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Zayne won’t leave you alone.
But it’s less of a complaint and more an observation, and something that’s not unusual for the recent ‘official’ status of your relationship, though you suspect that your particular situation was a little on the extreme side.
It was like that meme on the internet.
No lube, no protection, all night, all day, from the kitchen floor, to the dining table, to the bedroom, from the bathroom sink, from the front porch to the balcony, vertically, horizontally, quadratic, exponential—
—Basically, Zayne was always down for it as long as you were, so much that you had gotten into the habit of checking before you walked through doorways and rounded corners of his apartment just in case you got jumped.
To your surprise, Zayne had never dated anyone before you.
Yvonne and Greyson were not lying for him when you asked, and his evasive answers in magazine articles to questions on his relationship status were less because he was protective of his private life and more because he did not have much of a ‘private life’ at all before you.
You didn’t believe him at first—because who would, with a face like that?—until he told you that he had dedicated his teenage years and his early-to-mid twenties to studying and then throwing himself into work that he didn’t have the time or find it in him to be sexual until you came along and…awakened something in him.
It was the morning after the first evening you’d had together in what must have been weeks. You had both been so busy with work, Zayne with late shifts and overtime, and you with your assignments that often had you travelling out of town for days.
Your muscles ached and everything was just—sticky. Yet Zayne was still sleeping peacefully, like a baby even, when you slipped out from his embrace and underneath the covers to take a shower.
You tied your hair into a bun and yelped when the temperature of the water was colder than you had expected it to be. In hindsight, the high-pitched squealing noise you made was probably what woke him when, not two minutes later, you felt your whole body bristle at the sudden chill coming in from the open shower door.
The discomfort is temporary, however, when a startled, heated flush strains at your skin the moment his fingers traced along the naked curve of your back.
Zayne lowered his head next to yours, standing close enough to change the pattern of the water falling from the shower on you both.
“Alright if I join you?” he said.
You release a shaky laugh because he was already in there with you, so it wasn’t like you were given a choice.
“Sure,” you say, as indifferently as you can manage. You pass him a bottle of shower gel without even turning around. “Help me with this?”
You notice that he hesitates before taking the bottle from you, and his tiny exhale of amusement because it’s obviously not what he had in mind, but he plays along with you like he always does.
He dipped his head, resting his lips on the junction between your neck and shoulder and without even thinking about it, you lean your head to one side to give him better access.
“Of course, my love.”
To overcompensate in playing nonchalant, you hum a little show tune as you hear Zayne squirt some shower gel into his hand and replace the bottle on a shelf.
He starts spreading it in neutral areas, laving it into your skin and creating bubbles over your shoulders and down your back, chartering over all the peaks and slopes of your body and tracking every tiny response he gets from you.
Soon, you can feel your body complaining at the tenderness of his touches, at the way his fingers traced the faintest circles around the pebbled peaks of your breasts and travelled down your abdomen to skim over where you needed him the most.
Finally, and when you feel like you’ve had enough of his teasing, he dipped a hand between your legs, light but purposeful, and you greedily pressed your ass against his front in encouragement.
The shower is too hot now, the steam curling and clinging to the glass.
“Ah…Zayne…” you breathe and he groaned like a man in torment at the sound of his name through the thrum of water hitting the tiles.
He sealed you up against him, letting his cock rest against the upper curve of your ass and your lower back, the tip of it grazing the dip in your spine and sending nerves skipping down the length of it to between your legs.
Your knees buckle and you have to bend forward and steady yourself against the glass of the shower. Zayne covers it with his much larger one, keeping you in place, while the other’s long fingers slipped and curled inside of you, the angle perfect to grind the heel of his palm against your clit.
His voice against your ear was gravelly and rich and barely a whisper.
“…You really thought I’d let you shower alone…?” he murmured, and you throw your head back against his shoulder, gasping as he began painting your jaw and throat with the soft lash of his tongue.
He pulls away just when you feel like you are about to come, swallowing your frustrated whine when he holds your head between his hands to kiss you, to back you into the corner of the shower and—
—drop to his knees.
“Ah, wait. Zayne—”
His lips are level with your pelvis, kissing a line from your belly button to the pulsing heat between your legs. You rise up on your tiptoes, writhing against him, but the slipperiness of the tiles underneath your feet makes it feel near enough impossible to stand your ground so he slings one of your legs over his shoulder, shifting you up against the tiles.
It’s embarrassing but you come from a single suck on your clit, your whole body contorting as the orgasm rushes through you, amplified by a deep rumble of appreciation between your thighs.
Unable to wait much longer, Zayne stood and hoisted you up against the wall and drove himself into you with an almost savage groan and the feeling so sudden and so deep, you could feel it at the base of your throat.
Instinctively, you wrap your limbs around him and he holds you up from under your thighs, driving his hips up into you as your fingernails dig deep into the steely contours of his back, already craving the release that was building fast and fierce.
You could hardly withstand the feeling of him inside of you in silence, the way he effortlessly lifted you off of him completely and let you sink down on your own, taking every inch of him every time.
His open mouth on your neck just under your chin and the scrape of the tiles against your shoulder blade has your moans echoing and bouncing off the bathroom walls, encouraging him to fuck you into the wall even harder, to the point where you are sure you would find bruises on your back when this was over.
He would feel bad about it afterwards, of course he would, but it was worth it for the look on his face, tinged red and awash with pleasure, and the way his voice sounds when he lets his groans get away from him.
You pull at the roots of the hair on the back of his head to hitch his head up for a kiss that bleeds you of your breath because of the water beating down on you and its steam filling up your lungs.
He pulls away to look at you, foreheads connected, noses still brushing as he continues to fuck up into you and the way he tells you how beautiful you look, how fucking good you feel, makes something stagger within you. Burning and bursting like a storm.
You come first and so hard it’s disorienting, and the only thing that you can draw on for strength is the need to hold on for dear life until Zayne finishes too.
And when he does, it feels like an explosion of white-hot heat travelling through him and bulleting into you. His hips stutter to a halt and somehow he holds you to him for however long it takes to empty himself inside of you completely.
The temperature of the shower along with the heat created by your bodies is too much that Zayne has to blindly reach for dials to switch the water off.
He lowers you back onto your feet only when he knows you can hold yourself up without his assistance and in spite of everything, there’s a frown pulling on your face.
He laughs.
“What?”
“I wasn’t planning on washing my hair today,” you grumble, “but I might as well now that you’ve got it all wet…”
Zayne shakes his head, muttering something about ungratefulness under his breath and offers to shampoo your hair for you as some sort of penance, and you return the favour with a little more difficulty, given your height difference.
“What are your plans today? Don’t tell me you’re going home already,” he asked, passing you your bathrobe and pulling on his own.
There’s a crease between his brows, a hint of accusation in his tone.
You look around you and at your matching bathrobes, the spare toothbrush and the shelf you cleared for your cosmetics, and the extra mirror he had installed because you kept complaining that the other one was mounted too high up on the wall and that using the step stool he bought for you was humiliating.
“I’m not. Why would I? I have everything I need here…”
You grin at him playfully.
“…I should just move in!”
Zayne smiled again and tossed a towel over your head, ignoring your indignant ‘hey!’.
He began rubbing it through your hair to dry it, appearing to do so in quiet reflection.
“Hm. I’d like that,” finally, he said.
You are caught off guard but it wasn’t as if you weren’t already considering it before.
Using the towel that was strewn across his shoulders, you pull his face down to yours for another gentle kiss.
“You would?” you smile against his lips.
“Of course…”
He whispers against yours.
“…Maybe then, we can shower together every day.”
“Zayne!”