LUSTS OF THE FLESH

The Night They Crossed the Line

ASHLEIGH

MARCH 2023

AGE 18

Ever since the day I became a Richardson, Zayn has been my constant shadow and shield.

He makes the world feel safer just by existing, and I hold onto that feeling, telling myself that what I feel for him is normal. That it is gratitude. Familiarity. Attachment.

I lie to myself and say that's all it is, even when something deeper keeps eating at me, something I know is wrong.

My stomach still bursts with butterflies whenever I see him shirtless. He isn't a boy anymore. Every trace of adolescence is gone.

Now, his body is made up of hard muscles and ridiculously attractive abs. His face is more mature and rugged, but still handsome.

And ever since the day he kissed me in my room, two years ago, nothing has felt the same again.

I get warm between my legs anytime I think of it, or anytime he speaks to me in that low, rough voice of his.

I touch myself in the dark when I think of his tongue in my mouth.

And I fight it. God knows I try so hard to fight it.

We're in college now, and I casually flirt with boys who bore me within weeks because I can't commit when my mind is full of filthy, forbidden thoughts about him.

Tonight I can't sleep. Heavy rain pounds down on the roof, but thankfully, there's no thunder yet.

Mum and Dad are in Paris celebrating their anniversary. They'll be gone for four days.

It's just Zayn and me in the house.

A tempting voice in my head murmurs that this is the moment. I'm eighteen now, old enough to decide what I want.

After tossing in bed for a few more moments, trying to ignore the voice... and failing, I slip out of bed, wearing only the oversized football T-shirt he gave me months ago.

Zayn's door is unlocked as usual, and I walk in. He's shirtless on his bed, using his phone while loud rock music plays from his speakers.

My eyes dart to his left arm, where he just got his latest tattoo.

"Does it hurt?" I ask softly.

Zayn's eyes run over the T-shirt I'm wearing, and he swallows, shaking his head. "Not anymore."

His voice is raspy.

I climb into the bed and snuggle into his side, throwing a thigh over his legs.

We don't speak for the longest time, but I can hear his heartbeat hammering fast under my ear.

I wonder if he can hear mine trying to rip out of my chest, too.

Then Zayn's hand slips under the shirt slowly, and instead of stopping him, I turn my face into his neck to kiss him.

He grows incredibly hard against my thigh, and I'm filled with so much relief because I'm not alone in this madness.

He wants it too.

Lifting my head, I crush my mouth to his, then shift to climb over him.

When I'm straddling his hips, I can feel every inch of his arousal, but through the barrier of his sweats.

My hands reach to cup his face as I kiss him deeply. Zayn answers with a hunger that matches mine, his hands grabbing my waist and pulling me further down against him.

My own hand goes to cup the rigid length of him, and he groans into my mouth.

He's big, warm even through the cotton, and when I dip my fingers into the waistband, touching him, he shudders under me.

Suddenly, he flips us so that I'm now pinned under him.

Because of this, the kiss breaks, and I gasp, staring up into eyes so dark they look like voids.

Zayn doesn't speak, but he slides lower, dragging my T-shirt up and over my stomach. My pink cotton panties come into view, and heat burns my cheeks.

This is the first time he's ever seen me like this.

I expect tenderness, or at least nervous fingers. Instead, he straight-up rips it off me.

I'm so shocked by this action, and the rawness of it sends a bolt of pure pleasure through me.

With my panties out of the way, he spreads my legs wider and lowers his mouth to me.

My hands fist the sheet as a strong wave of pleasure overwhelms me.

A moan leaves my throat.

When he presses his lips to my c**t and sucks it in gently, my head thrashes to the side. I feel like I can't control or express how good this feels.

My body cannot process it. All it knows is that it feels good.

I thread my fingers through his short hair, holding him there as I grind against his face.

Zayn pulls back to look up at me, his lips shiny with my juices.

"Am I doing this right?" He asks, his voice rough and uncertain, but in his eyes, I see the utter will to please me.

I can only nod frantically, my eyes half closed as I pull him back down.

He groans against me and dives in again, eating me like I'm food.

No guy has ever touched me like this or even tasted me, and the intimacy of it… of me letting Zayn be the first feels so right.

When he finally crawls back up my body to kiss me, I taste myself on his tongue, and it only makes me more aroused than I already am. He pulls the T-shirt over my head, leaving me stark naked under him.

For a long moment, Zayn stares at me like a work of art, his eyes trailing over every curve of my body.

"You're so beautiful, Ash," he whispers in a raw voice. "So f*****g beautiful."

The words make me feel warm inside, and I cup his face tenderly before pulling him into another kiss.

His finger pushes into me slowly, carefully, and I clench around him with a whimper. "Does that feel good?" he asks against my lips, moving gently, watching my face for any sign of pain.

"Yes," I breathe, rocking into his hand because I like how it feels. "Don't stop... please."

Zayn fills me with more slow thrusts than I can count before stopping to take off his sweats.

My breath falters for a second at the sight of his long, thick c**k, engorged with need.

For a second, I doubt how it'll fit, but the shy, almost sheepish smile he gives me eliminates it.

We'll make it work.

He rests his c**k between my thighs, rubbing the head through my wet folds, teasing me. I drag my nails down his back and lock my legs around his waist to secure him to me.

"Zayn, please," I beg.

His forehead is pressed to mine as he drags it up till it grazes my c**t again. "Are you sure?"

I've never been surer of anything. If the universe twisted fate this cruelly, if it made me fall in love with the one person I shouldn't, who am I to fight it?

"Yes," I whisper. "I want you."

Zayn fists his c**k and guides it to my entrance. "It might hurt a little, okay, baby?"

I nod, smiling, although I'm nervous.

He pushes in slowly, filling me inch by inch till the stretch starts to burn and I gasp against his mouth.

"I've wanted this for so long," he rasps, his voice breaking with emotion. "You have no idea how long I've dreamed of you."

"Me too," I manage to respond despite the pain.

"f**k," he curses, staring down at where we're joined. "Baby, you're so tight. So f*****g perfect."

The tenderness in his voice breaks me more than the ache. My nails dig into his shoulders as he drives deeper, but when I tense up, he stills immediately, planting soft kisses across my lips, my cheeks, my neck.

"Relax, sweetheart," he whispers. "I've got you. Just breathe."

I force my body—which I realize has been subconsciously trying to push him away because of the pain—to open for him, and he slides home in one slow, breathtaking thrust.

We both gasp.

"Ashleigh… f**k," he groans my name as he stares down at me, his eyes filled with so much tenderness, it moves me.

I've never seen Zayn this vulnerable before.

The rain is still heavy outside, slashing against the windows like it knows what we're doing is forbidden.

He kisses me softly on the lips. "You okay, baby?"

I nod, my throat too tight with emotion.

The pain is already morphing into something more bearable… like a deep, aching fullness that feels like it can bring me the best pleasure of my life.

"Move," I whisper. "Please."

He starts with slow thrusts, pulling back just an inch before sliding to the hilt again.

After a few thrusts like that, I start to grow used to him, and the pain is no longer there.

There's no rush or aggression. Each thrust is gentle but deep, like he's savoring the moment. Like he's savouring me.

Then one hand slides down my thigh, taking my leg higher around his waist, opening me more.

I've barely started enjoying this position when he gently lifts my other leg, throwing it over his shoulder.

I gasp because the stretch in this position is intense and deeper than before.

I almost go mad when he folds over me carefully, so that our chests are touching.

It's so intimate I nearly weep.

"You feel so f*****g good, baby," he rasps."

I can't answer with words anymore, I just cling to him, my legs trembling over his shoulders, my hips rising to meet him as the pleasure grows into something maddening.

Zayn feels it too because although his thrusts stay tender, they grow a bit faster and deeper, chasing my release as much as his own.

I come quietly but intensely, moaning his name as I bury my face in his neck.

He follows moments later, groaning as he pulls out to spill on my tummy.

After catching his breath, he takes my T-shirt and cleans it off me, then rolls onto his back, pulling me atop him.

"I'm yours, Ashleigh," he whispers against my hair. "I always have been."

I know what we've done tonight has only stoked the flame, not put it out.

We've opened a door we can never close again, and the heat pouring through it is already consuming me.

This is only the beginning.

And it doesn't terrify me.