Chapter 13: Pain is a Familiar Language
The ropes bit into Victoria’s wrists as Zayn pulled them tighter, binding her arms above her head and tying them to the carved post of his bed.
She smiled into the restraint, her body arched in invitation, the red silk robe puddled at her knees and she kicked them away.
“You always did like control,” she purred, her voice thick with anticipation. She wanted him badly.
But Zayn didn’t respond. He didn’t need to.
He stepped behind her, shirtless, his broad chest rising and falling with slow, measured breaths. His eyes, usually unreadable, were sharp tonight, dark with something far more dangerous than lust. His belt was already in his hand, coiled like a serpent, ready to strike, ready to bite.
Without warning, he entered her.
A choked gasp escaped her lips as he filled her from behind with a single, powerful thrust. He didn’t pause. Didn’t give her time to adjust. He gripped her hips and began to move—hard, fast, merciless.
“Fuck, yes,” she gasped, pressing her cheek to the mattress. “Just like that...”
The belt cracked across her back.
She yelped, her body jerking forward from the force, then shivered as the heat spread across her skin. Another strike. Then another. It was like a drug to her, and she felt she never had enough of it. Of him.
Zayn slammed into her, again and again, the rhythm brutal. Every thrust came with a fresh crack of leather against her spine, her thighs, the soft curve of her ass. She cried out with each strike, but never asked him to stop. This was what she wanted—what she knew he needed.
Her body was wet, eager, clenching around him as he fucked her deeper, harder. His breathing was harsh, lips pulled back slightly in a snarl of tension and barely restrained fury.