•HER POV•
// FIVE MONTHS LATER. //
I've been lonely before, I never minded being lonely.
For the last 5 months I've been in my house. And not the one I used to live in.
Though, as Zayn promised me, he helped me setting up a gallery for my paintings, he didn't attend though. it was successful, I sold all of them and I got money to get my old my house back, but it reminded me too much of Zayn, so I bought a little cozy flat in NewYork, somewhat to be closer to him.
Supposedly I should be happy but I'm not. I've been depressed. I've been feeling awful —awful beyond all— but I never felt that one other person could enter that room and cure what was bothering me...or that any number of people could enter that room. In other words, loneliness is something I've never been bothered with because I've always had this terrible itch for solitude. It's being at a party, or at a stadium full of people or whatever else crowded place.
It's stupidity. Stupid people mingling with stupid people. Let them stupidify themselves. I've never been bothered with the need to rush out into the streets and see people's faces. I kept on hiding in my house, I'm the best form of entertainment I have. Let's drink more wine!
I pour some more wine into my glass and continue to paint.
Painting has seemed to be my only distraction -not really since I end up painting Zayn in most cases- but I still love painting the same, it even grew more.
There is something beautiful about a blank canvas, the nothingness of the beginning that is so simple and breathtakingly pure. It's the paint that changes its meaning and the hand that creates the story. Every piece begins the same, but in the end they are all uniquely different.
Breaking my thoughts stream, I look at the piece I just made, i painted him ..again. I find him in the curves of certain lines, in the loveliness and subtleties of certain colours.
I groan. I miss him so much.
I feel empty without him, I miss his affectionate moments, they were little but I miss them, I hate waking up and not finding him there. Some people are afraid to go to sleep alone. I'm afraid of waking up, never knowing whether the new day is going to greet me with an empty bed, and no one there to hold me.
I fear that I'll never be over him, but to hear that he's doing good is enough for me, yeah he's not with me but he was never with me to start with.
Heard he's in NYC currently, He looks happy with Valentina, I'm content for him. but it hurts me every day.
I huff and shake my head, I decided that's it's enough painting for today, Imma take a shower and sleep.
*****
After showering, I set on the bed and pick up the new magazine I got today in the mail, Zayn was on the cover of it. He looks absolutely gorgeous. the sight of his dark, disheveled hair, eyes glinting with longing, a deep smirk oh his face that been craved by God himself, the gorgeous spread of his shoulders, tapering down to the sexy narrowing of his hips, it all made my ovaries ache deep in my belly.
I feel a tsunami of desire swamp me. I track the outline of his body on the piece of paper, imagining his muscular body pressing hard against mine, I move my hand over my mound, pressing my thumb into my abdomen, the same way Zayn would do it, fingers moving lightly and slowly as they move; teasing myself the way Zayn would.
One hand obediently holding up my skirt while the other stroke delicately in my panties. Illuminated by the soft light over the vanity, my image in the mirror was a column of cream, from my face to my feet, the only break my flaming hair, my flushed cheeks and my now swollen lips –from biting– and the carnal vision of Zayn's tanned hand possessively casual against my mound as I pleasure myself to the thought of him.
There wasn't time for a slow, sensual build, so I use my index and middle fingers and press-rub either side of my clit, my body trembling in time to the spasms contracting my inner muscles.
I close my eyes and moan, "Nice, beautiful," I imagine Zayn rasping in my ear, as I apply harder pressure on myself.
My head drops back against the headboard as a desperate little sob escapes from my throat.
I wet my finger, run it up the lips of my pussy and imagine it's his tongue, wetting the wings of my labia, feeling them flutter and spread, circling my clit and flicking it. Blood rushes to my head, to my clit. I feel dizzy.
In my head, He starts to kiss me, softly, sweetly, tugging at my lips with his.
He cups my breast, brushes the nipple with his thumb.
I reach down and stroke myself where all the sweat gathers, where the smell of my sex is strongest. I stroke it and then lick my fingers and stroke it some more.
He gently bites my top lip, sucks it. Tugs at my nipple, rolling it between his thumb and forefinger.
I feel it harden.
I feel him harden.
I feel myself getting wet.
I imagine the head of his cock bouncing against my thigh as he crawls over me, positioning himself above me, poised to enter. And I turn on my side to accommodate him, bending the top leg at the knee, to give him a clear view my private parts.
He takes his cock in his hands, guides it towards my pussy, where the wetness gathers. He pushes into it, just enough to wet the tip. Pulls out and slides the head up the pussy, making me slick with my own juices.
He pushes into me again, just enough to bury the tip. And holds it there. Not in, not out. Just waiting. Teasing; Zayn's favorite part of the sex.
And my finger probes around my pussy, scooping up my juice and spreading it up towards my clit, wetting it, brushing it, feeling it throb.
He pushes into me.
I push a finger into me. And moan.
His cock stretches pussy. And I feel it close around the head.
Three fingers now.
And he slides his length in slowly. Teasing. He slides in all the way until he's pressing against my pelvis. I can feel him hard, pressing against my wall. And he holds it there.
Teasing.
I'm up to the joint now, and moving towards the knuckle, sinking my fingers as deep as they will go. My fingers are slick with juice, thick and sticky, and white as snow.
He shifts his weight, rotates his hips slightly, like he's piloting a ship, inching the wheel around so the rudder shifts. And I can feel his cock move inside me, brushing ever so slightly against the soft fleshy wall.
And suddenly I can feel that I'm about to come. I can feel a surge building up inside me and I can't stop it. I don't want to. I want to be overwhelmed. I can feel him inside me and I want to come.
And as I come, I call out his name. Because I want him to hear, even though he's not there.
****
After cleaning myself up after that, I couldn't sleep, so I'm just setting in front of the fireplace and overthink, as usual.
I'm thinking...physical attraction that strong is addictive. And knowing that kind of magic isn't just a fantasy makes me want to find it again. That's what Zayn definitely felt toward me, but I fell in love with him.
But what if I get back to him? Just offering my body, with no feelings attached? Would he still want me? But what about being with someone who makes me a better person? What about sharing my life with someone who adores me as much as I adore him, whom I can always count on, who helps me find my way when I'm lost? I should really get over him.
Or I could do that... I hear my subconscious yelling at me for it being a pussy move and that's wrong on so many levels, the sane part of me agrees—which is a little part—, but the bigger part of me, the insane one is shouting yes.
I smirk evilly, Guess who's getting a surprise visit tomorrow.
---///---
Well hello 🌚
I'm hopefully double updating tonight! Last chapter is next ☹️
What do you guys think the "it" thing is? 😜
Is zoura about to rise? 🙀
So here's the deal, I'll write the last chap now, but I want at least 25 votes rn to publish it faster, or else you could wait for next week when it gets like 60 votes, hehe I'm truly evil.
So yeah vote and COMMENT, Lol love y'all tho 😽
Shay xo 💋