Strings and Schemes

Chapter 16

"Raina," he breathes against my lips, a warning, a plea.

I pull back just enough to look at him, my own pulse pounding in my ears. "What?" I say coyly, as if I don't know the effect I'm having on him.

His eyes are dark, hungry, but his hands on me are careful, controlled. "If you keep looking at me like that, I'm not going to be able to stop."

I exhale, feeling the heat spread through my entire body. "Who said I want you to stop?"

That's all it takes.

Zayn groans softly, something deep and primal, before closing the distance between us completely. His lips crash against mine, urgent, consuming, but there's something different about this. It's not just hunger, not just lust—it's need, deep and unshakable.

I moan into his mouth, and he takes that as permission, gripping my waist tighter, pulling me flush against him. His hands are everywhere—up my back, tangling in my hair, gripping my thighs as he lifts me onto the kitchen counter without breaking the kiss.

I gasp as the cold marble meets my bare skin, but Zayn swallows the sound, deepening the kiss, his tongue sweeping against mine in a slow, teasing glide that has me arching into him, wanting more.

His fingers toy with the hem of my top, hesitating for the briefest moment, his breathing ragged. "Tell me if this is too much," he murmurs against my skin.

I shake my head quickly, fingers threading into his hair. "No. More."

And just like that, the tension snaps. Whatever little control he had is relinquished, and he becomes relentless in his attack.

Zayn lifts my shirt over my head in one smooth motion, his lips trailing hot, open-mouthed kisses down my neck, across my collarbone, until I'm panting, gripping his shoulders for something, anything to ground me. My feet moving my waist closer to him, trying to grind into him to release the pent up tension if only a little.

I pull pathetically at his hoodie, desparate to feel more of him, and he lets me yank it over his head, revealing the lean muscles of his torso, the tattoos that I've memorized from stolen glances and late-night moments like this.

I trace my fingers over the inked designs on his chest, marvelling at how warm he feels beneath my touch. He shudders slightly, eyes flicking up to meet mine.

"You're unbelievable," he murmurs, pressing a kiss to my wrist, then my palm, before guiding my hand down his stomach, lower, lower—

"Zayn," I gasp as he presses against me, solid and insistent. Yes - this. This is what I want.

He smirks against my skin, his voice rough and teasing. "You sure about this, love?"

I meet his gaze, feeling something settle in my chest. I suddenly find myself feeling the kind of butterflies you feel before you take the stage for the first time, before I give a speech. This isn't just a reckless moment, isn't just a way to forget or numb myself. This is just who we are, together.

I grip his jaw, pulling him back to me. "I've never been more sure of anything in my life."

His eyes darken, something possessive flashing across his expression. "Good."

And then he's lifting me off the counter, carrying me towards my couch, an act of rebellion in my independence, no blinds are closed, no music blasting to ensure nobody hears whats happening. He is doing this out loud, on my couch, in the middle of my apartment. Proving to me how such a mundane decision or action, is so integral to me, to us. He's kissing me senseless the entire way.

The moment we step into the dimly lit space, everything slows. I feel my heart thumping, struggling to fight against my ribs that have become a cage.

Zayn places us on the couch, with me on top,  his legs spread slightly, his gaze locked onto mine. I hesitate for only a second before stepping down between his knees.  His hands rest on my thighs, his touch warm and steady.