#zaynie

One game, you’d proposed after the second round of drinks. Or are you scared to lose?

Of course, Zayne wasn’t scared to lose. But he wasn’t fond of it either.

That’s how you'd ended up there: in the back of the hotel bar, jackets thrown atop a chair, three games of pool later. Tied for the final win.

Zayne blinked the haziness of the alcohol away. Although he knew it didn’t bode well with him, he’d indulged in one drink after his first victory and the sour expression it brought to your face. A few sips at best but they were taking their toll on him already.

He took his cue and the small piece of chalk, eyes still fixed on the number eight which seemed to mock him from its impossible spot.

“No more stalling.” You walked around the table and stopped right next to him, placing your hand on the playing field and tilting your head at him ever so slightly. “Or do you want to forfeit?”

Zayne narrowed his eyes. He leaned in towards you; the corner of his mouth lifted harshly. “Your distractions won’t work on me, y/n.”

You smiled, never letting go of Zayne’s gaze. You liked him this way – a little on edge, letting his ambition peek through.

Your fingers reached for his tie, tugging at it playfully. “I can’t help myself, that suit looks too good on you.” You angled your head a little lower as if hinting at a kiss. “You know, there are so many things we could do on this table instead.”

Zayne's eyes darkened as if indulging in the image already. His voice, however was calm. “Go ahead, then. Admit your defeat.”

You frowned up at him, stubborn as ever. Of course you wouldn’t forfeit your win. You liked to watch Zayne squirm but your main goal was to distract him enough so you could win the last game.

A small smile lingered in the corner of Zayne’s mouth. “I thought so.”

He took his cue and positioned himself in an angle that seemed just right for his final shot. It was a difficult manoeuvre but if he hit the cushion at the perfect spot, he might be able to pocket his win.

Carefully aiming at the treacherous ball, Zayne bent down, muscles tense to maintain the right angle. He closed one eye to select his target, held his breath, drew his arm back to make the shot.

That was your cue.

You shifted your weight, moving ever so slightly as you leaned in again, subtle enough not draw suspicions.

The whole night, Zayne’s gaze had raked over your figure, dipping to your low neckline or your mouth. The whole night, he’d watched your movements as your black dress hugged just the right spots of your curves – as if only waiting for Zayne to place his hands on your waist and pull you close.

He’d made it so easy for you to distract him.

Zayne’s cue hit the ball with just the right amount of pressure, however a little too far left. It rolled across the playing field and hit the black eight, which missed the pocket by an inch.

He closed his eyes and you could see him swallow his frustrations.

You willed a perfectly crafted frown to your face, feigning innocence. “Pity,” you said in a tone that suggested you weren't feeling sorry at all.

Zayne’s gaze met you with a force that sent a tingle up your spine. As if he was about to push you down on the table and let you taste your own medicine.

His cheeks were flushed and he looked a little devious.

“Your turn,” he said, passing the cue and reaching for his drink instead, emptying it in one motion.

You raised both brows at him. “Sore loser already?”

“You didn’t win yet.”

Zayne brought a hand to his tie to loosen it, skilled fingers flexing and reminding you of all the other things they were perfectly capable of. “How about” – as the knot came undone, he pulled the piece of fabric from his neck into his palm – “we raise the stakes?”

You smiled at him. “Oh?”

“You’re so sure of your abilities already. What do you say, do you really need all of your senses to win?”

You laughed, convinced he was teasing you. “You’re drunk.”

“Don’t tell me you’re scared to lose?” Zayne took a step towards you, offering you the makeshift blindfold in his palm. “To me of all people?”

Oh.

He really was serious about this.

Your eyes shifted from his hand to his face, hesitating.

He looked too pleased with himself. “I thought a skilled hunter like you would never back down from a challenge?”

Hesitation lingered for a moment longer before your competitive spirit returned with blazing force.

You lowered the cue and motioned at the tie. “Alright. Let’s make my win final.”

Zayne covered your eyes with the fabric, taking his time to gently move strands of hair out of the way, accidentally brushing his fingertips across your temples and neck when he finished the knot.

Your skin grew hot in a matter of seconds, your pulse fluttering like a bird’s wing beneath Zayne’s touches.

It was a whole new side to Zayne you were discovering.

“All done,” he said, letting his hands linger on your shoulders for a second before he leaned in to speak softly into your ear: “Good luck.”

You shivered ever so slightly at the sensation of his breath against you neck before you stepped away from him again.

“What do I get if I win?” You asked, positioning yourself to take the shot.

You leaned down and took a few seconds to adjust the cue, recalling the image of your target. It was too easy, really. You could see it clearly in front of you.

“Isn’t winning enough?”

You pushed the cue forward and hit the ball without any hesitations. It collided with the black eight, sent it rolling across the playing field and … dropped into the pocket.

You grinned at the sound of your final victory, turning to Zayne.

“No cheers?” You kept your voice playfully innocent, not even bothering to take of the blindfold. “No booing?”

Perhaps that was the last drop in an already full glass, or perhaps he was being a sore loser – a drunk one at that – but instead of words, you heard his footsteps drawing closer.

A second later, his mouth crashed onto yours and he was gripping your waist, catching you completely off guard.

His common sense had clearly been abandoned somewhere with that empty whiskey glass of his.

It took a moment for you to react but then your fingers were in his hair, pulling him closer, causing both of your bodies to stumble back against the pool table.

The cue rattled when it fell to the ground in the same instant as Zayne's arms lifted you onto the table with ease, deepening the kiss with an intensity that sent your thoughts into a spiral.

Your breaths felt heavy and hungry, and Zayne didn’t seem to think about stopping.

That kiss had ignited like a match and now the fire was spreading everywhere he was touching you.

His tongue slid against yours as you tugged at his hair, closing your legs around him and drawing a muffled groan from his throat.

He dragged his tie away from your eyes and your mind cleared for a moment, only to be met with the same puzzlement you felt on Zayne’s face.

His eyes were dark, his cheeks flushed and the collar of his expensive dress shirt wrinkled and unbuttoned.

Whatever this foolish competition had sparked within him, you felt thrilled at the outcome.

“You cheated,” Zayne finally said, breathless. One hand was resting next to you on the table while the other one was still holding on to your waist. He pressed a fluttering kiss to your jaw, then further down your neck, humming against your skin. “In more ways than one.”

You couldn't help the smile that spread across your lips, reveling in your triumph.

You took the tie from Zayne, using both hands to reattach the makeshift blindfold around his neck as well as readjusting his ruined collar in the process.