𝐕𝐀𝐋𝐈𝐀𝐍𝐓 || 𝐇𝐀𝐑𝐑𝐘 𝐒𝐓𝐘𝐋𝐄𝐒

Chapter Eighteen

We stumbled into the apartment, lips molding together and my fingers wound in Zayn's thick hair. His hands held my hips and with the heel of his boot, the front door was shut closed.

Kissing Zayn didn't feel strange like I thought it might be. It felt normal. But there weren't any sparks. No fireworks or electric sensation. Just lips against lips, against skin that longed to be touched.

"Where are we going?" Zayn asked as we stood in the middle of my living room, kissing and holding each other.

"Sofa," I said, grasping the back of his neck.

Zayn directed me to the sofa a couple feet away, and my back was pressed against the cushions. He hovered over me, and maybe it was the scent of his cologne, or the fact that I hadn't been this intimate with a man in years, but I wanted the distance between us to be non-existent. I wanted to feel his skin on mine, to have him so close I could feel his own heart race.

But I had gotten so lost in his touch I hadn't even noticed he was pulling away.

"Taissa," he spoke, our lips still connected. "Ta—Taissa."

"What?" I asked.

There was some annoyance in my tone and Zayn definitely picked up on it. He laughed softly, biting his bottom lip.

"A bit anxious, eh?"

My face grew hot. I covered it with my hands and began to apologize.

"I'm so sorry," I said. "I just... I thought we..."

I was so embarrassed, I couldn't even find the right words. Zayn, rather than laugh again at my eagerness, sighed and placed a gentle kiss to my mouth.

"At least I know how you feel," he said. He smiled, and it was such a warm smile. "How about we watch a movie and then head off to bed? We can do this—" He gestured to our bodies with his finger. "Another time."

I frowned.

"Did I do something?" I asked.

Grinning, Zayn said, "You didn't do anything, Taissa. Believe me; I'd love to tear your clothes off and get down to business, but I think we should wait. Just for a while."

Zayn didn't want to have sex with me, not because I was me, but because it wasn't the time. And for that, I found myself drawn to him even more. It was the most caring and responsible thing I had ever heard him say.

We watched a movie together and then said goodnight.

Zayn slept on the couch, said he would feel better just knowing that I was okay. And I was; I layed in my bedroom, smiling at how happy I felt.

In the darkness, my fingers went up to my lips and my eyes closed. The feeling was still there, of his lips on mine. It was a feeling I would never forget.

•

Around six the next morning, I woke up and washed up, pleased to see Zayn still asleep on the sofa.

For a moment, I took in his messy hair, his moving chest, and his mouth slightly agape. He looked peaceful, content. I quietly crept passed him to the kitchen, careful not to make too much noise.

I got my favourite kettle out, carefully placing it on the stove.

"Good morning," a sleepy voice said, scaring me. Zayn sat up on the sofa, chuckling.

"Did I wake you?" I asked, wrapping my arms around me.

Zayn stretched his arms over his head and I realized when the blanket had fallen down a little, that he was only in a t-shirt and boxers. I shyly looked away, feeling like I was doing something I shouldn't.