Zayn blanches, regret replacing the righteous anger. “I’m sorry, okay? I’m sorry for what happened Friday night and everything before.”

“No, it’s not okay. None of what happened at Grim’s club was okay. None ofthisis okay,” I say pointing between us, wanting more than anything to turn back time and change what happened.

But I can’t.

I can’t change anything.

Our past is set in stone and our friendship is buried beneath the soil of our distrust and the tears of our heartbreak. There’s a whole fucking graveyard filled with the death of our friendship. I back away from Zayn, almost tripping over my own feet in my haste to get away. “I can’t do this anymore. I fucking can’t.”

“Can’t do what, Pen?” Zayn asks, crowding me. He forces me backwards until my back hits the wall. “I’m not letting this go,” he says emphatically, grasping my head in his hands. His gaze searches mine like he’s trying to uncover all my secrets with that one look. I can smell his expensive aftershave overshadowed a little by the metallic scent of blood and two days of wearing the same clothes. I don’t hate it. I don’t hate him.

How can I when I still love him despite it all?

“Fuck, Pen. Just talk to me. Give me something at least. Make me understand.”

His breath is warm against my skin, his fingers tight against my scalp and his body flush against mine. I can’t breathe with him so close to me, taking up my personal space with his presence. It’s too fucking much. “There’s nothing to tell.”

“Pen, goddamn it, don’t you dare shut down now. Give me something, anything. It’s important.”

“Why?”

“Please, Pen.”

Our gazes clash, our breath mingles, and I get the distinct impression that Zayn isn’t a man who pleads very often, that he doesn’t beg for anything. I’m not sure if it’s because he’s showing a more vulnerable side, the absolute misery in his gaze—or the fact that I’ve missed his touch,him, so much—but I give him the only thing I can in the moment.

My kiss.

My lips smash against his as I grip hold of the lapels of his jacket and yank him close. I kiss him in anger and with love. I kiss him with fierceness and hurt. I kiss him with longing and loathing. This kiss isn’t a white flag of truce. This kiss is meant to distract, to disarm. I can’t give him the answers he seeks, but I can give him something to think about. After a beat, he kisses me back. He presses his body against mine, lifts me up beneath my thighs and traps me against the wall. His stubble scratches against my skin, but I don’t care.

We kiss in a way that opens old wounds.

Our tongues mine the depths of our past, our hurt. Our kiss unearths our memories, hunting for the friendship we once shared, digging deep as our teeth clash and our tongues duel. There’s no holding back with this kiss, and despite my intentions, I fall into it headfirst, searching for what we once had. Zayn’s moans mingle with mine and the noises we make are nothing short of erotic. This kiss is filthy in the best possible way, it’s wet and torrid and insanely hot. Instinctively, my legs tighten around Zayn’s back, my core pressing against his lower abs. I jerk my hips, trying to ease the intense throb there but when he grunts in pain, I’m reminded of the wound to his torso and pull back sharply.

“Fuck, Zayn—” I say against his lips, but he shuts me up with his mouth, refusing to let reality settle back in and presses me harder against the wall, propping me up so that he can reach between us. His fingers slide beneath the waistband of my joggers and knickers, and his whole hand cups my mound. He just holds me there, the heel of his palm pressing against my clit that throbs beneath his hand. I don’t push him away.

Iwanthis touch.

Iwanthis kiss.

Iwanthis fucking attention.

On Friday I’d refused to lean into his kiss. It was a conscious move on my part. To not give in that way. Today I kiss him not because I’m weak, but because I’m strong. I am the master of my own fate, my own decisions. I’m done feeling like I have no control, and I want that back. I want Zayn back. Rightly or wrongly, I crave him.

If sorry is a sticking plaster over the wound in my heart, then this kiss and his touch is a bandage. I feel it wrapping around the wound, stemming the flow of blood in an attempt to heal the pain. In the moment, nothing but the way he tastes, the way he feels, is important. I rock into his hand, pressing against his palm. I’m slick with heat, with want, with need, and as his finger rims my entrance lighting me up from the inside out, I weep for him, forthis.

My pussy fucking cries out for his touch as tears slide down my cheeks. I cry with relief and with new beginnings. At least that’s what I dare to hope.

“Pen,” he laments as we both taste the saltiness of my tears. The sound of my name on his lips is different, it’s reverent,lovingin a way I haven’t heard for three years. It sounds like grief, sorrow, pain, but also hope, joy and the start of something new.

As he rubs the pad of his thumb gently over my clit and kisses me with hunger, an orgasm builds at the base of my spine. Our tongues duel and his fingers rub against me expertly. I mewl into his mouth and he growls into mine, until the years apart fall away and we’re just two best friends planting that first seed of love with touch and kisses and ecstasy. I can feel that promise, thathopegrowing inside of me. I can feel it pushing up against the dirt and the grime of our bad choices. I can feel it reaching for sunlight, for a chance to flourish, and despite everything, I let it, because what am I if not a girl desperate for this boy to love her again?

Zayn’s finger hooks inside, pressing against that tender spot within me whilst his thumb circles my clit delicately. His tongue laps at my mouth, sucking my tongue into his and the groan he makes as I flood his hand makes me want to rip off his clothes and fuck him right here on the hardwood of the studio floor.

“Come, Pen,” he growls against my mouth whilst his fingers fuck me into oblivion.

So I come.

I come on Zayn’s hand, his fingers deep inside me.

I come with his chipped tooth biting into my bottom lip.

I come with a warmth in my heart that I haven’t felt in a long, long time.

I come undone, and Zayn… Zayn holds me until I’m spent.