Strings and Schemes

Chapter 32

"You're lucky I trust you," I joke, breathless, as I bring his face back to mine.

His lips graze mine, his hands still roaming my back lazily. "I know," he whispers. "And I don't take that lightly."

My heart clenches; At the honesty and rawness in his voice; At the way he looks at me like he's never going to get tired of this—of me - I don't know what I've done to deserve that kind of attention, but I'm starting to want to believe I do.

I slide my hands under his shirt, my fingers tracing over the ink on his skin. He shivers under my touch, and I feel power surge through me knowing he becomes just as undone as I do for him. I tug at his shirt, and he helps me peel it off, tossing it aside.

"Better," I hum, pressing my palms flat against his chest. "Now, where were we?"

Zayn grins, running his hands up my sides. "I think you were about to -"

Before he can finish, I push him back down onto the mattress and lean down to kiss him, pouring every unspoken word, every complicated and uncomplicated feeling, into it. He responds immediately, his grip tightening on my hips, guiding me against him as we both lose ourselves in the feeling.

I take my time with him, touching, teasing, making him just as desperate as I feel. I trail my hands over his skin, memorizing every ridge, every muscle, every small reaction he gives me. When he finally flips us over again, pressing me into the mattress with a wicked smirk, I know exactly what I'm in for.

"Hope you don't have any other plans today, Jaan," he murmurs against my lips.

I smile up at him, my fingers threading through his hair. "Just you."

His lips press to mine again, softer this time, less of a battle for control and more like a vow—like a promise whispered between breaths. He kisses me like he's trying to carve the feeling into my soul, like if he does it right, I'll never forget this moment, no matter what happens next. And maybe I won't.

His hands trace down my sides, leaving goosebumps in their wake, lingering at my hips before gripping me like he's grounding himself. I feel the heat of his gaze, the weight of his touch. Every time we do this, it feels different, but this—this is something else entirely. This isn't just hunger. This isn't just need.

It's worship.

I don't even realize my breathing has hitched until he smirks, like he's caught me in a moment of weakness. "What's got you so quiet?" he teases, dragging his lips along the column of my throat.

I swallow, my hands clutching his biceps as he settles between my legs. "I don't know," I whisper, though that's a lie.

I do know.

I know it's because, for the first time, I'm afraid of how much I want him—not just like this, but in every way. I want every part of him, and that kind of wanting? It's terrifying.

His thumb brushes over my bottom lip, studying me, like he sees every thought running through my head. "Tell me," he coaxes gently.

I shake my head, pulling him down to kiss me instead. I don't want to say it. I don't want to say that I feel like I'm falling, that I don't know how to stop. That maybe, just maybe, I don't want to stop.

Zayn doesn't push. He lets me run, lets me take control for a moment, kissing me back with just as much need, but when his hands slip under my thighs and he lifts me higher against him, I feel the shift again.

He isn't just taking from me—he's giving.

And when he enters me, slow and deliberate, I feel every inch of him in more ways than one. His forehead presses against mine, and for a moment, we just breathe.

No teasing. No rushing. No running.

Just us.

I exhale sharply, my nails digging into his shoulders, anchoring myself as he starts to move. His hands are everywhere—gripping my hips, smoothing up my sides, tangling in my hair. I feel surrounded by him, consumed, like he's unraveling every layer I've ever built to keep myself safe.

I whimper as he shifts, hitting me deeper, and he groans, his lips brushing against my temple.

"You feel so good," he murmurs, voice thick with something deeper than just pleasure.

I can barely respond, too lost in the way he's making me feel, but I manage a shaky, "So do you."

We move together, not just in sync, but like we were made to. It's intoxicating—the way his body fits against mine, the way he knows exactly how to touch me, the way he holds me like he doesn't want to let go.

I don't know how long we stay like this, but I do know that when I finally start to come undone, he doesn't just watch—he follows.

His name falls from my lips in a whisper, and his grip on me tightens as he buries himself deeper, chasing his own release. When it finally crashes over him, he groans into my neck, his breath warm, his body shuddering against mine.

For a long moment, neither of us move. We just exist, tangled together, skin to skin, breath to breath.

Then, softly, he presses a kiss to my forehead. "I could stay like this forever."

I close my eyes, my fingers tracing lazy shapes against his back. "Maybe we should."

I don't know if I mean it. I don't know if I even believe it's possible. But in this moment, in this bed, in this place where it's just him and me and nothing else in the world—

I want to and that terrifies me.