[COMPLETED]
❝Death is inevitable. It's a promise made to us at birth.❞
Arielle is a studious young woman striving to be a chef. Her life is full of going to class, reading textbooks, and hanging out with her friends, until she meets Zayn. Zayn's an...
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➳ ARIELLE'S POV
A large warm hand grabs at the skin on my waist, lightly pulling me backwards. When I open my eyes, I see his tattoo covered arm wrapped tightly around my body. I can feel Zayn's breath fanning across my back, as he nuzzles his nose into the crook of my neck.
There's a blissful ache between my thighs, my hair's a wild mess, and though I got nearly no sleep, I feel completely rested. Last night was amazing—Zayn was soft and gentle and he was caring. It was nice to see the softer side to Zayn. I know it exists, but it's such a rare occurrence that I'm still stunned whenever it comes out.
I know last night was his way of showing that he cares about me, but I already know that. He cares enough to pay attention. He shows that he cares through brief moments of vulnerability, such as the way we made love. Every other time we've done intimate things together it was usually rushed, fast, and hard, but last night was slow and sensual, and romantic. It was exactly what I needed, and I think he knew that. And I think in a way, he needed it too. He needed to feel close to me.
Something was different about Zayn. He was more honest and more vulnerable with me. I'm sure that too much alcohol is the equivalent to truth serum for Zayn because he was saying things that I don't know if he'd normally say.
I carefully roll over to face him, admiring his bed hair, his lengthy eyelashes, his face. He nuzzles into me again and my breath catches in my throat when he makes a small, almost incoherent mumble in his sleep because it's the most adorable thing.
He's adorable. He's talented, and he's smart, and he's handsome, and he's caring. And my skin tingles whenever he touches me. I crave him, almost as if he's a drug and I'm an addict. I want nothing more than to spend the entire day with him, listening to his soft snores and sleepy murmurs. I adore the stubble on his face, and the ink covering his body, and the way he says my name. The face he makes when he's behind the wheel of his car is something I'd love to see every day. He's something I don't think I'll ever get used to, but he's like a drug to me—he's something I don't think I'll ever get enough of.
Unbeknownst to him, I think I'm falling in love with him.
I'm positive that he's sleeping, until I feel his hand slowly wander under the thin sheet until it finds the bare skin of my ass. He squeezes lightly, before I feel his mouth place a wet kiss to my chin. I close my eyes at the contact, his touch igniting fire within my veins.
"Morning, Babygirl," his voice is raspy, consumed with sleep.
I flutter my eyes open to the sight of him. "Morning," I murmur with a smile. I appreciate the beauty of his caramel eyes this close, staring at the beautiful small freckle in his left eye on the edge of his iris. I've seen it before, but it seems almost brighter this morning and I adore it.
