Strings and Schemes

Chapter 16

Zayn exhales sharply. "Fucking hell," he mutters, his hands sliding up my sides, eyes dragging over every inch of newly exposed skin. "You're—"

"Yours," I whisper before I can stop myself.

I don't know why I say it. But the second the words leave my lips, I know they're true. I feel a slight sense of embarrassment, maybe he doesn't even want me to be his. It's a reckless, fruitless statement.

Just as I feel the weight of the confession spilled, his grip tightens, his jaw clenches, and then he's pulling me onto his lap; kissing me deeply, as if the words have ignited something inside him.

I grind against him, feeling the evidence of just how much he wants me through the thin fabric of his sweats. His hands grip my hips, guiding my movements, but he doesn't rush me.

"Take what you want," he murmurs against my lips.

A shiver runs through me. Louis had taken me, knowing exactly what I needed in that moment—hard, fast, consuming. Never letting me think about the next move,  but Zayn is offering himself to me, letting me set the pace, letting me decide how this will go.

And for once, I want to feel it all. My mind wanders to all the delicious things I want to do with him.

I reach between us, slipping my fingers beneath the waistband of his sweats, wrapping my hand around him. He groans, his forehead pressing against mine as his breath stutters.

"Raina—"

I tighten my grip, stroking him slowly, memorizing  the way his muscles tense beneath my touch. I drink it all in - him undone, completely at my mercy, barely holding on by any semblance of a thread.

"You're playing dangerous games, love," he warns, trailing a hand down my stomach.

"I like danger," I breathe.

"Then use me," he smirks,

I swallow hard, my grip faltering for half a second before I steady myself. This is a different kind of chaos and danger that I am used to. He's letting me take control, handing it over so willingly. The realization makes my skin burn hotter, my breath hitching in my throat.

His eyes darken, lips quirking into something just shy of a challenge. "If you want something, take it."

I hesitate and tighten my grip around him, watching the way his jaw clenches at the movement. His hands rest at his sides, deliberately not touching me, like he's daring me to really go for it.

I exhale sharply, suddenly hyper-aware of the power shift.

"Show me," he murmurs, voice low and full of something thick and heady. "Take what you want."

My pulse hammers against my ribs. My instincts war with my hesitations—I've never been given full rein like this before, never been allowed to dictate the pace without someone eventually overpowering me, steering things back into their control.

But Zayn? He's just watching. Just waiting for me to lead the way.

It makes my stomach twist in the most deliciously unnerving way. Anything is on the table tonight.

I keep my hand on him, slow, deliberate, dragging my palm over his length just to see the way his body reacts. His muscles twitch beneath me, his breathing shallows, and I feel the way his thighs tighten beneath my knees. He's holding himself back.

I want to push him.

I move closer, straddling him fully now, pressing my weight onto him in a way that makes him suck in a sharp breath.