Slowly, Zayn lowers down further on me but stays inside of me. He rolls us both to the side, still joined together. My eyes close tight, as I fight for my breath to return to normal. I feel one hot tear release from the corner of my eye. Zayn leans in and kisses the back of my neck, letting his lips just linger there. Thattender action releases more tears and before I know it, my whole body racks with sobs, tears spilling over my lashes and pouring down my face. Zayn’s arms close around me like steel bands, our bodies pressed close together.
I shake and cry and Zayn says nothing. He simply lets my body ride out its grief, just as it rode out its pleasure mere moments ago.
While I’m not sure where this is coming from, I suspect that one release has triggered another. Dad’s suicide, Rae’s distance, the attack from Josh, my nightmares, the fucking note. My sorrow and confusion. The lingering torment of the Demon case. All of it, haunting me, and now finally peaking. I’m safe enough in this moment to feel it all.
After a while, my body stills, and I drag in a long, shaky breath. Zayn raises up on an elbow and kisses my cheek and jaw, his warm lips and gentleness making me feel so completely safe.
I have never felt this way before.And I know in my heart that I never will again.
“I didn’t hurt you, did I?” Zayn asks quietly in my ear.
“No. Well, yes. But not in the way you think. You didn’t hurt me, you felt amazing. But I think I hurt myself… every day. In denying what I feel and what I need… what I want. God, that probably makes no sense.”
He looks over my face and takes in my words.
“Itdoesmake sense baby. You have to hold it together and hold it in all of the time. You never get to feel safe enough to be free, to be you.”
He relaxes behind me but holds me for a long while and is quiet and still. My cries have abated by now, but some silent tears still manage to escape and streak down my face. Idly, I wonder if Zayn has fallen asleep. He is so still, and his warm breathing is deep and even.
It is not until then that I notice with a twinge of discomfort deep in my core that Zayn is still buried inside of me—and he is still hard.
Holy fucking shit.
I wiggle slightly, attempting to relieve some of the building tension in my pussy. Zayn lets loose a soft growl from behind me.
Cupping my jaw, he reaches around and collects some of my tears on his long fingers. He moves his hand down and rubs the wetness over my clit. I inhale sharply, consumed by the union of grief and desire. Zayn brings his hand up again to gently drag his fingers across my tear-soaked face and repeats the motion. His fingers wet with my tears, swirl across my clit, causing me to contract around him.
Zayn’s lips move to my neck, gently nipping and eliciting a hoarse moan. Without a word, he thrusts into me, and the angle of this new position has him pressing against the spot deep inside of me that I’m not always fully convinced even exists.
“Ahhhh,” I pant out. Zayn slowly thrusts again, moving his hand to cover my breast. He fucks me deeply from behind, and I let my head fall back against him.
Unlike the first time, this round is slow and sensual. Fueled by intimacy and vulnerability, instead of carnal desire. And, this time, I don’t feel the prick of tears in my eyes. For now, they are all spent.
Zayn moves in and out of me faster, whispering my name on each thrust of his hips. When his strokes on my clit quicken, I feel my release build and crest.
“Zayn,” I moan, and I feel him follow me over the edge, his whole body tensing up and releasing with a groan. We both still while his deep breaths heave across my neck.
“Fuck, baby, you are so fucking sweet,” Zayn murmurs, before gently pulling out of me. He wraps me into his arms, and I close my eyes, utterly satiated.
I become aware of the pattering sound of rainfall on the roof and the soft, steady breath on my ear. A glance at my phone tells me it’s just after midnight.
I think about Bundy and realize I needto go and check on him. After all, this is his first time having Zayn, or any man for that matter, stay over. Stealthily, I roll away from Zayn and slide off the bed, taking care not to wake him.
I grope for my silk robe and find it on the floor beside the bed. Still in stealth mode, I exit the bedroom on tiptoe and head down the hallway out to the living room. Bundy is there curled up on our favorite throw, a black velvety circle in the dead center of the cream-colored fabric. I stoop and reach out to scratch gently behind his ears. He purrs and I smile, knowing he is all good and we did not in fact scar him for life.
I make my way into the kitchen, still on tiptoe and get myself a glass of water. The house is silent and still except for the faint hum of the fridge. As I sip, I stare past the back windows, into the black where the ravine begins. The forest appears no more than a suggestion of trees and mist, blurred in the inky night.
Then, something. Not sound. Not sight. Just a flicker—like a film frame spliced in fragments—invades my mind. Cold eyes… dead, pale, and wrong. Lit from above in that awful stuttering way that old fluorescent lights do when they're about to go out.
“You’ll know I’ve come to finish what you started.”The threat repeats in my ear as though he is right next to me.
The glass shakes in my hand. I grip the counter, steadying myself. I force my lungs to breathe in deeply and exhale for longer. A moment later, the intrusion is gone. Like it wasn’t there at all.
But still, the water tastes different now. Like metal. Or like breath held for too long. A shiver runs down my spine, and I quickly set down the glass and walk back to the bedroom, back to the safety and warmth of Zayn.
Seeing his massive form sprawled out across my bed is a thing of beauty. His tanned skin and many black intertwined tattoos seem to glow in the moonlight, and my heart contracts.It’s strange to know that Ishouldbe terrified of this man.
Instead, I burn for him.
