Smoke & Mirrors • Zarry

25. Who's really in your heart

"Morning sleepyhead," Gianna's sweet voice drifted into Zayn's ears as his eyes began to flutter open and the sun dawned in on them tangled under the bed sheets.

"Morning," he replied to her with a slight smile.

Zayn had thrown himself into Gianna the night before, literally diving headfirst into the cold, cold waters that he was initially too hesitant to touch, even with a toe, because even in their familiarity they still felt foreign, like he had been there before but suffered from amnesia along the way.

At first having Gianna back in his arms felt so strange that he almost disassociated from it entirely, but once Zayn got back into his bed with her he started to remember where he left off. And throughout the course of having sex with her it became pretty evident that Gianna was not Harry, not even close. And when he kissed her he felt her supple lips, sweet and dewey, and in a sense there was some comfort there, and of course physical attraction, but it wasn't mind numbing or explosive in the way that he thought he remembered.

When their tongues slipped together it felt good, it felt warm and inviting, but she didn't reach into him and suck on his tongue with hers, swirling it around in this specific sort of way, the way Harry did, and she didn't claw at him with savage hands or suck on his neck until it became red and raw.

And when she crept her long fingers and delicate, French manicured nails down to his cock she rubbed it gently through fabric, planting soft kisses upon the outside of his briefs and she moaned with this high, airy tone that he liked whenever she did it, but when she tugged him out of his pants and wrapped her lips around his cock head she struggled for a moment to get her rhythm with the motion, and he waited patiently to feel that surge, that rush, that fire that made his legs quiver and it nearly happened.

Nearly.

She sucked him off long and good after awhile, with Zayn's prompts and encouragement, and it started to feel great and he wanted it so bad, so he continued to embolden her, ushering her to keep going and he even called her baby girl, and told her that she was doing a good job and Zayn saw her smiling down into him when he said it.

But when it came to fucking her, he almost forgot that she wasn't the type of person who wanted pain, who yearned for his hands to aggressively throw her around and pull her hair, to command her, who wanted Zayn to make it hurt so bad that it was good, and so he instinctively ended up ramming his cock into her pussy too deep, too hard and too fast until she screamed his name so loud, and he was loving the way that it bounced off the walls, but it wasn't in ecstasy and Gianna had looked him dead in the eyes and told him that it hurt her, that he was too rough.

And she said that she hadn't had sex in five years and needed to be slowly broken into, to be treated delicately, for him to be gentle and sensual with her, and he forgot how to be that way because Zayn had gotten used to people like Harry.

But Zayn instantly fulfilled her request anyway because he couldn't allow her to feel untended to, or displeased, or to feel like she wasn't worthy of having that treatment, so he fucked her slow and steady, holding her close to his body and it still felt good to Zayn, he noted.

She was very wet, tight, her hands traveling all over his body and grasping at his muscles, his hair, gazing into his eyes and he fought to stay there, to stay lost in the ocean blue of her irises the entire time that he laid above her in missionary position, telling himself that this was love, him making love to her, that it was what he needed in his life; what was missing.

And that morning Gianna looked over at him with this dazed, satisfying expression on her face as she wrapped her arm around his lean torso and snuggled into him, nuzzling against his chest and neck and he laid there beside her, kissing the top of Gianna's head gently as he tried to savor this feeling, tried to see if he could get used to it again.