Wow, I love you all SO much! I mean, have you seen the votes on this story? It's... insanity. Thank you so, so much. I've got writer's block (AKA my nemesis) but regardless, here's the update as promised!
I want you to rock me, rock me, ROCK ME, yeah...!
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I don't sleep.
Okay, so I do - just, not a lot. At all. Even when my skittering mind allowed me one moment of peace to fall into a state of deep sleep, it decided to kick me around and tease me by making me dream of Mr. Payne. I'd say it was a nice dream if I didn't despise the fact it didn't actually happen. At one point, Mr. Payne was growling out commands at me and I was kissing him fiercely, crushed between his strong body and the sofa beneath me, then he started to reach down and tug my jeans off but, very suddenly, my eyes flipped open and my body was aching all over.
I had fallen out of bed.
Grumbling and sore and annoying aroused, I'd taken a cold shower and found myself unable to get back to sleep, hence why I am where I am now.
Costa Coffee.
"Hi," I say to the man behind the counter, smiling tiredly at him.
He briefly smiles back. "Hi there," he says. "What can I get you?"
"Uh..." I hate ordering at coffee shops because I never know how to pronounce what I want and you've got to be quick, or else the person behind you gets grouchy and starts huffing out very obvious objections. Maybe this is just a problem I have, though, as the kind of person that will hit themselves in the face with their laptop. Twice. Within two minutes. "I'll just have a medium mocha."
I like mochas because they're practically just caffeinated hot chocolates. They make my insides warm, and their taste lingers on my tongue. Plus, 'mocha' is easy to pronounce; how the hell am I supposed to say macchi- maccho- macchiato? I mean, what is that?! It sounds like the Spanish word for machete. "Just the mocha."
"Take away?"
"Ah, no." And I still forget some of the information. Fantastic. "No, thank you. I'll stay inside."
The man - he must be a university student - rings my order into the register, humming under his breath. When he turns to make the drink, he looks back at me with a half-smile, looking way too alive for this time in the morning. "You're up early," he says. "No, you're out early. Any particular reason?"
Yes, and it's my teacher. "I couldn't sleep," I mumble, rubbing at my face. "Too many thoughts."
The man laughs and places a plate on the side, putting the mocha on top. "Well, this wont help that. Caffeine is the last thing you need."
"Oh, believe me, it's not."
The man laughs again and stores the money I hand him in the register. He nods at me as I pick up my drink and thank him, before settling into a seat right in the back of the shop.
It's pretty deserted in here; as with every coffee shop in London, there are people but few of them. Of course, there's the classic author-who-sits-in-a-coffee-shop type, the business-woman-about-to-start-work and the aroused-young-adult-who-can't-get-to-sleep.
AKA, me.
With a groan, I bury my head in my hands for one moment as my eyes slip shut. My brain is foggy and feels faint like it's turned to mush in my skull and I want to hit it repeatedly until it moves, kind of like how little kids bash against the glass of a fish tank to get the fishes to do something. Except, that wont work with me. I have to use caffeine instead.
As the low murmur of voices a few paces away colours the silence of the coffee shop, I cup my hands around my mug and lift it to my lips, taking a small, delicate sip-
"Ouch! Damn it!" My hands wobble and spill my mocha all over me as I rush to put it back down on the table. My fingers fly up to my mouth and I pinch at my tongue, at my sore lips, as my other hands starts patting at the dark splashes now staining my tee-shirt. "Jeez, that was hot-"
"Hotter than me?"
All of my muscles freeze at the sound of his voice. Of course he's here, why wouldn't he be? The universe just loves playing games with me.
I hope they're having some major laughing fits up there, the meanies.
Instead of saying something like a polite person or removing my fingers from my mouth like a normal person, I let my eyes wander upwards until they meet Mr. Payne's. Even though I am sat here with my mouth open with fingers pinching my tongue and my other hand rubbing at my crotch, he doesn't even look the slightest bit incredulous. Just amused.
And sexy. As usual.
If I had doubted for one moment that Mr. Payne looks better in suits and school attire than he would in casual clothes, I have never been more wrong. In fact, he looks down-right sinful in a pair of low-hung, dark jeans and a tight white top. So sinful that I sit there staring at him whilst my fingers remain in my mouth.
"Can I sit here?" He doesn't even wait for an answer; he just sits opposite me. The round coffee table is the only thing separating us and, for a second, I'm remembering when the only things separating us was our clothes and I feel hot - and not because of the spilt coffee. "What are you drinking?"
I finally manage to take my fingers out of my mouth and close it, only to open it again and say, "I - what? You..."
"It must taste good if you were sucking on your finger for so long." Mr. Payne's eyes glint and I swallow dryly, my eyes following his every movement. "Mind if I... give it a go?"
Spluttering on my own words, a slight squeak escapes me and my ears go pink because of sucking and give it a go and my brain is in overdrive and my sentences barely make sense and all I can do is nod and not well, not well at all.
Mr. Payne, smirking in satisfaction, leans forward and slowly swipes his finger around the rim of my mug, collecting froth. My lips part as I gape at him in, completely transfixed; he pushes his finger slowly into my drink, covering it in more foam.
In an instant, my mind is overcome with alluring, lust-driven and just plain dirty thoughts. Yet, as hard as I try, they don't leave.
Mr. Payne's eyes flick up to meet mine, dark and certain. They don't leave mine, capturing me irrevocably, as he lifts his wet finger to his mouth and traces his bottom lip with it, lightly, before plunging it in and engulfing it in between his cheeks which he hollows out as he licks up all the froth, sucking it off his finger.
My trousers suddenly feel much tighter and my vision is strained; I need to blink, I want to blink but my eyes have been so ruined by the teasingly tempting sight in front of me that I am physically incapable of it. I need to drink him up; devour him whilst I can.
Mr. Payne pulls his finger from his mouth and, with a slick grin, says, "Hm, I can see why you're so infatuated with it... Would you like to try mine?"
Would I like to try his?
Would I like to try his?
I've been dying to try his from the moment I saw him! Dear God, yes, I would like to try his. So, of course, I immediately nod, my mouth watering at the thought.
Mr. Payne, with a pleased, predatory smile, pulls his own drink towards him and coats the same finger in the froth of his cappuccino before he holds it out to me, about seven inches from my lips.
"Well, go on, Mr. Malik," he says. His eyes are even darker now, commanding and dominant, overcast with a swirling lust that pulls me in like a tornado. "Try mine."
It's times like these that make me glad I like solitude sometimes because, if I had not chosen a seat right at the back of Costa which is partially secluded from everything, I would not be experiencing the filth that is this moment - this day!
And it is such good filth.
With a nervous inhale, I carefully lean forward, trying not to jog the table and consequently spill Mr. Payne's drink over him (because if I did that, I would not be able to do this). My lips divide and as they do, my hand slowly reaches up and grasps Mr. Payne's for stability. His eyes linger on me, hot and intense, and I feel entirely too warm in my clothes.
My eyes catch his as my lips brush against his finger.
Feeling a bit more confident when I see how Mr. Payne's bites eyes flicker down to my lips, I push forward and take his finger completely into my mouth. The taste of cappuccino explodes on my taste buds and I hum contentedly, closing my eyes briefly as I suck his finger dry. When I look up at Mr. Payne again, his own mouth has opened slightly and the fire in his eyes is alive, burning fiercely inside of him, so fiercely I feel myself shift in my seat as something stirs in the deepest pit of my gut.
I lick whatever remains of froth away, deliberately pulling his finger from my mouth in a calm, gradual manner, though my insides are shaking and I think I might puke from arousal or excitement - or even nerves.
"Yours is - is good," I say hoarsely. I clear my throat and, in a more stable voice, continue, "Very good."
We watch each other for a long time after that, our eyes boring into one another's. I undress him in his seat, picturing his sculpted abdomen and strong, lean back, as a plea for him to take me to his bedroom tightens in the back of my throat. Would we even make it to the bedroom? Probably not. I couldn't. I picture myself with him every day, thinking about his tricks in bed, the way he kisses, how he kisses...
Dear God, I've not even kissed him yet but I've ground against him and sucked his finger?! The thought makes me wriggle because, damn it, do I want to kiss him now. So badly...
"Are you expecting anyone?" he murmurs. He takes a long gulp of his drink and I watch his mouth shape around the rim before knocking myself back into reality.
"No," I say, almost too quickly, "no, not at all."
Mr. Payne stares at me for a moment more before putting his drink down and, with finality, replies, "Go to the restroom. Do not lock the door; I'll join you in a moment."
I scramble to my feet and nod eagerly, quickly scurrying down the back hallway with an ache in my pants to the toilet, which I enter. I close - but don't lock - the door behind me and head over to the sink.
This is all so surreal, I think as I cup water in my hands and splash my face - to wake me up, of course. I mean, one moment I'm thinking about Mr. Payne or losing sleep over him and the next, he is there and I'm sucking on his finger or any other body parts. Dear God, when did things get like this? When did I-
"Already bending over for me, Mr. Malik?" Mr. Payne's figure is looming over me suddenly, lurking behind me, his body warmth seeping into me. Hands grab my hips as he presses up against me, his groin thrust against my backside.
A moan parts my lips as I'm pushed up against the sink, my fingers grabbing for the basin. The water turns off automatically which is a good thing because I never would have remembered, not with him scrambling my brain like this. "Mr. Payne," I mutter, closing my eyes. "Dear God..."
Mr. Payne's fingers slowly reach around to my stomach which he presses on, his other hand still tightly gripping my hip. "What do you want, Zayn?" he asks darkly. The pressure of his palm pressing against my abdomen slowly moves down until it's just above my crotch and he stops, tucking two fingers in the waistline of my trousers. "What do you want me to do to you?"
"Rock me," I mutter, trying to reach for him - any part of him.
His grinds down against my backside, his groin rubbing against me. "What do you want me to do to you, Mr. Malik? Speak up."
"Rock me," I repeat, louder now, more desperate.
He chuckles, leaning in so close that his chest touches my back and I'm about to have a fit because he is so close yet so far away, what with all the clothes separating our naked bodies... "What do you want me to do to you?"
"Rock me!" I cry, pushing back into him with a whimper. It's almost a shout. "Please, Mr. Payne, please. Rock me, please, please-"
Mr. Payne laughs again, deep and rumbling and satisfied. He pulls his fingers out of my boxers then flips me over so swiftly that the world spins but I'm sure that is the only thing he does speedily. The small of my back is now wedged in between his firm, taut body and the basin of the sink and he uses it to his advantage by towering over me, leaning down so our noses touch and his breath flushes across my face, hot and tingly. It makes goosebumps rise on the back of my neck as my chest heaves against his with every inhale, my lust thickening so uncontrollably it is incomprehensible.
We stare hard at one another; I'm flushed and barely in control of my own body but Mr. Payne looks cool and composed as he stares at me, smirking. "I'll rock you," he says, and he says it so quietly that it's like some sort of deep secret in the air between us, smokey and humid. "I'll rock you so hard that I wreck you, Mr. Malik."
Feisty excitement churns in my gut at his words and I swallow, my lips parting as if to speak - but then he brushes past my cheek to my ear and his breath douses me so completely that I cannot talk.
"And that is a promise."
I exhale shakily, slowly, my eyes fluttering closed. I feel him retract from his position in my neck and attempt to speak but, no, as usual, I am speechless around him. I try again and, this time, sound actually comes out. "H-How are you going to keep that promise, Mr. Payne?"
As my eyes open, my gaze meets his like a bee to honey. His eyes are unreadable but there is a promise there, his promise to me, and my gut tingles at the look of it. I can practically taste my arousal now.
Mr. Payne leans forward; his hands are planted on my hips, I realise as they begin to move forward, snaking around my waist. "There's one thing you should know about me, Zayn," Mr. Payne murmurs, dipping his fingers into the waistline of my boxers and lightly tracing the skin, "I always get what I want. And right now, Mr. Malik, what I want is you."
He wants me. My mind screams the words at me and my mouth waters impatiently; I need him and everything about him right here, right now. Desperately.
My breaths are short and shallow as I stare at him, hardly daring to move in case this is a trick. "Y-You do?" I ask stupidly.
Mr. Payne chuckles and, almost mindlessly, runs his fingers further into my pants, dipping my trousers at the waistline, and I whimper embarrassingly, flushing pink. So close. "Yes, Mr. Malik," he says, "I do."
Suddenly, his fingers stroke my erection in boxers and I gasp at the feel of him touching me, cool and real. The relief is almost unbearably, to have him caressing me like that...
"And I will have you, taken or not."
I'm so overcome with the ideal that he is finally touching me that I can barely function and absorb his words but, as I do, my eyes peel open slightly and, huskily, I ask, "W-What? Taken? Mr. Payne-"
There's a knock at the door and someone shouts at us to hurry up, telling us they need the toilet. I blush intensely as Mr. Payne pulls his hand from my trousers and feel disappointment floods me.
"You're not that lucky," Mr. Payne says with a laugh, something that sounds more natural than I've ever heard him, and then he's opened the door and left, ignoring the very incredulous look from the man that served me before who is standing outside the toilet, looking from Mr. Payne's back to me.
"What the hell was going on in here?" he asks after a moment, raising an eyebrow at me.
Yet of course, I only blush.
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Oh my gosh, what did I just write!? Haha! I got a little carried away... I hope you like this! It took a while to write because of my writer's block but... Well, you know. Anyway, I think you'll enjoy the next chapter quite a bit! Thank you again, you beautiful, wonderful people. xx
Also, I wrote a Larry One-shot called 'Ashes' that I have now published on here! Just go to my profile and find it if you'd like to take a look or click on the external link! It's very different from this story. I hope you like it, loves.
Thanks again! xxx