Bexley has family issues, but who's family doesn't have an excessive criminal history full of murder and gang association? Even with doing everything right, she's never been the favorite child. Her father and her have never been able to see eye to e...
Walking inside Zav's home behind him, I'm immediately tired. My eyes burn from both crying and refusing to let myself cry. I just don't understand why Atticus would purposefully kiss Pandora when I was looking. He even grinned before and after. It's not jealousy I feel, I could care less that he kissed her, it's that I feel hurt. I thought when we were together that our relationship was fine, that it was healthy because we always resolved our problems; I've come to realize how insanely wrong I was. We might have worked through our issues, but we argued far too much to start with. It was always one sided communication. He would never admit to being wrong, even when he had to have known it. How did I mistake miscommunications and heartache for love? "You want your jacket off?" He asks, gesturing to it. I snap out of my thoughts, nodding. I shrug the jacket off, handing it to him to hang it on a hook. Not much has changed since I was first here; that was the most embarrassing moment of my life. My eyes feel small and chinky from crying and exhaustion. I slip my Sandler's off and set them next to the door. "I'm sorry the night got ruined," I tell him, looking down. Embarrassment has now settled in from what happened. I wasn't wanting to cry in front of Zav with mascara on. "You didn't ruin anything," he says, smiling softly. I haven't bothered to ask how he got the bloody nose and split lip, but I can only guess. I want them to get along, not tear each other apart because of me. "Can I use the restroom?" He nods, pointing the door in the corner. I turn away and start towers the bathroom, the tile cold on my feet. The bathroom isn't decorated at all except for "decorative" towels hanging in the towel rack. As soon as I see myself in the mirror I want to never show Zav my face again. Black streaks stain my face from crying with mascara on. I wad up some toilet paper and soak it in water, bringing it up to my face to clean away the stains. Questions run through my mind as I work on face my face, giving me a headache. Is he still with her right now? What are they doing? Did he enjoy kissing her? Does he actually like her or was that just to get to me? Why her of all people? Why am I thinking so much of this? Shouldn't I only be focused on my new relationship, not what my ex does? Does this make me a bad girlfriend? Is what I'm feeling normal? I throw away the now grey toilet paper wad and open the door. I'm expecting to see Zav sitting on the couch, or at least downstairs, but he's nowhere to be seen. Not having enough energy to call out for him, I decide on looking around. Outside, all the nights are off but you can tell by the black black space that seems to go for miles that the backyard is large, the moon shining just above the fence in the far back. I can't help but wonder who decorated the living room, finding it very unfitting to Zav's personality, but it's very cute for someone...softer. I doubt "southern chic" is his style. Walking up the stairs, I'm thankful to no longer have to walk on the cold tile; it was beginning to feel like every step I took, they got colder. The carpet is soft and grey. There are only pictures going up the stair case or hallways. A random open door to my left gives me some clue to where Zav is. The bedroom fits him much better, everything the dark colors of black and grey. Zav stands on the side of the bed with his shirt off, the drawer to the nightstand beside him open. I wonder if I asked him who he worked for, if he'd tell me. It's not weird for someone to be curious when someone who was in prison for two years has a house like this as soon as they get out. "What exactly do you do?" I ask him, finally building up the courage to ask. He runs his hand through his hair. All the jell that was in it at the beginning of the night is now gone, his hair doing it's own thing. He looks cute with messy hair. "I sell shit, sometimes work as a hitmen, and help people work out deals," he says. My eyes dart around the room until finding him again. "By people I mean the Mexican Cartel." "Well, okay then," I say, not sure how else to reply. The Cartel was the last thing I expected him to say he worked for. I don't have a problem with it, it's what he does, but holy shit he's in deep. He chuckles, closing the drawer. I walk over and sit down on the edge, he leans down on the bed, keeping himself up on his hands that press deep into the mattress. The muscles in his biceps flex. I just not to notice too much about him at the moment, knowing what will end up happening if I do. "How are you feeling?" He asks, his eyes moving to mine. I shrug, not sure what my answer is. I'm still hurt, but not as badly as before. Some of the pain has worn off and all I have are questions. "I don't know," I mumble. He straightens up, grabbing my hand off my lap. I pull myself up, having to tilt my head back to look up at him. "What?" "Don't let him have too much affect over you, beautiful," he says, cupping my chin. My eyes lock with his eyes, meeting his intense gaze. I shift, my breath hitching in my throat. "Someone like that isn't worthy of you." I'm beginning to feel like I'm not worthy of shit. "Thank you," I tell him, forcing a smile. His hands snake around my waist, resting at my back and pushing me forward so my chest meets his. His skin is hot against the area of skin that is exposed on me. Leaning down, I wish he wouldn't keep eye contact the entire time, knowing how much it turns me on; he drives me fucking crazy. My arms reach up, my hands clasping at the back of his tattooed neck. His lips work slowly, but applies just enough pressure to satisfy me. Reaching down, he grabs of my my skirt, pulling it up until it's bunched at my upper thigh. He loves his other hand and pushes it down. The fabric makes a soft noise when it falls to my feet. "Take off the rest of your clothes and sit down," he tells me, the whole tone of his voice changing. I love how he can go from sweet to dominate in seconds. He takes a few steps back until his back meets his dresser. I reach down to the hem of my top and pull it up; thankfully, my hair doesn't fall from the clips. Reaching behind myself, I struggle for a few decided to unclasp my pink bra. I've gotten more comfortable being naked in front of him, but I don't think it's something I'll ever be a hundred percent with. Once out of my underwear, I sit down like told, my cheeks hot. He walks over until he's sitting beside me, jeans unbuckled; I didn't even notice him undo them. Were they like that when I came in? Something about the way his belt is hanging open does things to me. Maybe it's my pain kink coming into play. "I want you to bend over my lap." The scenario reminds me of a certain "event" with Atticus, only this is different. The way he's instructing me, his voice deep, but smooth like velvet, causes me to squeeze my legs together. Pulling my legs up, I sit up on my knees and bend over his lap. My heart beats wildly in my chest when his hand makes contact with my ass. I'm confused as to why he's doing this, but also don't care because I like it. The only thing is, I am nervous when he does start. He knows I like pain, he won't hold back. "After every spank I want you to try and tell me what you did wrong," he says. I did something wrong? When?! I wince loudly in pain at the first spark, feeling the area immediately sting afterwards. "I wore a skirt?" I ask. I guess that wasn't right because he just does it again, this time harder. Tears blur my vision, my chest heaving heavily. "My boobs were showing too much?" Now I'm just sounding foolish. Each spank comes harder than the last. I know my ass is going to red and sore as hell tomorrow. "I cried?" "You're getting closer, but no," he says, bringing his hand down again. A moan leaves my mouth, now able to find more pleasure than pain. "I cried over Atticus." Another hot doesn't come after that leaves my mouth. I keep myself in the same position, my cheek pressed against the sheets. He rubs over the area he was hitting. All my tears have now been dried, my body relaxing. "I'm gonna do it five more times, but I want you to count," he tells me. I nod, letting out a quiet whimper. I do as told each time, my body jerking. There's now a pool between my legs. "Sit up." Submitting, I bring myself into my knees, my ass already starting to burn. He cups my face in his hands and kisses me. His lips are warm and soft on mine. Grabbing my waist, he pulls my body so I'm practically on his lap. My fingers run through his hair, tugging at the ends. His cold fingers slip between my legs, creasing the inside of my thigh. I pull away from the kiss. "Please don't tease," I whine, knowing that I won't be able to take it. My whole body feels like it's on fire. "Would I ever?" He moves my legs, standing up and drawing his jeans and boxers down. I don't think I'll ever get used to seeing THAT either. The man is blessed. Getting back in the bed, I spread my legs before he can. I love the way he makes me feel. I feel desired and sexy, which is something new. With him I don't feel the need to hold back. He runs the tip of his hot tongue up my stomach, circling my nipple before taking it into his mouth and kneeling the other with his rough hand. The way his hands feel touching me make me want more. "Please," I beg, holding his shoulders. He looks up, switching breasts. My head falls back in pleasure. "I need more than a please," he says. "Fuck me," I say without a second thought. He doesn't waste anytime in pulling himself up, positioning himself after running himself up and down my slit a few times. My stomach muscles tighten as he slowly pushes inside. My favorite thing is watching the way his expression changes after the first thrust, gently closing his eyes and letting out a loud breath. He runs his hands up and down my sides, slowly thrusting in and out. My body still isn't used to his size, but I've gotten better at taking it. Everything in my body tenses each time he goes back in. My eyes flutter shut, my lips parted to release sounds of pleasure. "You like getting spanked huh? You got wet from it," he says. I nod, admiring the darkness of his eyes right now. His pace is agonizingly slow, taking his time with every action he makes. He leans down, trapping me under him with his arms. My eyes focus on his lips, feeling every inch of him fill me. I keep my face hidden in his neck, biting my tongue to keep from being too loud. "You like the way Daddies cock moves inside you?" I moan out loud, grabbing onto him. My chest presses against his,legs wrapping around his waist. "Yes," I answer. He licks his lips, staring down at me with a lustful hunger. "Faster." "No," he tells me, pulling almost all the way out. My breathes are slow and shaky. "I want you to feel every inch of me inside you. I want you to beg me to fuck you harder and faster and me not do it." My back arches off the bed, biting down on my lip. "Whose fucking you right now?" "You are," I moan, looking into his heated eyes. His hand wraps around my throat, pitting just enough pressure for it to be as painful as it is nice. "Say my name. Scream who's making you feel like this." His free hand grips my waist, his thumb making delicate streaks on my ribs. "You are, Zav. Fuck, Zavian," I fall out, feeling myself build closer and closer to the edge. He smirks, tightening his grip on my throat. "P-please. I need more." "You're gonna take this exactly how I give it to you." I know when he says that to stop my pleads. My eyes stay with his, knowing that if I look away he's only gonna tell me to look back. His lips start barely brushing against mine. Orgasm is more intense than it has ever been, maybe because his pace. The feeling spreads throughout my entire body, my nails digging into his inked back. "Shit," he moans, releasing inside of me. He keeps himself up on his arms as he pulls out and climbs off of me. I look up at the ceiling, my mind stuck in the middle of nowhere for once. It feels nice to have nothing weighing me down after the past few months. Zav taking my hand grabs my attention back. I turn into my side, finding it way more comfortable with nothing nothing my ass. "What are you're plans after you graduate?" He asks. I shrug, not having thought that far. I just knew I had to get into one and then do medical. "I mean, like, what do you want later on?" What do I want? I never focused that far into the future. Up until this point I just knew I had to get into a college and I've done that. "I'm trying to have a deep conversation." "I don't know what I want," I tell him honestly. He plays with my fingers, always having to be touching me in some way.I absolutely love it. "And I'm only thinking of the present, otherwise, I think I'd just be on the brink of a constant panic attack." "Then what are you thinking about right now?" His eyes shine into mine, seeming a lot brighter than usual, all darkness in them gone. "I'm really happy right now," I answer, smiling shyly. I'm going to be extremely guarded until I don't know how long. I was messed up before Atticus, then he messed me up more after I let him in; I won't make the same mistake twice with a different person. "And it feels really good to be happy."
AN: Ugh I LOOVVEEE Zav for her, so now I'm super conflicted about who she'll end up with. Next chapter, shit will get interesting again, I promise! I really hope you guys enjoyed! Question: Are you team Zav or Atticus?
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