[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...
"The kind of love letters I write are the ones you read in bed, stretched out under the sheets with one hand between your legs." — Michael Faudet
A/N: this chapter is sooooooooo not PG. hold onto your hats and i'd suggest reading by yourself 💀
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A R I E L L E
A single text message late in the evening is enough to send me into a daze. That was the effect that Zayn had on me and my body.
Even so much as a simple nickname has my hormones raging wildly.
But then Zayn sent a message that read "I need you and that beautiful body of yours. Now." And that was enough for me to race home, change into something a little more appropriate only to rush over to Zayn's address (which he texted to me).
He even went as far as sending me a photo of his shirtless torso as he lay in bed, tempting me with low hanging boxers that expose that happy trail of his. The same happy trail that is like a fucking rainbow that leads to the pot of gold.
Jesus, did I really just make that comparison?
I stand nervously (and freezing) at Zayn's door after having rung the bell. After waiting maybe ninety seconds, I'm starting to think he hasn't heard me and so I go to knock against the wood, but the lock suddenly clicks, revealing a nearly naked Zayn.
He's standing in only his boxer-briefs, face swollen with sleep as he rubs at his eyes. I'm surprised actually that he was asleep, considering I always pegged him for a night person. A person who stays up until three in the morning and sleeps until late in the afternoon.
That, and after he texted me, I'd assumed he would've stayed awake in anticipation for me. Then again, after he sent that shirtless selfie, I was in a horny daze and ignored him in order to somewhat surprise his tease of an ass.
Always a damn tease.
He looks confused to see me at first, rubbing at his eyes. But then he smirks and cocks his head, reciting my name, along with, "What brings you by at this hour?" It was well after two in the morning by now, and I was nothing less than hungry for him and his sinful body that taunts me now as I stare at it.
I think he says it in that way because he either wasn't expecting me to come tonight, or he wanted to get together another night. Nonetheless, I'm here and I'm horny.
