Zayn's Maid

Chapter 10

Perrie's P.O.V

His mouth was pressing against mine, tongue playing around inside me. I didn't want to kiss him back, his hands moving up my body and making me shiver. And that wasn't because I was freezing.

"Kiss me back, Perrie," he breathed.

I squeezed my eyes tight and did as I was told, worried he might do something worse if I didn't. He moaned as I slipped my tongue in, giving him a taste of his own medicine...along with a large fraction of my saliva.

"This is sick..." I whispered as he bit my neck, sinking his teeth into my skin,"what are you doing?"

"Marking you mine," he said, biting harder.

I moaned and pulled his hair, trying to get him off me.

"I don't belong to anyone."

"You do now."

He released me and I clutched my sore neck, feeling the warm patch where his lips had been. I grabbed a towel from a nearby lounger and stood up to examine myself in the mirror, gasping in horror.

He had left a large purple bruise on my skin like a colour coded sheep in a field, marking me as his property.

"This is wrong," I said firmly, pulling my hair over my new bruising.

He laughed and slipped into the pool again, still butt naked. I scowled at him and walked away, opening the outhouse door.

"Don't be running away now," he smirked.

I stuck the middle finger up at him before sprinting through the large garden, breathing a sigh of relief as the heat hit me.

He still hadn't disposed of the bloody sheets which had been on my mind all day. I went to his room and stripped the bed myself, throwing the red linen into the bin and tying the bag. I made a face of disgust and tried to wash my hair without being interrupted this time, borrowing his men's shampoo.

My neck still nipped slightly, the feeling of his teeth cutting me still fresh in my mind. It was such and odd sensation, painful, yet it still sent butterflies through my stomach.

By the time I got out Zayn had already jumped into the shower in the second bathroom, giving me peace to find food. I ran down into the kitchen, pulling my damp hair into a messy bun. The fridge was still pretty empty, nothing but a block of cheese, a pint of milk and beer. I rolled my eyes and picked out the non-alcoholic ingredients, laying them on the worktop. The cupboards were pretty bare too, luckily finding a packet of pasta at the very back which had been gathering dust.

He came down wearing nothing but a towel draped round his waist, smirking at me as I stirred macaroni cheese in a large pot.

"I was gonna order a takeaway but...looks like you beat me to making dinner," he lied.

"Yeah and I'm sure you've cooked before in the whole twenty years of your life," I said sarcastically.

He laughed and peered over my shoulder, nodding his approval. I swatted him away and finished my pasta dish, plating it up and placing his bowl in front of him.

"Tah," he said, digging his fork in.

I sighed and ignored his rudeness, sitting down to dinner myself. At the POG we had been taught how to cook and serve food politely, training us up to be the perfect little housewives. He stuffed his face and smiled thankfully, surprised by my half-decent cooking.

"Don't look so surprised," I muttered.

"No, no," he said through a mouthful, (which we had been taught was disgraceful at the dinner table)," it's good, like really good."

I almost felt pleased that I had impressed him...which was the whole point really. We were created to impress our owners, to do everything when they wanted and how they wanted. But I didn't really expect to have to kiss him as he wished.

"I'm glad," I said, smiling to myself and watching as he scoffed it up in seconds.