Strings and Schemes

Chapter 10

I almost feel nervous at the intimacy of being alone with him.

Before, when Louis was there, the anxiety wasn't about intimacy—it was about being watched. Now, with just Zayn, it's different. The focus is sharper, heavier. There's nowhere to hide. And the weight of that realization settles deep in my chest.

How much is too much? How much is not enough?

For someone new to my own fantasy, it almost felt easier living in there—with one person who already knew me, who could help someone else learn the ropes. It meant I never had to fully open myself up, never had to be entirely raw with another person. No awkward silences, no missteps, no vulnerability. But now, without the buffer, without Louis filling in the gaps, there's nothing but the stark reality of intimacy. And the unknown of it makes my pulse unsteady.

It's been years since I've had sex with anyone besides Louis. That dynamic felt safe in a way this one doesn't. Not because I don't trust Zayn, but because this is different. He is different.

I shake my head, trying to clear the thought like an etch-a-sketch. Zayn chuckles, tilting his head. "You always do that when you're overthinking." His voice is warm, teasing, but there's something knowing in his gaze, like he can see straight through me.

I laugh, my embarrassment fading. He watches me closely. "What thought were you trying to get rid of?"

I hum quietly, hesitating. "I think... I'm afraid of being intimate with you alone."

Zayn tilts his head slightly, considering me. "I get that." His voice is even, no judgment, just understanding. "A threesome can feel more anonymous, even if one of the people is your best friend. But being real?" He meets my gaze. "Letting yourself be seen by one person, in a way that's just for them... that's real intimacy."

I nod, my throat suddenly dry. How is he always so effortlessly composed? How does he always seem to know exactly what to say?

I want to tell him that I'm trying. That I want to let him see me. But before I can find the words, I close the space between us, kissing him softly. His hand cradles my cheek, his lips fitting perfectly against mine. He kisses me back just as softly, his tongue gliding along my bottom lip, asking, not taking.

I let him in.

Our tongues meet, slow and deliberate, teasing and exploring in a way that makes my whole body hum. As much as I want to lose myself in him, there's something about taking my time - about savoring this moment, savoring him. The message is clear, unspoken between us, and Zayn matches my rhythm, never pushing further than I'm ready for, never rushing.

But the slow burn only makes the heat sharper.

I want to lose myself in him, to give in to every impulse clawing at my skin. But there's something about this moment—something slower, deeper. The tension coils between us, stretching thin, neither of us willing to be the first to break. Zayn keeps pace with me, matching my rhythm, my restraint. We move together, until we're both trembling with need.

I whimper against his lips, and he pulls back just enough to smirk at me before flipping us over, pressing me into the mattress. He kisses along the sensitive skin of my neck, learning my body with every touch, every press of his lips. His hand trails down, toying with the hemline of my far-too-tiny skirt, his fingers featherlight. He pulls back slightly, his expression shifting, darker.

"Tell me to stop, love." His voice is low, rough. "Because if you don't tell me to stop now, I won't be able to stop trying to figure you out from the inside out. And that may take all night."