She was the girl who always smiled too much, talked too loud, and acted like she didn’t care. He was the boy who never smiled unless he was making someone cry. Complete opposites in every possible way—yet somehow, they kept gravitating toward each other like magnets wrapped in barbed wire.
She was his younger sister’s best friend.
He was the reason her heart raced for the wrong damn reasons.
They were never supposed to fall for each other. He teased her like it was a game, always hovering just a little too close, saying things just a little too dirty for someone who wasn’t even supposed to be looking at her that way. But she gave it right back—rolling her eyes, snapping her comebacks, pretending she wasn’t imagining how his fingers would feel wrapped around her throat instead of her wrist when he tugged her away from a party “for her safety.”
They had history—not the kind made of love letters and soft whispers, but of stolen glances, heated arguments, and unresolved tension that crackled in the air whenever they were in the same room.
It started off innocent, or at least she told herself it was.
But deep down? They both knew.
They just didn’t want to admit it.
Layla had never believed in fate—never believed in signs, omens, or the universe trying to write her story. But there he was again, standing in her doorway like a chapter that refused to close. Drenched in rain, hoodie soaked and clinging to his broad shoulders, the shadows of night dripping from his frame, Zayne looked like a walking storm. His hoodie was pulled halfway over his head, concealing nothing of the fire burning in his eyes. Eyes that had haunted her for months—burning with need, with possession, with something darker and deeper than love. Like he’d been searching for something in the chaos of this world and finally found it... in her.
She froze, her fingers tightening around the doorknob behind her as her heart thudded violently in her chest. “Zayne, what the hell are you doing here?” Her voice cracked—too sharp, too defensive, like she already knew she’d lose this fight before it began.
He stepped in without permission, his boots soaking the carpet as he shut the door behind him. Of course he did. He always did. Zayne never knocked, never asked, never waited. He walked into her world like he owned it. Like every breath she took belonged to him. Like he was entitled to her space, her time, her fucking soul.
“I told you to stay the fuck away from that guy,” he said, voice low, even, and dangerously calm—like a warning wrapped in silk. His eyes flickered with something primal, something feral, and she could feel it crawling beneath her skin like wildfire.
Her arms folded tightly across her chest, though it did nothing to shield her from the heat simmering between her thighs. She hated how her body betrayed her—how one look from him, one step closer, and she was already melting. “You don’t get to tell me who I can or can’t date,” she snapped, though it came out breathier than she intended. Her nipples hardened beneath her thin, damp shirt, and the scent of rain and something utterly male wrapped around her, intoxicating her senses.
Zayne took another step, then another, backing her slowly into the wall like a predator caging his prey. He didn’t touch her yet—but the promise of it sizzled in the air between them.
“That guy touches you again,” he said, voice rougher now, “and I’ll break every fucking bone in his hand.”
Her back hit the wall, heart pounding. “Why do you even care?” she asked, trying to sound unaffected, but the hitch in her breath betrayed her. “You act like I’m yours or something.”
Silence.
Heavy. Charged.
His jaw tightened. His gaze darkened until it was nothing but shadows and sin. Then he leaned in, his lips brushing against the shell of her ear, his breath hot and electrifying against her skin.
“Because you are, Layla,” he whispered. “You’ve been mine since the day you walked into my house with my sister, wearing that little skirt, pretending not to notice how I was staring at your thighs.”
Her breath hitched sharply. Her entire body locked up as heat flooded through her, pooling low in her belly. Her knees nearly buckled, but she held on, barely.
“Zayne…” she warned, but it came out soft. Too soft. Too needy.
His hand came up slowly, trailing the side of her neck with the back of his fingers before curling around her throat with a firm possessiveness that sent shivers down her spine. Not choking. Just claiming. A reminder. A promise.
“Say it,” he murmured. “Tell me to stop.”
She couldn’t.
Wouldn’t.
Because the truth was—she didn’t want him to stop. Her core pulsed with need, soaking wet from nothing but his voice, his scent, his nearness. Her body screamed for him. She was so damn ready she could barely stand still.
Zayne didn’t wait for permission—he never did. He leaned down and kissed her like a man who’d been starving for years. Like she was water and he’d been crawling through the desert. His mouth was hot and hungry, tongue slipping into hers, teeth tugging at her lower lip as his hands slid down to her ass, gripping hard before lifting her up against the wall. She wrapped her legs around his waist like it was instinct, like she belonged there, because maybe she always had.
He slammed her against the door, grinding his hips between her thighs, and she gasped into his mouth. She could feel it—his cock, thick and rock hard, pressing into her exactly where she ached the most. She rolled her hips, desperate, shameless.
“You feel that?” he groaned, dragging his mouth down her neck. “That’s what you fucking do to me. Walking around like a little tease. That tight pussy’s been begging for me, hasn’t it?”
She moaned, eyes fluttering shut. “Yes… fuck, yes.”
He carried her to the bed, tossing her down like she weighed nothing. She landed with a breathless gasp, her hair messy, her shirt soaked and clinging to her skin. Her nipples strained through the fabric, practically begging for his mouth.
Zayne’s eyes were locked on her like she was the most sinful thing he’d ever seen. Slowly, torturously, he hooked his fingers into her panties and dragged them down, tossing them aside like trash.
“Spread your legs.”
She hesitated, breath hitching.
“I said… spread. Those. Fucking. Legs.”
She obeyed.
Then his mouth was on her.
He licked her like he was claiming her, moaning against her soaked pussy as if she was his last meal. His tongue moved in slow, teasing circles, then faster, rougher, flicking her clit until she was a mess of whimpers and moans. Her hands gripped the sheets, body arching into his mouth as she shattered—her orgasm crashing through her like lightning.
“Oh god—Zayne—fuck—don’t stop!”
He didn’t.
Not until she was trembling, shaking, ruined beneath him.
He lifted his head, lips glistening, eyes wild.
“Turn around. Ass up.”
She was dizzy, body still throbbing from her climax, but she obeyed, crawling onto her hands and knees, her soaked pussy glistening and ready.
Then she felt him.
The thick head of his cock nudging at her entrance.
One hard thrust—and he was inside her, stretching her wide, filling her to the brim. She cried out, gasping as he began to fuck her hard, fast, like a man possessed. His hands dug into her hips, holding her in place, slamming into her with each brutal thrust.
“This pussy’s mine,” he groaned, voice breaking. “Say it.”
“Yours!” she cried, sobbing from the intensity. “Only yours!”
He pounded into her harder.
“You gonna let me come in this tight little pussy?” he growled, breath ragged. “Fill you up so deep you’ll be dripping with me for days? So you never forget who fucking owns you?”
That was it. That was all it took.
Her second orgasm hit like a freight train, ripping through her so violently she collapsed onto the bed, screaming his name as she shook beneath him.
“Z-Zayne—”
He growled, low and primal, hips jerking as he spilled inside her with a guttural moan, burying himself to the hilt, his hot seed flooding her until she could feel it dripping out the second he pulled back.
He collapsed beside her, still panting, dragging her into his chest like he couldn’t stand the thought of her being even a breath away.
Silence settled between them.
Thick. Heavy. Intimate.
Then, in the softest voice she’d ever heard from him, he kissed her forehead and whispered, “You’re not just mine in bed. You’re mine everywhere. No more hiding. No more pretending.”
She looked up at him, tears stinging her eyes—not from pain. Not even from the overwhelming pleasure. But from the truth she’d buried deep for so long. Because she’d wanted this. Craved this. Needed him to want her like this. To claim her like no one ever had.
He wasn’t just beneath her skin anymore.
He was inside her.
Body. Mind. Soul.
And she didn’t want him to ever leave.
