Strings and Schemes

Chapter 26

And then—he stops.

I let out a desperate, broken noise, my head falling back against the pillow. My entire body pulses with the denied pleasure, the need clawing at my skin. I gasp, trying to catch my breath. "You—"

"What?" he murmurs, feigning innocence. "I thought you wanted me to take care of you."

I glare at him, but it's weak, my body still trembling, still aching for more.

He shifts, his hand slipping between my legs again, his fingers resuming their slow, torturous movements. I moan, arching into his touch, already spiralling back up, already right there—

And then he stops again.

I nearly sob, my thighs shaking, my breath shattering into pieces. "Zayn—"

I grab his wrist, my nails digging into his skin. "You're—" I gasp for air, "—a fucking menace."

He chuckles, low and dark. "And you love it."

I can barely think. Barely function. My body is screaming for release, my mind reduced to nothing but white-hot need.

Zayn kisses me, slow and deep, swallowing my desperate whimper. Then he pulls back, his thumb brushing over my lower lip.

"Just one more," he whispers, his voice thick with promise. "Then I'll finally let you have what you really want."

And then—he starts again.

I don't think I'll survive this. Zayn watches me with dark amusement, his fingers dragging down my stomach in slow, deliberate strokes. My breath hitches when his hand finds its way between my thighs again, his touch unbearably light, his fingertips barely ghosting over my swollen clit.

I shudder, my thighs trembling from the last two times he's brought me to the brink and stolen my release at the last second. I don't know how much more I can take, how much more I can endure before I start begging in a way that strips me of every last ounce of control.

And I know that's exactly what he wants.

His lips curve into a knowing smirk as he presses the slightest amount of pressure against me, circling slow and lazy, like he has all the time in the world to tease me apart. My hips jolt against his hand instinctively, chasing friction, chasing relief, but he tuts softly, gripping my thigh to hold me still.

"Still so desperate," he murmurs, almost to himself. "Look at you."

I can't. If I look at him, I'll break.

I fist the sheets beneath me, my breath stuttering as he slides two fingers inside me, deep and slow, curling just right. My body responds instantly, back arching, head falling back as a needy whimper spills from my lips.

"Zayn—" My voice is barely a breath, trembling with frustration and unbearable need.

"Shh, jaan," he soothes, his other hand brushing damp strands of hair from my face. "Just let me take care of you."

I would if he actually let me finish.

He builds me up slowly, torturously, thrusting his fingers deep before retreating, his thumb pressing in lazy circles against my clit. The pressure is perfect, the pleasure winding tight in my stomach, the tension coiling in my spine, my body pulling tight as I climb higher and higher—

And just as I reach the edge, just as my body is seconds away from shattering—

He stops.

Again.

A strangled cry escapes me as I thrash against the bed, my whole body trembling with the force of my denied orgasm.

Zayn's grip tightens on my thigh, keeping me pinned beneath him as he watches me unravel. There's something dark in his gaze, something possessive and proud, something utterly consuming.