Synopsis: Zayne doesn't love the way another man's name sounds on your lips. It may have been a dream, but you owe him an apology all the same. He's already lost one chance to love; he won't lose you, too.
He will, however, enjoy making you squirm a little bit.
CW: 18+, mdni. Jealousy, light bondage, gags, overstimulation, forced orgasm, light praise, light degradation, there's a phone call to another guy
Pairing(s): Zayne x NonMC; potential Zayne x NonMC x Caleb
Word Count: 1.3k
(Part 1 of a potential 2 part fic)
Zayne operates on logic and reason. He knows, deep down, that dreams are little more than a byproduct of brain activity outside of your control. But the way you mumbled- no, the way you moaned Caleb’s name in your sleep stoked the embers of jealousy running deep in his veins, and Zayne's not going to make the same mistake twice. He already lost MC to the passivity sparked by fate's deceitful strings; he won't lose you too. Whether it's written in the stars or woven through tea leaves, Zayne wouldn't trust fate with your love.
And he oh so loves watching you writhe underneath his touch.
“Zayne, I really don't-!” A gasp silences another flimsy excuse tangled up on your lips, twisted by the pleasure brought about by Zayne's lithe fingers swirling around your clit. Your hands dart out for his shoulders, still woefully unable to make him slow down. “I don’t remember last night's dream, I'm sorry, I…” Your eyes roll back in surrender, legs shaking at the added pressure Zayne applies without apology.
“You do.” The already loose knot of Zayne's tie comes undone, his other hand snatching your wrists. “I also remember telling you to keep your hands to yourself.” He cracks a smile at his work, amusement flickering in his gaze every time you tug against the makeshift bindings. “I'll ask one last time.” Zayne's lips find your neck, peppering kisses up your jaw until his teeth graze your ear. “Whose name fell from my pretty girl's lips?”
Your hips buck into his hand, but Zayne's not having it. A whine tears through your throat, the hand once pleasing you retreating from your pussy and into your line of sight. Your slick catches the dim lamplight in a perfect taunt made worse by Zayne's analytical gaze; his sullied fingers hover a few painful inches from his lips, hazel eyes roaming over the evidence of last night's dream and this morning’s punishment. A name sits heavy in your chest, but it won't move, caught by the dry knot pulsing in your throat.
“You're not leaving me with many options,” Zayne sighs. He holds your gaze, and for a brief, stupid moment, you think his tongue will lap up the remnants of your arousal. You should know better than to expect mercy. “You can tell me what we both already know,” he says, “or you can try your luck and see if you can endure the punishment I have in mind.”
In other words, you can come in the next five minutes, or experience the pain and agony of denial for as long as Zayne sees fit. A quick glance at the clock perched on your bedside table confirms your suspicions; he has 90 minutes at his disposal, and you? You're still stuck on the first of two syllables Zayne's asking for.
“Very well then.” Cold disappointment nestles into Zayne's face. “Safe words.”
The demand trembles down your back, the hem of your silk nightie drawing goosebumps over your exposed flesh. “Red to stop,” you mutter, “yellow to slow.”
“And if your mouth is otherwise occupied?”
You swallow thickly. “Sign ‘r’ with either hand.”
Zayne chuckles. “If only you’d been so agreeable before…” Like cradling a porcelain doll, Zayne caresses your face, thumbs swiping apologies over your heated cheeks. “Behave,” he whispers, “and it won't be too painful.”
And other lies as told by Zayne Li.
Zayne skips the warm-up entirely. No basic commands, no spankings; he swapped his tie for proper silk restraints and forgoes his fingers in favor of an unrelenting massage wand shoved right up against your clit.
“Keep squirming and I'll turn it up.”
Even with Zayne's legs pinning you down, you can't help but try and thrash away from the onslaught of heavy vibration and Zayne's mocking smile. He shrugs off his jacket and undoes his waistcoat, sighing over the wrinkles in his shirt and ignoring your muffled cries in favor of scolding you for ruining his outfit for the day. “Have I really been spoiling you that much?” He asks, basking in the sparkle of your unshed tears and the cries stifled by the makeshift gag wedged in your mouth. “Oh, sweet girl, I'm so sorry. I can't understand you when you're holding onto last night's mistakes like that. Does your dream taste as good as it felt?”
Whatever essence your panties once held has since been lost to copious amounts of drool. An answer paired with an apology both strain against the gag, Zayne looking down expectantly. How he hasn't come in his pants already is beyond you; the wand doesn't relent, and he holds you down at the price of his cock enduring the same torture you've been through for the longest three minutes of your life.
Zayne tilts his head. “Come again?”
Oh, what a dick.
Another orgasm tears through you, and usually, Zayne would praise you for it. You're met with a stern glare, your thighs trembling, arms tugging against the restraints digging so kindly into your wrists as you try, in vain, to warn Zayne that you're about to squirt all over his shirt and pants and to please please please move the wand so you can breathe again. Your back arches. Zayne pinches the bridge of his nose, mumbling about his newly-ruined slacks.
“As much as you'd love having me carry your scent to work, hospital standards dictate clean clothes.” Zayne fishes your panties out of your mouth. “Are you ready to talk now?”
You nod, sweat dripping down your neck and brow. “It was Cay–?” You don't recognize your voice, raspy and dry and screaming for water. Ever the doctor, Zayne grabs your water from your nightstand, cradling the back of your head to make sure you don't choke.
“You were saying?” Zayne idly toys with your sweat-laden hair, finally freeing you from the endless string of vibration. “Go on,” he whispers. “Be a dear and tell me who else was in our bed last night.”
Your eyes flutter shut, but Zayne won't allow for even the flimsiest of shields. His hand cups your jaw, squeezing until you meet his gaze. Knots curl through your stomach, guilt churning in your chest; even with his pupils wide and hungry, even with all logic and reason, you feel bad for dreaming about another man. For dreaming about, “Caleb.”
A beat of silence washes over the master bedroom. No sunlight peeks through the blinds, clouds heavy and grey with a crisp winter morning and a fresh wave of panic, because Zayne's not getting up.
“It was Caleb.” You try again, louder, taking ownership of the untameable mistake. “I–”
“Shh.” Zayne rubs your shoulder. “Relax.”
You never should've let your guard down. Zayne doesn't do mercy. Not in the bedroom. Never in the bedroom. Your eyes slip shut, tension melting into his warm embrace.
“One more time,” Zayne murmurs, weight shifting above you. You miss the sound of thumbs tapping against a screen. You're blissfully unaware of the prompt Zayne's setting up, because you foolishly thought that a simple bout of overstimulation would be enough to repent. “Say his name again,” he whispers.
“Caleb.”
Reality crashes into the room. Zayne's wicked chuckle. Your sharp gasp. The trill of your phone against your ear.
“Greedy girl.” Zayne nuzzles into your neck, smirk gliding over every tender inch of your stilled frame. “Calling for him twice in one day…” His teeth nip at your neck, breath hot, voice low. “I did say you'd be trying your luck. Maybe…” Another kiss. Another trill of the line. Another hitched breath. “Fate will take pity on you.”
Fate plays out in Zayne's favor this time.
“Hey!” Caleb's voice chirps against your ear. “What's goin’ on? It's kinda early for you.”
Zayne finds your pulse with his lips– “Say his name again.” And finds your clit with his fingers.
Once again, Caleb's name falls from your lips in a breathy moan.
Zayne won't let fate tempt you with another man. Your love belongs to him, and he'll do whatever it takes to remind you of your rightful place in his arms.
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