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My hands move instinctively to her breasts, covering hers, and we start to play with them together.

“What about now?” I ask for the third time, a satisfied grin pulling at my mouth.

She looks straight into my eyes, the blue of hers so dark it resembles a storm waiting to break.

Fitting, given that she crashed into my life a week ago like a fucking tornado.

“Yes, I want you to be my boyfriend. I want it so badly it scares me,” she says slowly this time, pronouncing every word carefully and sweetly—just like I asked her to earlier.

And her confession puts my entire life back together, piece by piece, dragging me back into the light and into a sense of peace I hadn’t realized I’d been missing.

But more than anything, it proves what I knew from the beginning—she was meant to be mine.

And now she is.

Completely by choice.

TWENTY-FOUR

Selene

Zayn is still asleep, sunk deep into relaxation and peace. I woke up about twenty minutes ago, and all I’ve done since is stare at him.

He’s so handsome that I genuinely wonder how he hasn’t ended up with some perfect-bodied girlfriend.

Because mine is nowhere near perfect. I’m short, with a very round, full ass and extremely tiny waist. Nothing about my proportions is symmetrical, and I could never pass as a model—the kind of woman he’s used to.

I know that because, over the years, I’ve seen women he’s been photographed with, and I’m not naive enough to believe nothing happened between them.

The way he has sex tells me on its own just how experienced he is—far more than I am. So all I can really do is try to live up to his expectations and hope he won’t get bored with me or eventually decide I’m not enough. That I’m not what he expected.

Even though we spent almost the entire night having sex and, once I confessed what I’d told him in Romanian, he completely lost control and devoured me, I still want him.

Would he get upset if I woke him up for sex? He’s a man—it shouldn’t bother him, right?

Well, there’s only one way to find out.

Incredibly slowly, careful not to wake him just yet, I lift the covers from his body, and my mouth instantly waters at the sight in front of me.

His body is sculpted by endless hours at the gym, every muscle defined so sharply it almost looks like his muscles have muscles of their own. The eight-pack of his abs looks like it’s begging to be kissed and licked by me, but I can’t afford that distraction right now.

I climb out of bed and search for a hair tie, then move to his side instead of lying down again. Leaning over him, I brace myself on my hands.

At first, I only touch him with my tongue, dragging it lightly over his balls, along one side of his cock until I reach the tip.

Zayn still doesn’t wake up, but he twitches, his cock pulsing with every movement of my tongue. I part my lips and take him inch by inch into my mouth, teasing the tip.

One hand leaves the bed to help me, but the second it moves, both of his hands slide into my hair.

“No hands, pixie,” he says, his voice rough with sleep, and warmth instantly floods between my thighs.

How does he have this effect on me? I can’t resist him even if I try.

Challenge accepted.

My hand returns to the mattress, and I start bobbing my head up and down over his hard-as-stone cock.

Zayn groans, his head still buried in the pillows, as I take him deeper, the tip brushing the back of my throat. I pause and swallow around him, making his grip tighten painfully in my hair. He pulls me back, then guides me down again.