The Russian Bondage | Zarry

Chapter : 11

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Harry's look

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I leaned against the wall, letting out a sigh as Zayn’s lips found my neck again, each kiss hot and lingering, like he knew exactly how to keep me here without saying a word.

And yes, maybe three months of whatever this was had made me completely whipped, because I was here, skipping my morning lecture, while he was clearly on a different page.

Or maybe not even in the same book.

“Zayn,” I tried, voice low but steady, attempting for the millionth time to break through the routine.

I’d barely gotten the word out before he cut me off, his fingers sliding up my back, his lips wandering down my neck, ignoring me like he always did when I tried to talk about… us.

And, okay, I know it sounds dramatic, but I swear, sometimes it feels like he’s perfected the art of dodge-and-kiss. The second I bring up anything about making this thing between us real, he has some urgent need to kiss me, or he suddenly needs to check his phone.

Or pursuing me to give him a blow job.

It’s like he thinks commitment’s contagious or something.

But that’s the problem. I’m completely, ridiculously in love with him. I know it. And I feel like I’m not asking for much, just… maybe a sign that he feels it, too.

“Zayn,” I tried again, firmer this time, putting a hand on his shoulder to stop him. His eyes met mine, that unreadable expression in them that drives me crazy.

“What’s up, babe?” he asked, a bit of a smirk playing on his lips. But I wasn’t in the mood to play.

I swallowed, deciding to just go for it. “Don’t you think… maybe… it’s time we stop calling this a ‘trial’?”

There. I said it. The words were out in the open, and now there was no taking them back. I held my breath, half-expecting him to just laugh it off or pull out his phone or something equally infuriating. Instead, he stayed quiet, his gaze never leaving mine.

But he didn’t answer either. Not right away, at least.

“Harry…” he finally said, voice low and careful, like he was trying to find the right words but not really succeeding. “Why can’t we just… keep things like this?”

I felt a pang in my chest, but I wasn’t about to let him off that easy. “Because I’m not a casual fling, Zayn. I’m not just here to keep your sports room adventures interesting.”

I watched as he processed that, a flicker of something—maybe surprise, maybe guilt—crossing his face before his usual cool expression took over again. And I almost wanted to back down, almost wanted to let it go, but I knew if I did, I’d regret it.

“Is it so bad that I want this to be more than some trial?” I asked, voice softer now, vulnerability slipping in against my will.

He didn’t answer, didn’t give me anything to work with, and I could feel my frustration building. Maybe it was a mistake bringing this up here, maybe I should’ve picked a better time, but wasn’t three months enough for him to figure out if he wanted me in his life for real?

“Zayn… I’m here because I want this, not just as an experiment or some trial run. I’m not asking for some grand confession or… I don’t know, a relationship status update on social media. I just want to know I’m not wasting my time here.”