Paranoia (Zayn Malik) (editing)

Chapter 42: Scarlett Red

"Alright, I'll see you in the morning." He continues, but he doesn't leave, he lingers, he waits for me to fill the awkward silence between us.

I concede "OK."

I look back up to him. He steps back in, closing the door behind him.

"Are you upset?" He whispers.

Sometimes I think it's rich when he does that, pretend that he doesn't already know how I'm feeling like he isn't imprinted on me. Often it's endearing, an attempt to give me a slice of normalcy, but right now it feels patronising, though maybe through more my fault of interpretation than his of intent.

"No." I lie.

He frowns "Why are you upset?"

"I'm not upset."

"You're still a bad liar." He steps closer "Doll, talk to me."

I huff and walk back towards the bed, sitting when it hits the back of my legs.

"I don't want to stay in here alone." I admit with a small voice, and I wish my hair wasn't in this stupid braid so it could cover my face and the way it burns red.

He doesn't react for a second, calculating something.

"I set up a room for me so you can have your own space, so we can sleep apart like you want." His eyes study me.

"I know that, and I'm grateful that you respected that, and I know I said one thing and am now asking for another but... this is a big house in a new place and being without you all day was confusing and uncomfortable and selfishly I don't want to be alone tonight."

"Selfishly?" He doesn't hide his growing grin, inching closer.

"Yes." I nod "Just like, selfishly, I miss you."

His fingers grip my jaw and angle my face up to him.

"You miss me?" He savours the words as he says them, dropping his voice an octave.

"Mm-hmm." I hum and my skin tingles at the feeling of his digits still pressing into my jaw, I reach forward and press my hands on his cargos, flat against each of his hips "I do."

Something flickers past his eyes and his lips part. I draw shapes against the material of his trousers as the air between us changes.

He lowers his voice again "Show me."

There isn't a beat missed between us. I know what he means so I unzip the cargos, like he knows what I want as he pulls them, along with his boxers, down. He is in my mouth before anything else can be said. The salty taste of his excitement spreads across my tongue as his hands start gripping me, tugging at my black t-shirt. He falls from my mouth only momentarily while I pull it over my head and his fingers drag the cups of my bra down to free me. His head rolls back when I take him back in, focused, intentional, showing him. He stretches my lips and I moan around him and he likes this, he wraps my braid around his hand and gently pulls, extending my throat as well as his access to it. His hips get sloppier, his moans get louder and his grip on my braid gets tighter. Our gazes lock, and I love the warm shade of brown his human eyes are.

Things move quickly as he flips me over, pressing me into the mattress then pressing into me after my own trousers and underwear are swiftly pulled over the curve of my bum. I reach back to grip his hair, his breath is cold on my neck as he sucks on my earlobe, pounding into me with the energy of the nights we've missed together, and I take it wilfully, making sounds I don't recognise as he stimulates the internal part of me that is desperate for him. I try to muffle them, bury them in the puffy white sheets of my new bed but he tugs on my braid again so my noises fly around the room again.