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Zayn touches all those scars, and then I see him shift forward till his mouth presses against every one of them, a worshipful caress.
My eyes close, briefly, tears welling at how reverently he touches the marks on my body, how he kisses them tenderly as if they are badges of honor.
In my mind they are.
Zayn whispers something that sounds suspiciously like ‘my little warrior,’ but I don’t ask, I don’t speak.
When he pulls away, my eyes open and I see him standing, an odd look on his face. “Not here. If I take you anywhere, it’s going to be in my bed.”
His hand curls around mine, such an unexpected gesture that is so sweet in nature that I end up following him without questioning.
If he sees the rumpled sheets on the bed or the blanket tossed on the floor in the throes of my nightmare, he doesn't make any comment.
Instead, he walks me slowly backward towards the bed, till the back of my knees hit the silk of the black sheets. His fingers brush my face, my cheekbones, his thumbs grazing my lips as he gazes at my mouth without saying anything, a hungry look in his eyes.
Why won’t you kiss me already?
When he chuckles, I realize I uttered the impatient words aloud. “I want to look at you.” His hand curls around the back of my neck. “Tonight, you belong to me, Eve. And I want to look at you as you respond to my touch.”
His lips quirk up, a wolfish expression in his eyes. “Do you know how responsive you are when I run my hands over you? It’s the most beautiful sight in the world to me.”
My eyes close, uncomfortable with the way he is describing me, his words seducing me, trying to tell me that he knows my deepest fears, the insecurity that lingers there that I hide from the world with the numerous masks I wear, and that he finds me beautiful despite all that.
“Open your eyes.” The words are a soft command.
I do, and when I see the adoration in his eyes, I want
to suddenly pull back, not ready for what he is offering. However, his fingers tangle in the loose bun I hurriedly threw my hair up in before going in search of him, and he pulls out the pen I stuck in there to keep my hair in place, and when my thick long hair tumbles down, I feel his fingers curl in the base of it, pulling my head back, not gently. He leans forward and runs his nose from my jaw to my collarbone, scenting me blatantly in what I can only call a possessive action.
“I wonder if you know what you’ve signed up for,” he murmurs, his tongue darting out and licking my collarbone before he sucks on it in a way that nearly has me sighing. “I want to mark your skin with so many mementos and bruises, all evidence of what I did to you so that every time you press your fingers against them and they hurt, it reminds you of what exactly I was doing to you at that moment, and you get wet.”
I tremble at his words, and he continues whispering against my skin, his breath hot. “I’d leave my mark on your skin so that everyone who sees you will know that you belong to me.”
Despite the fact that his proximity is making me delirious, the way one hand tugs at my hair, the other exploring my exposed body, I am still in control of myself and defiance surges at his words. “I don’t belong to you.”
He makes a humming sound under his breath before meeting my eyes, his own calm. “But you do. You always have.”
My lips part to say something, a retort, a barb, but my back arches instead when he slips his hands inside the boxers that I wear, his thumbs exploring the sharp bones of my hips.
Suddenly, I am whirled around, and he sits on the bed, pulling me flush against him, my back to his chest as he continues his explorations, those large hands touching my thighs, nearing quivering flesh and then retreating as if they have better things to do.
Feverishly, I writhe in his hold as Zayn takes his time in exploring my body, as if mapping every inch of it. I feel one of his hands reach around to clamp on my throat in a hold that isn’t restricting my airflow. His tongue follows a path from my shoulder to my nape as he sucks vigorously.
I tremble, writhe, and fall still when the hand around my neck tightens, and he says, pleasantly, “None of that.”
Feeling me give in, begrudgingly, I feel his lips curve against my skin. “You want to give up control, but you don’t just want to give it up; you want me to earn the right to take it from you, tonight.”
His words strike a chord in me, and my eyes snap open, realizing the truth in his words.
I want him to prove that he is worth it, that he is worth the gift he is being offered.
“Tell me, Eve,” Zayn continues. “Who else? Who else have you submitted to like this?”
I shake my head, mutely, before forcing the words out of my mouth. “I’m not submitting to you.”
“No?” He sounds amused, and I hate him for it.
He isn’t making fun of me, but he is poking at me, looking for weaknesses he could exploit. Giving up control to him doesn’t mean that I am handing myself over, no questions asked.
