Zayn pins my hips to the door with his own and starts aslow, 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 mythroat. 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 nextbreath. 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 andswipes at my slit, ripping another deep moan from my chest.
“Fuck,” he grits out, his jaw tightening. “You are so wet for me.”
