I’ve spent a lot of time reflecting on my marriage to Daniel. Regretting it. Contemplating the events that lead me to him. Hating myself for being so fucking stupid. I’ve finally reached a point now where I’ve accepted and come to terms with my past, but seeing Zayn try to carry the blame for my own trauma makes the temptation for self-hatred hard to resist.
“I wouldn’t change anything. You saved your sister from a horrible fate. There was no where else you should have been. I had to save myself.”
Zayn flexes his jaw, ready to argue. I don’t let him.
“Take me home, Zayn.”
He throws me an odd glance. “I am.”
“No, take me toyourhome.”
His stunned shock fills the car, but it’s fleeting. He sets his jaw and steps on the accelerator, his car surging forward with giddy approval.
“I thought you’d never ask.”
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 eyescolliding 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.
Iknowhim. 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.
Thisis 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 tidalwave. 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.
