Page 64 of All The Pretty Little Lies

"Nice shirt," Zaire said, his voice a low rumble that sends a shiver down my spine. His piercing gaze travels over the oversized garment I’m wearing – Oscar's shirt.

I feel a flush creep up my neck. "I got dressed in a hurry," I stammered, suddenly aware of the fact I had kissed him just yesterday.

Zaire's lips quirk into a half-smile, a mixture of amusement and something darker. "Relax, Vesper. I'm not upset. I knew you'd go to him first." He ran a hand through his dark hair, longer than Oscar's and slightly tousled. "Though I'd be lying if I said I wasn't a little jealous." His honesty catches me off guard. I open my mouth to respond, but he continues, "Patience is a virtue, right?" The wry twist to his words makes my breath catch.

I stand there, frozen, Zaire's words lingering in the charged space between us. The tension is so thick it could be sliced with a blade. Then, a softening in his expression eases the knot in my chest.

"I'm just relieved you've finally chosen for yourself," he murmurs gently. "You've always been tugged in every direction by others' demands. It's high time you acted on your own desires."

I swallow hard, my fingers twisting the hem of Oscar's shirt. The weight of last night's intimacy with his brother hangs heavy between us, unspoken, but palpable. I struggle to find words, my cheeks burning as I remember the tender passion, the whispered promises, and the feeling of finally belonging to someone by my own choice.

"I...um..." I stammer, searching for words that won't come. How do I talk to Zaire about this? About his brother? The awkwardness is suffocating, and I desperately grasp for a change of subject. "I'm worried about you and Alex," I blurt out, latching onto the pressing concern that's been nagging at me. "The trip to New York...it's dangerous, isn't it?"

Zaire's expression shifts, a flicker of surprise crossing his features before settling into something more serious. He leans forward, elbows resting on his knees, and I can't help but notice the way his muscles ripple with the movement. The intricate tattoos adorning his skin seem to dance in the low light, telling stories I long to hear.

“It could be,” he admits. “But, Alex and I know what we're doing. It’s not exactly our first break in, Vesper. We’ll be fine."

“It isn’t?”

Zaire stands, closing the distance between us in two long strides. I step back, my back connecting with the door. He towers over me, his presence both comforting and overwhelming. "Look at me," he says softly.

I raise my eyes to meet his, getting lost in that captivating silver gaze. His hand comes up to cup my cheek, and I lean into his touch instinctively. His touch is gentle, but I can feel the strength in his calloused fingers. I shiver, not from fear, but from the intensity of his gaze and the electricity that seems to crackle between us.

"Vesper," Zaire begins, his voice low and husky, "you need to understand something. My hands. They aren't clean. None of ours are."

I swallow hard, feeling the weight of his words settle in my chest. His thumb traces my cheekbone, a stark contrast to the darkness in his eyes.

"I've done things," he continues, "things that would make normal people lose their grip on reality. I've seen horrors that haunt my dreams, committed acts that would turn your stomach."

The raw honesty in his voice makes me tremble.

"But walking into danger to help you?" A small, sad smile tugs at the corner of his lips. "I'll do it again and again, without hesitation."

His words hang in the air between us, heavy with unspoken promises and barely contained passion. I can feel the heat radiating from his body, see the pulse beating rapidly at the base of his throat. The scar there catches the dim light, a silvery reminder of the dangerous life he leads.

"Why?" I whisper, my voice barely audible even in the quiet room.

Zaire's hand slides from my cheek to the back of my neck, his fingers tangling in my hair. He leans in closer until I can feel his breath fanning across my face.

“You know why.”

My heart pounds so loudly I'm sure he can hear it. The air between us is charged, crackling with tension and unspoken desire. I'm acutely aware of every point where our bodies are almost touching; his hand in my hair, his chest mere inches from mine, our lips a breath apart.

"I know you chose Oscar," Zaire continues, his voice rough with emotion. "And I respect that. But I need you to know that I'm here. Always. Whether it's to protect you from the monsters out there or the ones in your own head."

I close my eyes, overwhelmed by the intensity of his words and the storm of emotions they stir within me. When I open them again, I see a vulnerability in Zaire that I've never witnessed before. It's like looking at a different person - not the hardened, tattooed enforcer of the Petrov family, but a man bearing his soul.

"Zaire, I-" I start, but he gently presses a finger to my lips, silencing me.

His free hand comes up to cup my cheek, his thumb tracing my cheekbone. The gentleness of his touch contrasts sharply with the darkness of his words. “Those monsters in your head? I’ll be their nightmare. I will stand between them and you until they bow down to you as their Queen.”

My breath catches in my throat as Zaire's words wash over me. The intensity in his eyes, the raw emotion in his voice, it's all too much. I feel myself drowning in the depths of his gaze.

Before I can form a coherent thought, Zaire closes the minuscule distance between us. His lips crash against mine with a passion that ignites every nerve ending in my body. This isn't like any kiss I've experienced before, not the tender exploration with Oscar, not the fumbling attempts of my youth. This is a claiming, a branding of my very soul.

His hand slides from my cheek to tangle in my hair, gripping firmly but not painfully. The other arm wraps around my waist, pulling me flush against his bare chest. I can feel the heat of his skin through the thin fabric of Oscar's shirt, the rapid beating of his heart echoing my own.

Zaire kisses me like a man starved, like I'm the air he needs to breathe. His lips are insistent, demanding, yet there's an underlying tenderness that makes my knees weak. I taste the faintest hint of whiskey from dinner last night on his tongue as it sweeps across my lower lip, seeking entrance. I grant it without hesitation, moaning softly as the kiss deepens.

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