My skin, my entire body, breaks into goosebumps. Anticipation runs through me, but Zaid doesn’t move. He doesn’t say or do anything else.
I exhale, almost panting, almost begging for more of his touch.
The edge of the dresser presses into the backs of my thighs as I steady myself, chastising my mouth for not opening and answering him. I must look like an idiot.
His dark eyes lock onto mine just as his fingers pull down the zipper of my pants. My breath catches and I can feel the tension in my stomach coiling tighter.
I’m on fire at this point.
“Alina,” he mutters. “Tell me.”
I groan. “Why?”
He lifts an eyebrow and takes his hands away from me. My body almost shrivels up from
the loss of contact.
“Do you have any idea how many reasons there were for why we didn’t get along before?” I say, my voice uneven, trying to steady myself with words when my body feels like it’s spiraling out of control.
He narrows his eyes and shrugs. “No, that’s why I’m asking.”
His hands move to the hem of my shirt.
Before I can think to stop him, he pulls it over my head and tosses it aside, leaving me sitting there in my bra and unzipped pants. His gaze roams over me and I swear I forget how to breathe.
I struggle to find my voice, my words stumbling over the heat pooling low in my belly. “You were arrogant.”
A slow smile spreads on his lips. “Were?”
I lick my lips, noting the way his eyes turn dark as he looks over me. “The way you spoke
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to me when we first met, I didn’t like it.”
He lifts his eyes from where he’s observing my cleavage and tilts his head. “You didn’t?”
I shake my head.
He settles his elbows on the dresser and lowers his head. I frown, my eyes widening as he presses a soft kiss just above my belly button. My body jolts, a shudder running through me as I gasp.
“Is that it?” he asks, his voice rough and his lips brushing against my skin with every syllable.
I close my eyes for a moment, willing myself to stay coherent. I curl my fingers around the edge of the dresser to stop myself from grabbing him.
“No,” I whimper, feeling his lips across my skin.
“What else, love?”
“It got worse when you tried to read that article about me. The one-” My voice falters as his lips trail lower. “The one that made me have a panic attack.”
He chuckles softly against my skin; the sound vibrating through me. “If I remember
correctly, I also helped you through it.”
My lips tremble and I hate how smug he sounds, but nothing matters as he pulls down the
waistband of my jeans to brush his lips over the curve of my hip.
I snap out of my haze long enough to push at his forehead, making him look up at me.
“You were mean,” I whisper, though my voice lacks the bite I want it to have.
Zaid’s eyes soften for a moment, but they harden just as quickly. He stands and grips my jeans and swiftly lifts me, simultaneously sliding my jeans down the bump of my ass and legs.
My hands grip his shoulders and I only loosen my hold when he settles me back down on the dresser.
He inhales deeply, eyes travelling down from my collarbone to my toes.
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“I wasn’t mean,” he says, tilting his head slightly. “You needed -still need to–face your
past.”
I swallow, not sure how to answer that, not sure if I will be able to stop another panic attack if I think about that day too much. His eyes trail up from my legs and they latch onto mine.
They turn into liquid, softening in such a beautiful way that I can’t help the shuddering. He steps closer, watching me even as he reaches behind me to unclip my bra. He does it swiftly with one hand and lets it go.
