Chapter Text
It was addicting—this unspoken thrill, the dangerous game neither of you fully understood until it had already consumed you.
At first, you thought you were the only one haunted by those nights. The memories crept in like a fever, taking hold of you in the most unexpected moments—under the hot cascade of the shower, in the quiet monotony of work, in the dead of night when you lay beside Zayne, convinced he was fast asleep. But he wasn’t. He was thinking of it too. The same images, the same sensations, the same dark hunger neither of you dared to acknowledge.
The last night you played, you never spoke of it. You buried it beneath the weight of your guilt, while he drowned in the shame of his own forbidden desires. But no matter how deeply you tried to suppress it, the memory lingered—taunting, intoxicating.
You loved Zayne. You always had. You always would. But Sylus… with him, you experienced a different kind of pleasure, something raw and uninhibited. Maybe it wasn’t even about Sylus himself—maybe it was about the way Zayne had listened, how you knew he was on the other end of that phone, caught between rage and arousal. The power you held over him in that moment sent a dark thrill through you. What had he felt when he hung up? Anger? Jealousy? Or something even more shameful?
Zayne, for all his denial, couldn't ignore the truth either. He had been hard, throbbing, and aching as he listened to you unravel beneath another man. The sounds of your pleasure should have filled him with rage, but instead, they awakened something far worse—a craving he couldn't name, a desire that twisted his stomach with humiliation. How could he want this? How could he find pleasure in watching someone else take what was his?
Now, in the cold light of normalcy, everything felt different. The thrill of the game had changed you both. The safe, predictable intimacy between you no longer satisfied the fire that had been ignited. The vanilla flavor of your passion, once comforting and familiar, now tasted bland on your tongues.
And though neither of you dared to say it out loud, you both knew the truth.
You wanted more.
Date night.
It was almost ironic, considering how hard the two of you had worked to avoid each other.
Zayne buried himself in his work, and you had done the same—late nights, endless paperwork, missions in no-hunt zones that kept you on the edge of danger. He drowned in extra surgeries, trading sleep for long hours in sterile, fluorescent-lit rooms, the scent of antiseptic clinging to him like a second skin.
If you stayed busy enough, there was no time to think. No time to remember. No time to deal with the thing hanging between you both—the unspoken tension that neither of you wanted to touch. But eventually, you had to be adults about it. You just hadn’t expected Zayne to be the one to force the issue.
He showed up at your office unannounced, leaning against the doorframe in his usual crisp button-down, sleeves rolled up, dark eyes unreadable.
“Dinner. Friday night,” he said, voice firm. “Seven o’clock. I’ll pick you up.”
You didn’t even get the chance to protest.
“I didn’t ask,” he continued, cutting off whatever excuse you had been ready to throw at him. “I told you. You’re not working late. And neither am I.”
You blinked, momentarily thrown. “Since when do you tell me what to do?”
Zayne’s lips twitched into something almost resembling a smirk. “Since you started using work as an excuse to avoid me.”
That hit a little too close to home. You crossed your arms. “Funny. I could say the same about you.”
His expression didn’t waver. “Then I guess it’s time we stop running, isn’t it?” There was a challenge in his tone, and damn it, he knew you couldn’t back down from one.
You exhaled, rolling your eyes. “Fine. But if you make me dress up, I’m picking the restaurant.”
His smirk grew. “Deal.”
And just like that, the bubble of avoidance popped.
A knock at the door pulled you from your final touch-ups, the soft sound making your pulse quicken. You hadn’t even told him you were ready yet. Not that it mattered—he always had good timing.
“Come in!” you called, dabbing on a hint more lipstick.
The door creaked open, and in the mirror’s reflection, you saw Zayne standing in the doorway, hands stuffed into his pockets, his usual confidence dimmed by something quieter. Hesitation? Awkwardness? You couldn’t quite place it, but it made your stomach twist in a way that wasn’t entirely unpleasant.
He took a step inside, gaze sweeping over you before quickly flicking away. “You, uh… You look…” He cleared his throat. “Nice.”
You raised a brow, turning to face him fully. “Nice?”
His lips pressed into a thin line, and he let out a short, exasperated breath. “You know what I mean.”
A smirk tugged at the corner of your lips as you walked toward him, tilting your head slightly. “No, actually, I don’t. Why don’t you elaborate?”
His jaw clenched. He wasn’t one to stumble over words, but tonight was different. You both felt it. The shift. The unspoken weight between you.
“You look…” He exhaled sharply, eyes finally settling on you, this time holding. “Stunning.”
The sincerity in his voice made your smirk soften into something more genuine. “Better.”
Zayne rolled his eyes, but there was no real annoyance there—just that lingering awkwardness neither of you knew how to fix. Instead of dwelling on it, he held out his hand. “You ready?”
You slipped your fingers into his, allowing him to lead you out.
The drive to the restaurant was quiet, save for the hum of the radio filling the silence. He let you pick the place this time, and when you pulled up, his grip tightened ever so slightly on the steering wheel.
“This place…” His voice trailed off as he stared at the entrance, recognition dawning. “You chose here?”
You glanced at him, gauging his reaction. “It’s been a while. I figured it was worth revisiting.”
A muscle ticked in his jaw, but he nodded, pushing open his door without another word.
Inside, the restaurant was just as you remembered—warm lighting, a low murmur of conversation, the scent of rich foods and expensive wines drifting through the air. A waiter led you to a secluded table in the corner, and the moment you sat down, your eyes landed on the glass display near the bar.
The liqueur-filled chocolates.
The restaurant’s dim lighting cast soft shadows across Zayne’s face, making it harder to read his expression. He was usually so self-assured, so effortlessly composed, but tonight, there was something different in the way he carried himself. The usual ease between you two had been replaced with something unspoken—something uncertain.
The waiter had taken your orders and left you both sitting in the thick silence that followed. You glanced at your wine glass, swirling the deep red liquid idly, while Zayne tapped his fingers against the polished wood of the table.
“So…” you started, your voice too loud for the quiet. You cleared your throat and tried again, softer. “How was your day?”
Zayne’s brows lifted slightly, like he hadn’t expected the question. He gave a short shrug. “Fine. Work was… work.”
You nodded. “Right.”
More silence.
You took a sip of your wine, trying to think of something—anything—to say. Conversations between you used to be effortless. You could tease him, challenge him, keep him on his toes. But now, every topic felt like it was walking a tightrope over all the things left unsaid.
Zayne shifted in his seat. “What about you?”
“Hm?”
“Your day. How was it?”
“Oh. It was…” You hesitated, realizing you had nothing interesting to offer. “Fine.”
A light smile ghosted over his lips. “Wow. Riveting conversation we’ve got here.”
You let out a small laugh, more out of relief than amusement. “Yeah. We really know how to keep things exciting.”
He exhaled through his nose, shaking his head slightly before reaching for his own drink. He took a sip, then glanced over at you, his gaze unreadable.
“We’re gonna have to actually try, aren’t we?” he finally said.
You blinked, taken aback by the bluntness. “Try?”
“At this.” He gestured vaguely between the two of you. “Us. Talking. Whatever this is now.”
Something in your chest twisted. He was right, and you both knew it. Before, things had been easy. Fun. The game had been an unspoken language between you, a way to communicate without ever really having to say anything real. But now, that wasn’t enough.
Now, you had to put in the effort.
“Yeah,” you admitted quietly. “We do.”
His fingers tapped against the table again, a nervous habit you’d never seen from him before. “I don’t want this to be weird.”
“Me neither.”
He sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. “Okay. So… let’s try again.”
You raised an eyebrow. “Try what?”
“Talking.” He leaned forward slightly, resting his arms on the table. “Let’s pretend this is a first date. A real one.”
You tilted your head, intrigued. “Another first date?”
“Yeah.” His smirk was small but genuine this time. “Start over. No games. Just… us.”
Something about the way he said it made you believe, just for a moment, that maybe you could. Maybe you could figure out how to be with each other without all the distractions.
You inhaled, then smiled softly. “Alright. First date.”
Zayne picked up his drink and held it out to you. “To new beginnings?”
You clinked your glass against his. “To effort.”
The warmth from the wine settled in your stomach, and the edges of your thoughts softened, making everything feel a little lighter. The stiffness from earlier had melted away as the conversation finally found a rhythm—still careful, still new, but easier.
Zayne was leaning back in his chair now, more relaxed than he had been when you first arrived. His fingers toyed with the stem of his glass as he watched you with something closer to amusement.
“You’re getting tipsy, aren’t you?” he asked, the corner of his mouth twitching upward.
You huffed, rolling your eyes. He’s a heavyweight now. “Maybe a little.”
He chuckled, shaking his head. “I can tell. Your ‘tipsy voice’ is coming out.”
“My tipsy voice?”
“Yeah. You get… softer. A little slower when you talk.” He tilted his head slightly, watching you with that familiar keen observation, the one that made you feel exposed. “And you smile more.”
Your fingers traced the rim of your glass as you glanced down, biting back a grin. “So, you like my tipsy voice?”
“I like when you’re happy.”
The simplicity of the statement caught you off guard. There was no teasing, no sidestepping, just honesty. It made your chest feel warm—whether from the alcohol or from his words, you weren’t sure.
You let the moment settle before shifting the topic. “I can’t believe you brought me back here.”
He exhaled through his nose, glancing around the restaurant. “You picked it.”
“Yeah, but I didn’t think you’d agree to it.” Your gaze wandered to the small display near the bar—the same one that housed the liqueur-filled chocolates the last time you were here. “You remember what happened last time, right?”
His smirk deepened. “How could I forget?”
The memory played between you both like a silent film, and the heat crept up your neck. The last time you sat in this restaurant, those chocolates had been the tipping point in a night that spiraled into something you both weren’t ready to talk about yet.
You cleared your throat, reaching for your drink again. “Well, this time, no chocolates.”
Zayne raised an eyebrow. “You sure? I don’t think you got to try it last time.”
You gave him a playful glare. “Positive.”
He chuckled, nodding his head in agreement. “Alright, alright. No chocolates.”
For a moment, you just looked at each other, and it felt… good. No tension, no awkwardness—just you and him, letting things be easy.
You exhaled, leaning into your seat with a content sigh. “This is nice.”
Zayne nodded, swirling the last bit of wine in his glass. “Yeah. It is.”
You rested your chin in your palm, the alcohol making you a little braver, a little more open than you might’ve been otherwise. Your eyes flickered to Zayne’s, and when you spoke, your voice was softer, more vulnerable.
“I miss sleeping in the same bed as you.”
Zayne’s fingers froze on his glass, his grip tightening just slightly before he set it down. He didn’t look away, but something unreadable flickered across his face.
“I miss just… talking to you,” you continued, your fingertips tracing absentminded circles on the tablecloth. “Joking around like we used to. Just being… us.”
Zayne exhaled, running a hand through his hair. “Yeah,” he admitted, voice quieter than before. “Me too.”
The honesty between you felt heavy, but not in a bad way. It was grounding—real.
You gave him a small, wistful smile. “Life hasn’t felt the same.”
Zayne leaned forward slightly, elbows on the table. He studied you for a long moment before nodding, his expression unreadable. “No, it hasn’t.”
Silence settled between you, not quite uncomfortable, but weighted. Like you were both standing on the edge of something, deciding whether to step forward or stay where you were.
Then, he spoke again, voice steadier this time. “I don’t want to keep feeling like this.”
You nodded. “Me neither.”
His gaze lingered on yours before he let out a soft chuckle, shaking his head. “I miss your terrible jokes.”
You gasped dramatically, placing a hand over your chest. “Excuse me? My jokes are top-tier.”
“Debatable.” He smirked, but there was warmth in his expression now, something a little closer to what you used to have.
You pretended to be offended, but the teasing made something in your chest ease. It felt familiar—comfortable.
The restaurant was beginning to empty out, the candlelight on your table flickering softly against the polished silverware. Zayne had already settled the bill, and as the two of you stepped outside into the cool night air, he instinctively shrugged off his jacket and draped it over your shoulders.
“You get tipsy way too easily,” he teased as you adjusted the jacket around you, your fingers playing with the fabric.
You grinned up at him, eyes warm. “And you never let me live it down. But you would get the same, don’t act like you don’t.”
He smirked but didn’t deny it. A taxi pulled up, and Zayne opened the door for you before sliding in beside you. The ride back to his apartment was quiet at first, the gentle hum of the car engine filling the space. But then, you shifted closer, your knee brushing against his.
Zayne tensed slightly, but he didn’t move away.
You took that as an invitation.
Your fingers trailed lightly over his forearm, slow and deliberate. “I forgot how nice your hands are,” you murmured, tracing a lazy pattern along his skin.
Zayne let out a breath that was almost a laugh. “What?”
“I mean it,” you said, your voice a little lower, a little more playful. “Strong and steady hands.” Your fingers moved up his arm, grazing over the fabric of his sleeve before slipping down to rest against his thigh.
He swallowed, shifting slightly in his seat. “You’re really leaning into the whole ‘drunk and handsy’ stereotype, aren’t you?”
You leaned in closer, your lips nearly brushing his ear. “Am I?”
Zayne exhaled sharply, his jaw tightening. He turned his head slightly, his nose nearly brushing yours. “You’re playing with fire.”
You tilted your head, your fingers pressing just a little more firmly against his leg. “Maybe I want to melt.”
His gaze darkened, and for a moment, it felt like the air between you had turned electric.
Then, the taxi came to a stop in front of his apartment.
Zayne didn’t move right away. Neither did you. But then he let out a breath, his voice lower now. “Come on.”
He opened the door, stepping out and offering you a hand. You took it without hesitation, your fingers lacing through his as he led you toward the entrance.
The moment you stepped into Zayne’s apartment, the scent of him surrounded you—clean linen, a hint of his cologne, and something undeniably him. The space was pristine, everything in its place, as if he had spent time making sure it was perfect before you arrived. The dim lighting cast soft shadows against the sleek furniture, and the silence between you felt heavier now that there were no outside distractions.
Zayne shut the door behind you, locking it before turning to face you. His expression was unreadable, but his eyes lingered on you a little too long, as if he were memorizing every detail.
“You cleaned,” you murmured, slipping off his jacket and draping it over the back of a chair.
His lips twitched in amusement. “I always keep it clean.”
“I know, but this is next-level clean,” you teased, running your fingers over the smooth surface of the kitchen counter. “What, were you expecting company?”
He huffed a small laugh, shoving his hands into his pockets. “Maybe.”
You turned to him fully now, the warmth of the alcohol still coursing through you, loosening your inhibitions. The air between you was thick with unspoken things—words neither of you had dared to say since that last night. But now, in the quiet of his apartment, it was impossible to ignore.
Zayne stood near the door, looking at you like he wanted to say something but couldn’t find the words. His jaw was tight, his fingers flexing at his sides. He looked at you like he was starving.
Your chest tightened. “Zayne,” you said softly.
He closed his eyes for a second, as if steadying himself, before stepping forward. He stopped a few inches from you, his presence warm, overwhelming. His fingers twitched, wanting to touch you but hesitating.
“I miss you,” you admitted, voice barely above a whisper. “I miss this… I miss being close to you. Talking to you. Joking around like before.” You swallowed, forcing yourself to meet his gaze. “I’ll say it again, life hasn’t felt the same.”
Zayne’s breathing was uneven now, his eyes searching yours, desperate, conflicted. “You think it’s been easy for me?” His voice was rough, raw. “I haven’t—” He cut himself off, shaking his head, exhaling sharply. “You don’t know how badly I’ve wanted to call you, to—” He stopped himself again, his fingers clenching into fists before he released them.
You took a step closer, your hand coming up to rest lightly against his chest. His breath hitched, and his eyes flickered down to where your fingers traced the fabric of his shirt.
“Then call me,” you murmured, looking up at him. “Talk to me, touch me.”
Zayne let out a shaky breath, his hand finally moving—hesitantly, as if afraid to touch you. But then his palm cupped your cheek, his thumb grazing your skin so lightly it sent a shiver down your spine.
“I don’t think I can hold back if I do,” he admitted, voice hoarse.
Your heart pounded. “Then don’t.”
For a moment, he just stared at you, his grip tightening ever so slightly as if grounding himself. His body was tense, like he was barely restraining himself.
Then, something in him snapped.
His lips crashed against yours, all restraint gone. His hands gripped your waist, pulling you flush against him as his mouth moved desperately, hungrily, like he was afraid you’d disappear if he didn’t hold you tight enough.
You gasped against his lips, your fingers tangling into his hair, pulling him closer. The kiss was deep, filled with longing, regret, and something else—something darker, something both of you had been too afraid to name.
Zayne pulled back slightly, his forehead resting against yours, his breath hot against your lips. His hands trembled where they held you.
“I don’t want to lose you,” he murmured.
“You won’t,” you promised, running your fingers down his jaw. “Not unless you let go.”
He exhaled shakily, then kissed you again, softer this time, but just as intense.
Zayne led you to his bedroom without another word, his fingers laced tightly with yours, as if afraid you’d slip away if he let go. The moment you crossed the threshold, something shifted between you. The air was thick, charged with months of longing, restraint, and bottled-up emotions neither of you had dared to face until now.
His bedroom was just as clean and organized as the rest of his apartment, the bed neatly made, the scent of him lingering in the sheets. It felt both familiar and foreign, a place you once belonged but hadn’t touched in what felt like an eternity.
Zayne stopped near the bed, turning to face you, his hands settling tentatively at your waist. His eyes were heavy with emotion, flickering between hesitation and desperation.
“You sure about this?” His voice was rough, low, as if he were giving you one last chance to walk away.
Instead of answering, you cupped his face in your hands and pulled him into another kiss. This one was slow, lingering, filled with everything you couldn’t put into words. Zayne groaned against your lips, his hands gripping your waist tighter, his body pressing against yours, warm and solid.
He took his time peeling off your dress, his fingertips skimming over your bare skin like he was relearning every inch of you. You shivered under his touch, not from cold, but from the intensity of his gaze as he drank you in.
“You’re beautiful,” he murmured, almost to himself, as he traced his hands along your curves.
Your heart clenched. It had been so long since he had looked at you like this—like you were the only thing in the world that mattered.
The fabric of your dress slipped from your shoulders, cascading down your body until it pooled around your ankles. The air in the room thickened with anticipation as you stepped out of it, the sharp click of your stilettos echoing softly against the floor.
Zayne knelt before you, his eyes locked onto yours as his hands skimmed up the length of your legs, slow and deliberate. He reached for one of your ankles, guiding your foot onto his shoulder with gentle insistence. The contrast between his warmth and the cool air sent a shiver up your spine.
He lowered his head, pressing a lingering kiss to the delicate curve of your ankle. His lips were soft, reverent, his breath fanning over your skin in a way that made your stomach tighten. His fingers traced up the length of your calf, the touch light, teasing, as if he were memorizing every inch of you.
His gaze traveled up your body, dark eyes filled with something unspoken—admiration, hunger, devotion. He let his fingers graze the sensitive skin of your thigh, taking his time, savoring the moment.
“Absolutely breathtaking…” he murmured, his voice low, husky with want.
The way he looked at you made your knees weak. It was as if he were seeing you for the first time, taking you in like a masterpiece meant only for him. The weight of his words settled deep in your chest, sending a rush of warmth through you.
Zayne’s hands tightened ever so slightly on your leg, his lips parting as if he wanted to say more, but instead, he simply held you there—worshipping you with his eyes, his touch, his presence.
“You’re making me nervous with that look.” Your voice came out softer than you expected, breathy with anticipation.
Zayne chuckled lowly, the sound rich and smooth like aged whiskey. He pressed another lingering kiss to your ankle, his lips warm against your skin. “Why’s that, darling? I’m just admiring you.”
“I know…” You swallowed, feeling the heat of his gaze as it roamed up your body. “Are we going to do anything?”
He exhaled slowly, his fingertips tracing delicate patterns along the back of your calf. “I want to take my time with you.” His voice was low, a promise wrapped in velvet.
A shiver ran through you at his words, but as you adjusted your stance, shifting slightly, your foot slipped from his shoulder to his chest. Instinctively, you pressed the heel down to steady yourself.
A sharp breath left his lips, a low groan vibrating from deep within him. Your eyes flickered to his face, worried that you’d hurt him—but what you saw made your stomach tighten. His pupils were blown wide, his lips parted slightly, and the faintest smirk played on his lips.
Then your gaze dropped lower. The unmistakable bulge pressing against his pants made your breath hitch.
You didn’t hurt him.
You excited him.
Zayne looked up at you with something dark and unspoken swirling in his expression, his hands sliding up your legs, fingers digging in just enough to make you feel the weight of his desire.
“You really have no idea what you do to me, do you?” he murmured, voice thick with need.
Zayne’s lips lingered against your ankle for a moment longer before he began trailing slow, deliberate kisses up the curve of your leg. His breath was warm, his touch reverent as his lips brushed over the delicate skin of your calf, pressing firmly enough for you to feel the weight of his desire.
His hands followed the path of his mouth, fingers sliding up the back of your leg, grazing the sensitive skin of your inner thigh. He was taking his time, just like he said he would, savoring every inch of you, memorizing the shape of you all over again.
Your breath hitched as his lips hovered just above your knee, his teeth grazing your skin before he placed another lingering kiss. He paused there, his dark eyes flickering up to yours, searching your expression.
“You’re trembling,” he murmured, his voice low and teasing. His hands smoothed over your thighs, steadying you, grounding you.
Your fingers curled into his shoulders, your nails digging in slightly as he continued his ascent. “You’re not exactly making it easy to stand.”
He chuckled, the sound vibrating against your skin as he kissed higher, just beneath the hem of your lace undergarments. His hands tightened on your hips, his thumbs tracing slow circles, a silent reassurance, a wordless plea for you to let him have this moment with you.
“Then let me take care of you,” he whispered, his lips ghosting over your skin. “Let me make you feel good.”
The hunger in his voice sent heat pooling low in your stomach, your pulse quickening as you let out a shaky breath.
“Zayne…” His name was barely above a whisper, but it was enough.
His grip on your thighs tightened slightly, and in one smooth motion, he lifted you, guiding you backward until your knees met the edge of the bed. He eased you down, his body pressing closer, his lips never straying far from your skin.
“You’re everything,” he murmured between kisses, trailing higher, his breath hot against your hip bone. “And tonight, I’m going to remind you of that.”
Zayne’s hands slid up your sides, his touch both gentle and possessive, as he lowered himself to his knees again, now positioned between your legs. His lips traced along your inner thigh, his stubble grazing your sensitive skin and leaving a tingling warmth in its wake. You couldn’t help the soft gasp that escaped your lips, your hands instinctively reaching for his hair, fingers threading through the strands as he moved closer.
His hands caressed your hips, thumbs hooking under the thin band of your lace panties. He paused for a moment, looking up at you with that familiar, smoldering gaze.
“You’re so beautiful,” he whispered, his voice husky and sincere. “I missed seeing you like this.”
You bit your lip, your breath coming faster as he kissed the spot where your thigh met your hip. His lips lingered there, and you could feel his warm breath against your skin, sending a shiver through you. Slowly, he began to slide your panties down your legs, his eyes never leaving yours.
The way he looked at you—like you were the only thing that mattered—made your heart pound faster. As the fabric slipped away, he kissed the newly exposed skin, his hands never straying far from your thighs, keeping you grounded.
“You don’t have to be nervous,” he murmured against your skin. “It’s just me.”
You nodded, exhaling shakily as his lips brushed over your hip, then moved lower. He took his time, every kiss intentional and lingering. Your body responded to every touch, heat pooling low in your belly.
He pressed a kiss to the very center of you, gentle and testing, and when your body arched toward him in response, he gave a satisfied hum. He kissed you again, deeper this time, his tongue tracing slow, deliberate patterns that left you breathless.
Your hands tightened in his hair, a soft moan escaping your lips. Zayne seemed encouraged by your reaction, his hands gripping your thighs to keep you steady as he devoted himself to you. He took his time, savoring every sound you made, every shiver that coursed through you.
“Zayne…” Your voice broke on his name, overwhelmed by the sensations he was giving you. He looked up, his lips glistening, and gave you a small, satisfied smile before dipping down once more.
Your legs trembled as his mouth moved with precision, his tongue swirling with intent, everything drawing you closer to the edge. His hands guided your hips, holding you in place as he continued to work you with his mouth, not stopping until he had you unraveling beneath him.
When you finally tumbled over the edge, your back arched, and his name fell from your lips like a prayer. He didn’t stop until you were completely undone, pressing soft kisses to your inner thighs as you tried to catch your breath.
He moved to lay beside you, brushing a strand of hair from your face, his eyes soft and full of affection. You reached for him, pulling him into a kiss, tasting yourself on his lips. He pressed his forehead against yours, breathing deeply as his hand cupped your cheek.
“I love you,” he whispered, his voice tender and a little vulnerable.
Your heart swelled at his words, and you smiled softly, brushing your fingers through his hair. “I love you too, Zayne.”
He kissed you again, deeper this time, as if trying to prove just how much he meant it. You could feel the need in his touch, the unspoken longing that had built up over the time you’d spent apart. You wrapped your arms around him, pulling him closer as he shifted to cover your body with his.
His hand rubbed your thigh before he unbuckled his belt and hastily went to remove his bottoms.
You eased yourself further onto the bed, the silk sheets cool against your skin as you propped yourself up on your elbows. Your eyes stayed locked on him, watching as he stood at the edge of the bed, his fingers working slowly through each button of his dress shirt. There was a quiet intensity in the room, a pulse of something electric and unspoken hanging between you both.
It had been so long since you were with him like this—bare, vulnerable, wanting. The distance between you two hadn’t just been emotional, it was physical too. And now, with each button that slipped free, with each inch of skin revealed beneath the soft cotton, the air felt thicker, heavier.
Zayne’s shirt fell open, revealing the firm lines of his chest, his skin lightly flushed from anticipation. Your breath caught. He looked up at you through his glasses, his movements slowing just slightly when he caught the way you were looking at him—like you needed him more than air.
The passion wasn’t just in your bodies, it was in the silence, the slow build, the way your heart began to pound harder in your chest. Reuniting like this, after everything that had come between you, felt more intense—more raw—than anything you’d experienced before.
The heat that pooled in your stomach had nothing to do with the room. It was him. The way his hands trembled slightly with restraint, the way his eyes kept tracing your curves with reverence. You could see it in his face—he missed this. Missed you.
You let your knees fall open slightly in silent invitation, your breath quickening. “You’re taking your time,” you murmured, your voice barely above a whisper.
His lips curled into a faint smile, one that didn’t quite reach his eyes. “You make it hard to rush,” he replied softly, letting the shirt fall to the floor.
He climbed onto the bed, hovering above you with a mixture of longing and reverence, you knew that tonight wouldn’t just be about reigniting passion—it would be about reclaiming the closeness you’d both been craving in silence.
His eyes never left yours. He held your gaze as he moved closer, like he needed that connection—needed to see every flicker of emotion cross your face. There was something grounding in it, something intimate in the way he watched you so closely.
The sensation that followed was familiar, something your body knew by heart, yet it felt different this time—richer, deeper, almost overwhelming.You inhaled sharply, fingers tightening around him as the feeling bloomed through you, more intense than you remembered. Maybe it was the lack of physical intimacy. Maybe it was the way he looked at you now—like he was afraid to look away, afraid this might vanish if he did.
The passion was still there—burning, undeniable—but Zayne lost the careful vigilance he’d started with.
What began slow and deliberate, as if he were afraid of breaking something fragile between you, unraveled under the weight of everything he’d been holding back. His movements grew uneven, driven less by thought and more by need, by the ache of wanting you after so long without you.
He sounded different now. Less controlled. Breath breaking, words slipping out half-formed, like he couldn’t stop himself even if he tried. It wasn’t about precision anymore—it was about closeness, about proving you were really here, that this wasn’t something he’d wake up from alone.
His hands clutched at you like he was afraid you might disappear again, like letting go for even a second would mean losing you. The desperation in him was raw, almost painful, and it poured into every movement, every breath, every quiet, fractured sound that filled the room.
You lay tangled together beneath the sheets, your head resting against his chest, listening to the soft rhythm of his heartbeat as it gradually slowed. His arm was wrapped around you tightly, fingers brushing slow circles against your back. The room was quiet, filled with only the sound of your breathing and the occasional hum of the city outside the window.
Neither of you spoke at first. There was something sacred in the silence, something heavy in the weight of what you’d just shared.
Then, his voice broke through, low and hesitant.
“…Did that feel different to you?”
You lifted your head slightly to look at him, your cheek still pressed to his skin. “Yeah,” you admitted softly. “It did.”
Zayne stared up at the ceiling, jaw tightening as if he were bracing himself. For a moment, he said nothing, and you could feel the tension in his body—like he was weighing every word before letting it out.
“I don’t know how this is going to sound to you,” he started, then stopped. He swallowed, exhaling slowly. “I enjoyed this. I always will.” His voice dropped, rougher now. “But I can’t pretend I don’t still think about that night.”
Your fingers stilled against his chest.
“It didn’t just go away,” he continued quietly. “Part of me wants to forget it ever happened… and another part of me—” He shook his head, frustrated with himself. “Another part of me wants it again.”
There was no bravado in his confession. Just honesty. Fear. Want.
“I don’t know what that means for us,” he admitted. “I just know I don’t want to lie to you about it.”
Shock settled in first—but it wasn’t alone. Beneath it, there was some relief.
You lay there in the quiet, his confession still echoing in your chest. Part of you recoiled at the idea of reopening something so volatile, something that had already hurt you both once. And yet another part of you—one you hadn’t quite managed to silence—felt seen. Less alone.
Was it safe to open that door again?
Could the two of you survive whatever waited on the other side of it?
And if you did… what would it turn you into?
You shifted slightly, your fingers curling into the fabric at his side as you searched his face. Your voice came out softer than you intended, careful, almost tentative.
“Zayne,” you said quietly, “is it strange… for us to want it again?”
The question wasn’t accusatory. It wasn’t indulgent either. It was honest—caught somewhere between fear and curiosity, between caution and longing.
“And if we do,” you added after a beat, “what does that make us?”
The words lingered between you, heavy with everything neither of you had answers for yet.
His voice was barely above a whisper, stripped of any confidence he usually carried.
“What does that make me,” he asked quietly, “to want to see you with someone else… and to feel something because of it?” He swallowed, jaw tightening. “To be aroused by what feels like humiliation.”
There was no pride in the confession. Only confusion. Fear. A raw honesty that left him exposed in a way you hadn’t seen before.
The silence that followed was heavy, but not empty. You could feel the same question pressing against your ribs, the same unease—and the same curiosity.
Maybe that was the most frightening part of all.
You shifted closer, your fingers brushing his arm, grounding both of you. “Maybe,” you said slowly, choosing your words with care, “we don’t have to know what it means yet.”
He turned his head slightly, listening.
“Maybe we do it once more,” you continued, your voice soft but steady. “Not to chase the feeling. Not to hurt each other. Just to understand it.” A pause. “And then… we figure it out after. Together.”
The idea hung between you—dangerous, tempting.
Not a promise. Not a solution.
Just the truth that neither of you was ready to walk away from it yet.