#tr10.5

Taking out pins and breathing.

That was my focus. For now, anyway.

My head hurt from how tightly my hair had been pulled back; but, I guess that was some of its magic. After all, my hairdresser had promised me that not only would the intricacy of her work make me look good during the ceremony, but also have my hair ready for my post-formal activities.

I kid you not.

God. My hairdresser. What had my life become? Since when did I have hairdressers? The last time I’d checked, I hadn’t even brushed my hair properly.

It still hadn’t hit home. And it kind of felt like it never would. I mean, I was marrying –

No. Wait. Pause.

Married.

I was married.

Argh.

Pins, Soph. Pins.

I slowly pulled one out from the bottom roots of my hair, wincing as it pulled. My reflection winced too. Ha. My reflection. The person in the mirror couldn’t be me. Please.

Everything felt... So... Surreal. Just... Everything. I’d had the Conde Nast photographers take pictures of me getting ready; wasn’t that strange enough? And then marrying Zayn. Zayn Malik. Of One Direction.

And if that wasn’t enough, there was... Me.

I looked so... Different. Or, the girl in the mirror did. She looked so calm and collected and... Well, hot. Flushed cheeks, red lips, big brown eyes. Awake brown eyes. Hadn’t I been exhausted a few hours ago? To the point where I’d thought I was going to pass out halfway during a picture?

Oh, right, sorry; that was before Zayn had kissed me.

Oh God, Zayn kissing me.

And there it was. The nausea.

I pulled out a couple more pins, focusing on pulling them out without taking out chunks of my hair. Not that it was budging. It would take me hours to get my hair undone.

But Zayn kissing me.

I – he – a part of me wanted to freak out and demand who the Hell randomly kissed people like that, against walls. Then again, really, my defensive side should have seen it coming. I mean, now Zayn had the power of my hormones at his disposal, I was in a constant warzone.

But the rest of me...

Was this the Mrs Malik part? Because it felt that way. Sure, I guess, having never been kissed before, I didn’t have much to compare it to – but Mrs Malik... Well, when her husband had kissed her...

I couldn’t even think about it without my heart hammering and my mouth going dry. My knees had gone weak, my heart had started thrumming so quickly in my chest it had felt like it wasn’t even beating anymore and my useless arms had finally managed to hold onto Zayn’s biceps (his biceps, though) for support, as I’d finally realized what was happening.

But dear God, that kiss.

There hadn’t been anymore. The wedding portraits had been excruciatingly painful to pose for; I’d had to stand so close and every five seconds, Zayn would look at me with that goddamn smirk that had me knowing he was looking forward to one certain thing.

The sex.

Even thinking it – was it normal to feel this kind of queasiness? I’d left the windows open, deliberately. I didn’t want any sweating.

You’ll be sweating later anyway.

Pins, pins, pins!

We were in the Harlequin Suite of the Dorchester; we hadn’t actually left when everybody had seen us off, just detoured around the block until they managed to empty out the guests. Saying goodbye to everyone hadn’t been as painful as I’d thought, but not as easy, either; I’d held onto Adam for a little too long.

But then he’d told me he’d already had his first few Sex Ed lessons at school and that he would prefer if he was allowed to ignore that general part of my anatomy and what I’d be doing tonight.

It had been easier to not cry, after that. In fact, the struggle had been to not slap him upside his head and beg him to take me with him.

After the pictures, we’d had to go back inside and eat dessert and listen to everybody congratulate us and deal with more traditions. Well, Zayn had to and even though it was pretty funny at times, I think Zahra and the girls were having a little bit too much fun with getting money out of him. And flirting as much as they could before the marriage was consummated, despite the rolling cameras.

Consummated was such an ugly word.

Then again, there were worse.

He’d traced patterns on my palm, under the table, the entire way through dessert. I knew it was deliberate. To keep me... Frazzled.

But I couldn’t believe it worked; and that I was letting him.

Was this what being a couple meant? Handsies under the table, stolen kisses in dark rooms?

Because although good old Soph was freaking out, Mrs Malik was loving it.

Why did I feel like two different people?! This wasn’t normal!

I pulled out more pins, strands of hair falling past my shoulders. I’d taken off my gold; I’d unpinned my heavy scarf. I still had the dark red henna marks on my hands – they’d last a good few weeks – and the deep red nails, but other than that, the only thing standing between me and me dying of cardiac arrest, was a very heavy skirt and low-cut blouse. Not too low-cut, though. Obviously. But it showed my neck bare and it felt... Vulnerable, for some reason.

I mean, your jugular is a part of your body that exposes your entire living. And there mine was. Exposed. Open.

To Zayn.

This was all much too metaphorical for my liking. Ah, the pains of an honorary degree in English Literature from Cambridge University; I found poetry in everything, whether I wanted to or not. That and Rose’s psychology degree.

My face looked so calm in the mirror – or rather, Mrs Malik did. How could I look so calm on the outside, when on the inside, I was having a heart attack?

Was Christmas really so long ago? It didn’t feel that way. I’d been freaking out so much about tonight, even then, and now it was here, I felt... Well, nervous and scared and I guess sort of excited (or more than, for Mrs Malik), but... Different. Was it weird to feel this different?

When would I stop asking myself rhetorical questions that nobody had the answer to, certainly not myself?

Zayn was talking to the boys and Rose downstairs, and I’d be downright stupid if I didn’t acknowledge they were probably discussing me. Giving pointers, that sort of thing. I wondered how much Rose was telling/threatening him.

He’d be here soon.

As it happened, here was the top floor of the hotel, and the largest suite. We could move in here, for the space (and probably feed a country, for the price we were probably paying. Though I guess, I wasn’t really paying for anything. Hadn’t I once, long ago, been taught to ponder whether women felt obligatory to have sex with men after they spent money on them? And consider whether that was prostitution? Why was I thinking about this now?). We had our own living room, dining room, balcony and bar – not that it would be of much use.

Not to mention, the master bedroom.

The one master bedroom.

Though you probably guessed that from the word “master”.

Why wasn’t he back yet?

Why did I want him to be back yet?

A part of me just seriously wanted this over and done with, quickly, preferably with as little pain involved as possible. It... I mean, the build-up was killing me.

Rose had given me one Hell of a pep-talk, in my last appearance check before take off aka leaving. About... Tonight and people and... Stuff.

One thing she’d mentioned was how it would be over much too quickly. I tried to disagree and point out that it was going to be humiliatingly long and awkward (on my novice part), despite Rose laughing at me and shaking her head. But those were her experiences. I mean, she was no slut, but compared to me Rose may as well be a sex god – not that it’d be hard, compared to my absolutely zero experience. Not even little experience. Zero experience.

Oh my God, what if Zayn was secretly some kinky freak who liked to tie people up and suspend them from the ceiling and beat them as a way of getting off?

Why hadn’t I considered this problem before?

I was not being suspended from the ceiling, that was to be said right now. No way. No fucking way. I’d been having a coronary all evening in the heels I’d been wearing, scaring me from being too high off the ground, let alone some creeper who I’d just married swinging me from the chandelier.

I let out a shaky breath and my reflection turned back to Soph for a minute; freaking out, stressed and panicky, as I should be.

But then Mrs Malik had to make an appearance, of course, and square my shoulders.

Pins. Jesus, whose idea was it to make bobby pins so nifty, anyway?

Another deep breath, inhaling this time, and back to gently pulling hair pins out. God, of course only now would I remember my hatred for these things.

Most of them were out now. It was just the sneaky invisible ones that I needed to find.

So, just as I tilted my head to the side and tried to gently pull one out without my eyes watering from the sting as it pulled at my hair, the door opened.

And there he was.

And as our eyes met through my reflection, we both froze.

No, froze doesn’t sound right. We both just... Stopped. I know my heart did.

His stubble was coming back – he’d shaved for the nikah ceremony. And he was all tanned – well, not really, but you know what I mean. And he was slowly biting on his bottom lip as he watched me through my reflection.

“Hey.” Zayn gave me a small, tentative smile and I think I died.

“Hey.” I tried to give him one back, but it came across just as false and nervous as it truly was. Insert awkward cough and turning away here.

When he shut the door and quietly locked it, it sounded really, really loud.

I winced, tugging on that pin. My hair felt too smooth and silky to be mine.

I was also having what felt like a very nauseating experience right now, but never mind.

Why was he watching me like that?

“Want a hand?” Zayn offered, his face giving nothing away. Why was his expression so blank? Was it meant to be that blank? And why was he staring? “With the pins.”

“Oh.” My heart was beating too fast. Much too fast. “Oh – I, um – I mean, ye- yes, no, I’m fi-” The words died on my tongue as Zayn straddled the stool I was sitting on, behind me, my back pressed against his chest.

I closed my eyes. Breathing, Soph. Breathing is good.

I felt my chest rise, but not fall, holding my breath as Zayn pushed all of my hair to one side. Silently, he started gently pulling out the lost pins, setting them on the growing pile on the dresser.

It was so quiet. All I could hear was my quiet breathing.

I glanced up, and my gaze caught Zayn’s in the mirror. And my breath caught again.

Maybe I should have, I don’t know, done yoga or something before tonight.

He just... Watched me. And it was so dimly lit in the room – I’d only put the side lamp on, because that had been all I needed. But now, it wasn’t just practical anymore, the shaded light. It was... Something else.

I looked away first, Zayn pausing for a few moments, before going back to helping me. I held my hand out for the pins he was holding, his arm skimming up my naked arm once I’d taken them. I gripped the stool edge. He was – oh, he was being so – urgh!

I don’t know how long we kept doing that, Zayn just helping me pull out my hair, his fingers softly brushing the skin of my neck as he did. I’d say it was accidental, but... Well, I don’t think it was. And I was getting serious goosebumps. And it wasn’t helping that he just kept... Watching me.

It was just as I was starting to feel my pulse finally calm down, that I felt his lips on the back of my neck.

I couldn’t stop myself. I’m sorry, but I couldn’t.

I breathed out slowly, my eyes closing as I tipped my head back, Zayn cradling my neck as he kissed it. I closed my eyes, my back straightening against his chest. His lips felt so warm and soft and...

Screw Mrs Malik, this had to be all me.

Screw Mrs Malik? That’s exactly what he’s going to do.

“Oh.” I breathed, as his lips started slowly moving up my neck to just under my earlobe. That felt... That felt... Good. “Oh.” His arm was winding around my waist, keeping me firmly pressed against him, my head resting on his shoulder as he kissed – sucked! – on my neck, his fingers twisting with mine.

I couldn’t – breathe...

Zayn stopped as his lips reached my cheekbone, his breath on my face.

“Soph.” Zayn murmured.

I turned my face from his shoulder to look up at him. This was it. The... Moment, the pivotal point. The catalyst for how the rest of the evening was about to go.

His lips looked so soft.

And gently, he pressed them against mine.

It was the same as earlier, all over again. My body just... I was a puddle, a mess. I felt so warm; like my blood was on fire – and I wanted to put my hand to his neck, but hesitated – but he pressed my palm softly against him and... He felt warm, too. Soft and smooth and warm.

I felt his hands gently tug away from mine in my lap, slowly moving up the sides of my body. Oh, oh, oh – his fingers grazed the skin of my stomach for a moment, before moving up, stopping at the curve of my breasts.

I gasped, breathlessly. Oh. He wasn’t even touching me and my head was spinning. My head was spinning.

“Stand up.” He murmured, his forehead pressing against mine.

Really, my legs were in no position to keep me upright. They were shaking.

But somehow Zayn seemed to know this, from the small smirk he gave me. Gently, he pushed my waist up and I somehow managed to stand, Zayn moving me so I was standing with my back to him.

I couldn’t stop my shoulders from silently heaving. My lips were tingling. I wanted his mouth back on mine. I wanted his mouth back on mine, now.

Oh wait, he was unzipping my blouse.

No. No, no, no, everything needed to stop for a minute. Wait. Just wait.

“Freeze.” I muttered, almost panting I was so out of breath, reaching back and putting my hand over his. My hand felt on fire now, too. Oh, wow. Wow. I was feeling light-headed. “Just... Freeze.”

His fingertips were graving just under my shoulder blade. If he pulled the zipper down any further, he’d – see.

Slowly, Zayn moved me to face him, guiding me by the hips. I had to swallow done my nerves as he looked up at me, my waist – his hands – level with his serious face, hesitantly resting my hands on his shoulders and almost screaming for it. They felt so – so strong! How hadn’t I noticed before?!

“I’m not going to hurt you, babe.” Zayn told me sincerely. My fingers tightened on the fabric of his gold-threaded outfit slightly.

I shook my head. I was scared. Oh, I was so scared.

“Don’t make promises you can’t keep.” I managed to say through a shallow breath. I was trying to breathe right and it wasn’t – it wasn’t working – and now he was just looking up at me, his eyebrows furrowed slightly...

And as he stood up, I just watched him, my eyes not leaving his.

I was scared.

Gently, he pressed his lips to mine again: and I felt my body tense as I felt his hands move from my cheek... Then to my neck... Then to my shoulders and moving down, taking my blouse down with it.

It was so quiet, I could hear my zip as Zayn pulled gently, the only other sound being his lips against mine.

I was holding onto his arms, my hands falling to my sides and fisting in embarrassment as he stepped back, pulling my blouse off of my sleeves with him.

I closed my eyes, waiting for some kind of... Something. But when it didn’t come, I peeked up at him and saw him with scarily dark eyes.

Wordlessly, Zayn unbuttoned and pulled his kameez over his head, throwing it carelessly to the floor. Hey, he shouldn’t do that. Dress shirts as nice as that were hard to come by.

I chewed on the inside of my lip, sure he could see how my heart was beating through my chest. My cheeks were burning.

I’d gone for something simple. A black, lacy bra that hid everything but boasted my shape at the same time. Modest, but sexy. Simple, but effective.

Zayn was standing in front of me with three large steps and this time, when he pressed his lips against mine, more fervently this time, his hand tangled with the curling tendrils of my hair, the other falling to my naked waist.

Here we go.

And then things were moving quickly.

Zayn suddenly was carrying me over to the bedroom, hovering on top of me as he lay me down on the bed, his mouth moving gently against mine. His tongue... I’d never understood why wouldn’t want somebody else’s tongue in your mouth before. But he was so warm and – well, tasty – and I felt myself wrap my arms around his neck as his thumb massaged my waist.

I could feel my underwear becoming damp.

Oh, Jesus.

“Off.” Zayn mumbled against my lips, fumbling with the side zip of my skirt. “Now.”

My heart was in my throat as his hand pulled down my thigh, moving my skirt with him, his body sliding down mine as he did.

Oh, oh, I couldn’t breathe, I could feel his breath moving between my chest, down my stomach and oh, he was kissing the inside of my thigh, rubbing my legs open, his lips between my lace and silk shorts and skin.

“Lovely, but they’ll have to go, too.” Zayn murmured softly, before yanking them down.

I gasped loudly, my cheeks heating red. Oh my God. Oh my God! No! Rose was wrong, this was mortifying, oh, no, he couldn’t be – he couldn’t see –

“Zayn!” I shrieked, feeling something warm and wet slowly slide up my sensitive skin. Oh my God, this wasn’t happening.

Heat shot up and down my spine.

“Shhh, babe.” Zayn hushed. “I haven’t even started yet.”

I gasped, my back arching off of the bed, as I felt it again; his tongue moving up my slit, his hands gripping my waist.

No words.

After that, there were no words.

I was breathing loudly, too loudly, as he flicked his tongue back and forth. Oh no. No. No. My arm was covering my face, the other hand gripping the bedsheets, making my knuckles turn white. There was just... Pleasure. Rolls of it. Waves of it. From the top of my head to – well. My legs were shaking. My entire body was squirming.

And then the hand he was using to try and calm my clenched thighs was moving upward.

“Good practice.” I heard him smirk, before I felt his fingers.

“Zayn!”

The feeling!

I was – moaning, gasping – as he started to move his tongue faster, his finger being joined by another, both of them massaging me from the inside. My legs were propped on his shoulders and my hips were moving out of time to his movements.

No thoughts. Just feelings.

I stopped short as I felt him press against something – skin.

Skin. Inside.

My hymen.

My virginity.

Without another word, Zayn was lying on top of me, his face by mine. I knew where his mouth had just been. His mouth had been in places I’d never even seen properly before.

I was face to face with his Walter tattoo and I remembered it; seeing him sitting there, shirtless in the dark, consoling his little sister.

Between my legs was aching now and his removed fingers meant that every time I tried to unclench my thighs, I felt more wet.

At the back of my head, the real Soph had passed out from all of this debauchery. It was too much for her virgin mind.

“We don’t have to do this.” Zayn whispered, his voice too seductive to be convincing. I squeezed my eyes shut as I felt his hands lightly graze over the skin of my breast, my bra still entirely – functional.

“You’re a – a really – a really shit liar.” I managed to gasp, feeling his fingers carelessly slide my bra strap down my shoulder.

Zayn just smirked at me, his hand moving underneath my back...

Instinctively, I closed the distance between us, our bodies holding the lacy garment in its place. I stared up at him in shock. No. No. A small part of my brain registered that his trousers were missing and I vaguely remembered the feeling of silk against his hips as he’d lay me down, but I couldn’t remember anything else.

“Do you trust me?” Zayn smirked quietly, his nose touching mine.

I shook my head quickly.

“Not right now, no.”

Zayn smiled – a boyish, happy smile that temporarily had Mrs Malik banished, and the real Soph staring at him in incredulity.

“You know me so well, Mrs Malik.”

And that was when he yanked my bra out of the way and pressed his chest against mine, making me gasp into his mouth as he kissed me and placed my hands on his boxers.

I stopped, temporarily forgetting everything, except the fine line of black hair leading down from his stomach. In awe, I traced it with my finger, gulping as I felt its softness against how hard the V of his pelvis felt underneath my fingers.

“Soph, don’t.” Zayn growled, clenching his jaw above me.

Hearing him say my name had shivers going down my body and reflexively, my body was pushing itself against his again.

He felt so strong and lean and muscular and... Sexy, against my skin, which was too soft, too warm, too untouched. I couldn’t do this. I couldn’t do this.

“Can’t you just listen to your husband?” Zayn demanded, as my finger paused at the hem of his shorts, which were lower-slung than they’d been a few moments before.

My eyes shot up to his.

“I never said I was going to.” I snapped back, forgetting what was happening – and temporarily, the fog cleared. “How is that I’m here with absolutely nothing, trussed up like some sort of – of – thing, and you get to lie there and – um!” Zayn’s thumb was tracing the wet fold of my entrance, his hand over my mouth with a smirk, as I wriggled helplessly. The waves were back. My legs were trembling. My back was arching against the bedsheets, pushing my body further and further against his.

“You’re unbelievable.” Zayn laughed in disbelief.

And then his boxers had joined my underwear on the floor and suddenly, he was inside of me.

The first thing was the pain. Reflexively, I let out a small cry, clinging onto Zayn’s shoulders as my body rocketed forward, away from the point of impact. It hurt. I could feel my eyes watering at the sting of breaking skin, everything below my legs frozen into shock at the brutality of the break, the pain radiating in waves.

I was trying to breathe, but I was screaming with my mouth closed, pressing my forehead against Zayn’s shoulder as he held me quietly, kissing my forehead. It hurt, the bastard!

But then, as my breathing slowed down, I felt it; the other feeling- the one of skin against skin, underneath and against more. How tightly the walls of my insides were squeezing against – wait, against him.

And how, the more I focused on it, the better it felt.

“Oh.” I breathed, looking up at him accusingly. “Oh, you just took my virginity.” Zayn’s face flooded with relief, from the previous anxiety of my pain. I squeezed his bicep, my nails digging into his arm, as he grinned down at me sexily. “Oh, you bastard!” I yelled, punching his chest feebly with my other hand.

“Ready, Soph?” Zayn grinned, propped up on his elbows as he pushed my body back down on the bed, the bedsheets suddenly soft. Maybe I was only just registering.

“For what?” I asked nervously, squirming at the dull ache, still resonating from where I’d... Well, broken. Ripped.

Ripped, for fuck’s sake.

Quirking one eyebrow and watching me carefully, Zayn rolled his hips, moving out halfway and then slowly back inside of me, my eyes closing and my mouth opening at the sensation.

Pain. But also, another feeling. Like earlier, but... More.

Earlier.

I could feel how damp I was against him. And it was strange to think he didn’t mind.

“Promise me something.” Zayn muttered, his voice sounding thicker than usual. I jerked my head, showing I was listening, as I tried to ascertain in the dim light which body parts were his and which were mine. “Hold on.”

“Hold onto wh- Zayn!” I gasped, again, as his hips moved again; this time, mine meeting them halfway. I heard Zayn groan quietly, propped on one elbow, the other sliding up and down from my neck to my stomach, shamelessly catching everything else on the way.

And then, there were no words anymore. Nothing but our names.

His lips were on mine.

One hand was tangled in my hair, entwined with my fingers too, the other stroking the core light switch of my entire body with each movement.

I was desperately trying to not scream, but my breaths were coming out with sounds – like I was struggling, but in a good way? This didn’t make sense! – with my hands clasped behind his neck, my body limp against his as he tilted my hips up.

“How long have you been taking the pill?”

“Long enough.” I managed to say through tightly pressed lips.  “And I think we need to talk about laser surgery.” I muttered, glimpsing a solitaire card etched on his chest, before squeezing my eyes shut again.

Zayn laughed evilly, responding by slamming his hips against mine again. Only my hips were meeting his with just as much, antagonizing, challenging force.

This was us, all over, every pun intended.

“Hold it.” Zayn demanded through gritted teeth, as my voice got louder. I couldn’t. I didn’t know how. “Soph, trust me, hold it.”

His hand was entwined with mine, squeezing tightly. I nodded, knowing I was agreeing to something over which I had absolutely no control.

Tightening limbs.

Moans, thrusts and grunts mixed in one.

Breathing.

Breathing is good.

The overwhelming sensation of his skin inside of me, my body helpless and wanton against him and then.

“Love you, Mrs Malik.” Zayn managed to laugh, pulling almost entirely out and then - !

I love you, Zayn, Zayn, ZAYN!

I don’t know how long it lasted. Hours, days, weeks.

But I was gasping for breath, Zayn rolled beside me. And he was holding me, laughing quietly as I caught my breath, my hair messily covering my face and splayed across his chest as I curled myself to hide, but holding onto his shoulders like it was an anchor as a ship went down.

Carefully, Zayn brushed my hair out of my face. I felt happy and tired and relaxed; and more than mortified. What had that been? What had just happened?

“Soph.” Zayn said breathlessly, as my eyes widened at the red indents my nails had left on his skin. “Soph, I’m only just getting started.”

My eyes snapped up to his.

“What do you – Jesus, Zayn!”

Because he was laughing and rolling on top of me and, when he pressed his lips against mine again, my body was just as resistless as it had been before; and it melted against him.

Absently, as I let his mouth consume mine, I felt my wedding rings press against the skin of his tanned back as I held him.

What do you want for Christmas?

You... All of you.

“Zayn.” I whispered, playing with my engagement ring – now under my wedding band – with my hands laced behind his back.

“Mm?” He murmured, trailing kisses down my throat as I talked.

“Merry Christmas.” I smiled, Zayn pausing and then laughing quietly as he understood the joke.

I was... His. Not half. Not waiting to be. His. In every way.

Mr and Mrs Malik.

And in that moment, I remembered Rose and Google and the pre-craziness of 1D.

Zayn and I would be a fucking power couple

Me, the hotshot journalist and him, the prince of pop.