The penthouse was too quiet.
Zoey lay on the guest bed, staring at the ceiling, her thoughts spinning like a rideshe couldn't get off.
Every time she closed her eyes, she saw him tall and imposing, but softened in rare moments when his gaze lingered too long, when his knuckles brushed her cheek like a whisper he hadn't meant to speak.
It had been such a small touch, yet it lingered on her skin like a brand.
She could still feel the weight of his stare, the phantom warmth of his breath.
This is insane. He's dangerous,I cannot want him.
But she did.
Wanting wasn't the problem needing was.
And the worst part? Her body didn't seem to care about logic or warnings.
Every nerve hummed at the memory of his nearness, as if her blood itself had shifted its rhythm to follow him.
She pressed a pillow over her face, groaning into the fabric. "Get a grip, Zoey.
He's the last man you should be thinking about in the dark."
And still, her thoughts betrayed her.
At some point, exhaustion dragged her into a shallow sleep.
When she stirred again, the room was cloaked in night. The hum of the city beyond the glass walls pressed against the silence of the penthouse, neon lights blinking faintly through the curtains.
Her throat felt dry, her body restless, so she slid out of bed, putting on the oversized shirt she had found folded neatly in the drawer.
Barefoot, she padded toward the kitchen.
She wasn't expecting him to be there.
But Zayn was leaning against the counter like a shadow made flesh.
He was dressed down compared to earlier, his shirt unbuttoned halfway, revealing the hard planes of his chest.
Her steps faltered. "Do you ever sleep?"
"Not when there are things to think about." His voice was low, roughened by the whiskey.
She tilted her head, trying to sound casual, even though her pulse had begun its reckless sprint. "Such as?"
He swirled the glass lazily, watching the liquid turn. "You."
The word dropped like a spark in dry kindling.
Her mouth went dry. "You're impossible."
"And yet…" His gaze swept over her, deliberate, scorching, "you're here."
The air seemed thicker between them, charged with something she couldn't name.
She forced herself to move to the fridge, needing the excuse of busy hands, needing the chill of the water bottle to ground her. Still, she felt his stare like fingertips ghosting across her skin.
She poured a glass, lifted it to her lips, but the tremor in her hand betrayed her.
When she turned back, he wasn't by the counter anymore.
He was closer.
Too close.
"You drive me crazy," he said, voice calm and husky at the same time. "The way you look at me,the way you pretend you don't want this."
Her chest tightened. "You're imagining things."
"Am I?"
His hand caught her wrist, firm but not harsh, tugging her gently toward him.
The glass slipped from her grip and clinked against the counter, forgotten.
She gasped as her chest brushed his.
His scent spice, whiskey and heart wrapped around her until she could barely think.
"Zayn…" she whispered, but it sounded more like surrender than protest.
His lips brushed her ear, sending a shiver spiraling through her. "Tell me to stop."
But she didn't. Couldn't.
Her fingers betrayed her, curling into his open shirt, clinging.
A ragged groan tore from his throat. Then his mouth crushed hers.
The kiss was fire.
Not tentative, not gentle but hungry, desperate. The collision of everything they'd been holding back.
His mouth claimed hers with ruthless precision, like he'd been starving for this.
She tasted whiskey and heat and something uniquely him that made her knees weaken.
His hands cupped her face, slid into her hair, pressed her closer as if he couldn't stand an inch of space between them.
She moaned into him, the sound spilling from her unguarded, and he devoured it like oxygen.
Lifting her with infuriating ease, he set her onto the counter. Her legs wrapped around his waist instinctively, pulling him flush against her.
"God, Zoey…" he muttered against her lips, his breath ragged, his voice raw. "You taste like sin."
Her hands roamed over his chest, feeling the heat of his skin, the tautness of muscle beneath.
He was hard edges, raw, power and yet his touch trembled with restraint, as though every second was a battle not to consume her entirely.
"Zayn..." she gasped when his mouth left her lips to trace fire down her jaw, to the hollow of her throat, biting lightly before soothing the sting with a kiss.
"You don't know what you do to me," he growled, his voice vibrating against her skin as his lips worked their way down the column of her neck.
Her head tipped back, giving him more. "Then stop holding back."
The words broke him.
His control snapped.
With a groan, he deepened the kiss, rougher, needier, his grip on her thighs tightening possessively.
The counter shook faintly as his hips pressed forward, pinning her in place.
She gasped, every nerve in her body on fire, every thought consumed by the heat of him, the press of him.
It was too much. It wasn't enough.
She clung to him, fingers digging into his shoulders, nails scraping lightly along the lines of muscle.
Each shuddering breath he took made her want more, crave more, beg for what he was holding back.
He kissed her like she was the only thing left keeping him alive.
And in a way, she felt the same.
Time blurred. Minutes, maybe hours they melted into feverish heat.
Kiss after kiss, whisper after whisper, until she was breathless, trembling, her body aching with the need for more than just his mouth, more than just this desperate hunger.
But then suddenly he tore himself away.
His chest heaved.
His pupils were blown wide with lust, but his jaw was locked tight, his fists trembling where they pressed into the counter beside her.
"No." The word was raw, broken.
Her lips were swollen, her breath coming in shallow gasps. "Why???"
"I can't." His voice cracked under the weight of restraint.
"If I take more, I won't stop. And you…" He swallowed, his gaze dark, tortured. "…you don't know what it means to give yourself to me. Not yet."
Her heart pounded, her body aching. "Zayn…"
He pushed back, raking a shaking hand through his hair, turning away like distance was the only thing keeping him sane. "You should sleep."
"Don't you dare dismiss me after that," she snapped, though her voice trembled.
His gaze cut to hers, raw and unreadable, a storm swirling behind his eyes. "If you knew the demons I fight, Zoey you wouldn't be asking me to lose control."
And with that, he turned on his heel and disappeared into the shadows of the hall, leaving her trembling on the counter, her body burning, her lips swollen and her heart thundering with questions that had no answers.
Hours later, Zoey lay in bed, wide awake.
The ceiling blurred above her, but her thoughts were sharp, relentless.
She should've been furious,confused or even ashamed.
But she wasn't.
She was haunted.
By the way his mouth had devoured hers.
By the raw hunger in his eyes, by the way his voice had cracked when he whispered that he couldn't stop.
He had kissed her like she was both salvation and ruin.
And she wasn't sure which terrified her more:
The possibility that Zayn Maddox would never touch her again.
Or the possibility that he would.