Further On (Zayn Malik)

Chapter 8

Chapter 8;

"I'm going to get dressed," I say as he slides me down.

"Okay."

"Oh and," I take out some dresses to look at. "That time when you went grocery shopping, I told you not to give Noah Swedish fish-"

"I didn't give him Swedish fish," He says, almost even believing himself.

"Oh really?" I raise my eyebrows. "Because that's why I found the packet and like three Swedish fish in his pocket when I was doing the laundry?" I wrap my arms around his waist and look up at him.

He smirks and chuckles, looking away from me and looking sexy as hell.

"I wasn't in the right state of mind when I went to that store. Never again."

I giggle and he lifts me and tosses me on the bed.

He hovers over me with a kiss. "I think I love you too much." He confesses as he stares down at me.

I scoff. "No you don't."

"I'm like . . . so in love with you." He smiles at me.

I lift my hand up and gently run my hand down his face.

"And I'm like . . . so in love with you." I reply.

He leans down and presses his lips to mine. His hands wander around my body and we get so deep and close to having sex that I stop him. I push at his chest, parting our lips.

"No, stop." I mutter breathlessly.

"Why?"

I hesitate and blush. "Because you're going to get me pregnant again." I mumble.

"No I'm not."

I nod. "Yeah you are. I want that but I know you don't."

He huffs, "I'll just pull out, like always."

I lightly laugh. "Remember you said that last time on our honeymoon then eight months later there was a Joel."

"No, I came inside you and you were supposed to take the morning pill but you didn't." He defends.

"Zayn," I sigh pushing him off all the way and stand.

"Ever since Noah you've been denying me of what's mine, frequently." He complains.

"Of what's yours?" I'm surprised, pointing at him.

He nods.

"Well I'm sorry that it hurts sometimes,"

"If it hurts, why don't you say something."

"Because you're enjoying it." I answer.

He sighs. "Alright, fuck it." He lifts his hands in defense and stands.

I wince, "Okay, I'm sorry." I pull on his hand, bringing him to me. "We can do it, I'm-I'm overreacting."

He rolls his eyes. "No because now I feel bad. I'm not in the mood anymore."

"I'm really sorry."

"What are you apologizing for?" He holds my shoulders.

"I don't know," I mutter.

"Get dressed and go have fun," He smiles at me.

"Okay, and thank you,"

"For what?" He asks.