Like the zombie that had found its prey, Zayn attacked her.

With open-mouthed kisses, that is.

He grabbed her so fast, and his lips struggling to find hers, and wherever his mouth landed, he planted love and affection. Desire. He crushed her in his embrace, against his heart. “You,” he mumbled as he closed his eyes and crumpled thick locks of hair in his hands, burying his nose on the crook of her neck. His eyes may have fooled him; what if he mistook someone else for the object of his attention? But no, his senses confirmed.

This was his woman.

This was her scent.

Her silky hair.

Her soft curves.

Zayn knew her all too well.

The frustration got the worst out of him. Or the best. Mind racing, blood pumping to parts of him he had forgotten since he had been abducted, he cupped Jasper’s face in his hands. The love in her eyes were there, glimmering with unshed tears, but the disappointment was also apparent. It broke his heart. Of course, she was mad. She was angry. He had left her all alone, right?

So they managed to get her too. Leaving her in the farm had been a bad idea.

God, he was a dumbass.

Angry with himself and this place—Zayn slammed his fist against the wall, his knuckles cracking, leaving a bloody dent on the wall. But she didn’t flinch. Didn’t say a word. Just glared right back at him, her chest slightly heaving. The disappointment in her eyes was supposed to distract him, was supposed to make him fall down on his knees and beg for her forgiveness.

But he was hard, straining against the soft pair of pajamas they had given him to wear.

The passion consumed his thoughts at once; she was right there in front of him, and how many nights had he yearned for her? Clenching his jaw, he pressed his tented trousers against her crotch, making her gasp in the process. She looked away.

What if this was the last time he had with her? What if they take her away from him? The paranoia clouding his judgment, he aimlessly ran his hands down her body, reminding himself—and her, that even if they were stuck here, she was his and he was hers.

He had to remind her.

He had to remind himself.

You miss this, he wanted to say, but no words came out. So he let his hands do the talking. His mind and body were grateful that she wasn’t putting a fight, wasn’t saying no to him, wasn’t saying no to the way he pulled her pants down, off her feet. When she tried to muffle a moan as he hoisted her upwards, wrapping her legs around his waist, Zayn had never felt so frantic in his life.

All the previous frustrations he had suffered through, all the pent-up anger he felt since being seized like an animal in the farm—he felt like channeling all that between her legs.

And he did.

He f*cked her hard against the wall, just like he did back at the farm outside his house, but with a little more urgency and a whole lot of desperation. There was an emotion he couldn't put a finger on, a need only she could quench.  

And she was everything he needed.

Made him feel human.



Connected to her heart and soul.

He was messy. His grunts were furious, his thrusts careless, but he was sure to slip his hand in between them to rub that sensitive, slippery bud—making her come undone a few seconds before he did. As her walls clenched around him, Zayn growled into her ear in euphoria and gratitude, and emptied himself inside her. He pressed his body against her as she trembled against him. “Ja...”

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