ve never been so turned on in my life.
The emotions welling up inside my chest are almost too much.
I don’t know how to release the pressure of them except to moan and grip Zayn’s inky black hair between my fingers and pull.
His head snaps up, his black eyes bottomless in their depths. “You are so fucking sexy,” he growls, then he slides my dress down my legs and tosses it off the bed.
The way he stares down at my body, half covered by his own, is borderline feral with hunger. It stokes the fire in my belly harder, to the point I might actually burst into flames. Then he slips a finger under the fabric of my thong and swipes at my slit, ripping another deep moan from my chest.
“Fuck,” he grits out, his jaw tightening. “You are so wet for me.”