Chapter Fifteen
Zayn
Ayla goes inside, leaving the rest of us in a rare lull. We sit quietly for a beat, watching her silhouette disappear into the glow of the cabin. “Man, she’s really something,” I say, unable to keep the awe out of my voice.
Alex smirks, glancing between Dean and me. “Yeah… She is. And honestly, if the sexual tension between you two gets any thicker, I’m going to have to start charging rent for the air out here. Or at least get you a hose.”
Dean immediately chokes on his drink, spluttering. “A hose? What, you planning to spray us down if we get too hot?”
I shoot Alex a look, but he’s loving the chaos, hands up in mock surrender. “Hey, I’m just trying to protect my innocent eyes. And my property value. The insurance company doesn’t cover spontaneous combustion.”
Dean nudges me, stage-whispering, “I think he’s just jealous. He wishes someone looked at him like that.”
I can’t help but laugh. “Honestly, man, I think Ayla looked at him like that earlier. Did you see the way she worked him? I was expecting a marriage proposal by the end of that dance.”
Alex rolls his eyes with a smirk. “Ayla was amazing, I’ll give you that—girl’s got moves. I was not complaining. But please, if I wanted that kind of attention, I’d just walk around shirtless. You’d both be drooling.”
I snort. “Keep dreaming, man. The only thing you’d get is a citation for disturbing the peace.”
Alex laughs, but then sobers, a flicker of doubt in his eyes. “Seriously, though, I just wish we could figure out a way to stop hiding her. We don’t have much time before we have to make a move. We can’t keep her locked away here forever.”
I sigh, feeling the weight of it. “Not much we can do right now, man. Dean, think you could hack into Nathan’s and Charles’s emails tomorrow with your fancy tech shit?
” I say with a small, forced chuckle. A sad attempt to lighten the conversation again.
“Maybe there’s something in there we can use. ”
“Sure thing,” Dean says, his voice low but steady. He glances at me, those green eyes catching the firelight, a slow burn skating over my skin. Fucker. That look does things to me I don’t want to admit, and he knows exactly what he is doing.
Alex stands, stretching. “Alright, lovebirds, I’m heading in. Try to keep it quiet tonight, yeah? I'd like to get some sleep. And Zayn, try not to break the furniture. We can regroup in the morning. Night.” He heads inside, leaving Dean and me alone in the hush.
Dean gives me a sly wink. “Hey.”
I can’t help but grin. “Hey, yourself. Wanna go in?”
He doesn’t answer—just stands, cocks his head toward the cabin, and starts walking.
I follow, desire thrumming through me, every step drawn by the heat between us.
I don’t know how to name what’s building, but I know I love him and want him in a way that’s deeper than just lust. Fuck, he gets under my skin.
As soon as I close Dean’s bedroom door behind us, I press him back against the wall and crash my mouth into his, pouring all that pent-up want into the kiss.
I want him so fucking bad it hurts, and when his hands slide up under my shirt, I moan into his mouth, unable to hold back.
We only part for a second so he can yank my shirt over my head, then our mouths are back together, tongues tangled, hungry and wild.
There’s something about the way he tastes—like home and adrenaline, comfort and risk—and for a second, it hits me how much he means to me, how easy it is to fall for him in moments like this.
I don’t say it out loud, but the feeling is there, woven into every frantic touch and desperate kiss.
He traces the line of my snake tattoo with his tongue—a slow, sinful path as the inked serpent slithers down from my collarbone, curving sinuously over my chest. Dean’s mouth follows every twist, lingering where the snake coils around my ribcage, his lips hot against my skin.
The tattoo seems to come alive under his tongue, wiggling its way downward as he licks and kisses along the serpent’s body, the tip of his tongue teasing just where the snake’s head dips low and disappears onto my hip.
When he finally sinks to his knees in front of me, it feels like he’s worshipping every inch the snake marks as his territory.
He doesn’t hesitate—his fingers unfasten my jeans in record time, shoving them down as my cock springs free.
Dean looks up, his green eyes blazing with need, and the sight alone rips a raw moan from my throat.
The second his lips wrap around me, I swear I lose the ground beneath my feet.
He devours me like he’s starving, his mouth hot and wet, tongue relentless as he works me deeper, and my head tips back against the wall.
Every swirl and flick sends a jolt of heat through my body—sharp, electric, almost painful in how good it feels.
My hand finds the back of his head, not rough but frantic, fingers tangling in his hair as I urge him on, hips jerking toward his mouth, another needy moan echoing in the room.
He toys with the tip, tongue teasing, making me curse and shudder, gasping, “Fuck, Dean, just like that.” I can’t help the sounds—low, desperate, broken things that tumble out as the pleasure builds, my whole body tight and trembling.
I thrust deeper, rougher, chasing the high after everything tonight, after the show with Alex and Ayla and Dean’s dare.
I’m a ticking time bomb—my balls drawing up, pleasure coiling hot and sharp in my gut.
Just before I lose it, I tug his hair tighter, pulling his head off my cock with a wet, needy pop, chest heaving, skin buzzing, still aching for more.
I toss Dean onto the bed, both of us breathless and grinning.
I fumble with his pants, and he kicks them off with an eagerness that makes me laugh.
The second his cock springs free, I wrap my hand around him, stroking slow at first, then a little rougher, letting my thumb circle the tip every time I reach the top.
The sounds Dean makes—needy, wrecked, half-moan, half-laugh—send a jolt of heat straight through me, stoking the fire that’s been simmering all night.
I lean down, letting my tongue drag over his balls, grinning when his hips jerk up, and his whole body shivers at the sudden sensation.
He curses, grabbing at the sheets, and I feel a rush of pride at how easily I can unravel him.
Something in me shifts—heat and hunger sharpening into focus, my whole demeanor sliding into dominant mode.
I move around the bed, grabbing the lube from the bedside drawer where he always keeps it, the air in the room crackling.
My movements are purposeful now, my touch confident, every line of my body telegraphing control.
I lean down, lips grazing his ear, and growl, “Lie down on your fucking stomach.” My voice is rough—a promise and a command all at once. I want him to know I’m in charge—and I know he fucking loves every second of it, the heat building between us.
He does immediately, tucking his cock up against his stomach as he shifts into position.
I climb onto the bed, one leg on either side of his thigh, and squeeze a generous amount of lube onto my fingers, letting the excess drip down the crack of his ass.
My whole demeanor is pure control now—every movement deliberate, every touch meant to make him shiver.
Leaning down, my lips brush his ear as I growl, “Are you gonna be a good boy for me?” My voice is low, rough, and commanding. Dean shudders, his whole body reacting to the words and the heat of my breath. “Yes,” he manages, his voice thick with need, matching mine in raw desire.
I run my fingers slowly over his hole, massaging circles, teasing him open before I finally slide a finger in.
I work him gently, opening him up, feeling him clench and relax around me.
His moans melt into the pillow he’s now buried his face in, muffled but desperate.
As he starts to rock back onto my finger, matching my rhythm, I slip in another, then, when he’s begging for more, a third—preparing him with patience and care until he’s trembling beneath me, ready, wanting, and completely under my control.
I withdraw my fingers, and he sags and groans, muscles flexing, breath ragged. “You want me to fuck you now?” I ask, my voice low and rough.
Dean lifts his head from the pillow, jaw tight, voice thick and unashamed. “Yeah, Zayn. Fuck, yes,” he rasps, a tremor in every word. “I need you. I want you inside me.”
I press my palm firmly against his lower back, letting him feel the strength in my grip. “Then fucking beg for it,” I growl, pushing him a little deeper into the mattress.
Dean’s voice is broken but still solid, desperate but never weak. “Please, Zayn. Come on. I need you. Please. I want all of you. Just fuck me. Please.”
Hearing him beg—raw, masculine, pride set aside just for me—lights a fire deep in my gut. The way he gives himself over, strong and unafraid, is so fucking sexy.
I waste no time, settling my knees between Dean’s legs and spreading them wider to give me perfect access.
I slick my cock with more lube, the tension burning through me, and guide myself to his entrance, pressing in just the tip.
“Relax for me, Dean,” I growl, my voice commanding and raw.
I feel his body yield to me, his muscles loosening as I push deeper, slowly, inch by inch, letting him adjust to me.
The sound he makes is guttural and raw, and it only turns me on more.
Once I’m fully buried in him, I lean my weight down, bracing one hand on the mattress beside his head, the other reaching around to grip his throat—firm, not choking, just enough to remind him who’s in control.
My thrusts start slow, deliberate, but urgency builds fast; I lose myself in the way his body grips me, the heat and pressure driving me wild. I growl, “Doesn't that feel good?”