[COMPLETED]
❝Of all the races I've started, loving him is the one I never want to finish.❞
In this re-imagination of my most popular story, Arielle Hawthorne is an illegal street racer, just like Zayn Malik. Zayn's egotistical, flirty, and a major p...
"When I tell you that the ocean isn't infinite it just looks like it is, what I'm really trying to say is: this pain won't last forever, it just feels like it will."
— srwpoetry
A/N:
i know this chapter is, again, kinda all over the place but i ended up liking the way it turned out :)
make your guess of what you think the plot of this chapter will be based on the title!
enjoy! X
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Z A Y N
As I finish doing up the buttons to my dress shirt—leaving the top two undone—I'm about to grab the zip to my fly to pull it up when I hear my name being called. It echoes through the bathroom Arielle and I share and I immediately drop everything I'm doing, sauntering through the joint space and into Arielle's room.
As I do so, I see that she isn't done getting dressed and my mouth instantly dries. However, I try to be respectful, inquiring, "Yeah?"
"Can you zip me?" Arielle asks, spinning so her back faces me.
She clutches the dress to her chest, keeping it from falling to the floor in a heap. The only thing she's wearing underneath is a black thong, exposed to me with the back of her dress wide open. In fact, she hasn't even attempted to zip up what she surely should be able to, which makes me think she's doing this on purpose—part of her plan to tease and torment the fuck out of me.
Approaching her, I stop close enough that I can feel the heat radiating off her body, my breath fanning across the bare skin of her back. The curve of her spine is incredibly erotic from this angle, especially when she reaches to gather her hair, pulling it to her shoulder.
I use my left hand to grab the fabric at the base of the zip on the swell of her ass, pulling the material taut. Grabbing the fastener in my right hand, I begin the ascent, purposefully going slow in my movement. Her back is her turn on spot and I deliberately drag my knuckle along her skin, smirking in triumph as she squirms lightly, goosebumps appearing across her flesh.
As I reach the top of the zip—just between her shoulder blades—I lean forward to press a lingering kiss to the space at the base of her neck. She smells so good, looks so fucking beautiful as always, that it's hard as fuck to pull away.
