The Human Among Wolves Chapter 125

Aurora

The room tilted around me, thick with the clean heat of his skin and the sharp pull of want that radiated off him. Before I could find my breath, Zayn’s mouth was on mine—nothing gentle about it, nothing hesitant. His lips crashed into mine with a hunger that stole the ground from under me, his tongue sliding against mine in a deliberate, consuming sweep that made my knees weaken.

I kissed him back just as fiercely, my free hand threading into his still-damp hair, pulling him closer because distance suddenly felt unbearable. His other hand anchored at my waist, keeping me pinned between his body and the door, the wood cold against my back while every inch of him pressed warm against my front.

He pulled away only when breathing became necessary, his mouth dragging down my jaw, then lower, claiming the curve of my neck with slow, lingering bites. Each one sent a shiver racing down my spine, a pulse of heat pooling low in my stomach. He lingered there, lips hot against my skin, sucking just hard enough to make my breath catch.

His fingers found the waistband of my jeans, pausing just long enough for my heart to trip once in my chest. The small metallic snick of the button popping open sounded far too loud in the quiet room—sharp, intimate, final. Like a promise I couldn’t unhear.

"Fuck, you're already soaked through these," Zayn growled against my throat, his breath hot and ragged as his hand pushed inside the open fly of my jeans.

His palm pressed flat over my panties, the thick denim edges framing his wrist like a rough boundary that only heightened the pressure. I felt the damp cotton cling to me, outlining every curve, and his fingers rubbed slow circles right over my clit, the friction from the fabric making my thighs tremble.

It was maddening—too much barrier, not enough touch—and I shifted my hips, chasing more without meaning to.

He paused there, just rubbing, his mouth still latched onto the pulse point below my ear, sucking lightly until I felt the first hint of a bruise forming.

My free hand clutched at his shoulder, nails digging in as his cock throbbed against my stomach, the slick tip leaving a warm trail on my skin through my half-open shirt.

"Zayn," I breathed, my voice cracking, but he didn't answer with words.

Instead, two fingers hooked under the edge of my panties, pulling the lace aside just enough to slide into my wetness. They pushed in slow, deliberate, stretching me open inch by inch until they curled upward, pressing firm against that inner wall that sent a jolt straight up my spine.

I cried out, the sound muffled against his neck as my body reacted on instinct—hips bucking up to meet his hand, inner muscles clenching around his fingers.

He pumped them in and out, unhurried, each withdrawal dragging against my walls, each thrust building the heat deeper. My jeans restricted the movement, the fabric bunching at my hips, holding me in place like an anchor that made every sensation sharper. His thumb found my clit again, circling it with steady pressure, and I could feel the coil tightening low in my belly, pleasure edging toward pain from the tease.

He held me there, suspended on the brink, his body weight pinning me lightly to the door while his cock nudged insistently against me, hard and leaking.

Minutes stretched, my breaths coming in short gasps, sweat beading between us.

Finally, when my legs shook too hard to stand, he withdrew his fingers with a wet slide, bringing them to my lips. I tasted myself on them without thinking, as he gripped my waist and lifted me effortlessly. My legs wrapped around him, ankles locking, the denim scraping against his sides as he carried me across the room.

He lowered me onto the bed, the sheets cool under my back, and tugged at my shirt, buttons popping loose one by one until my breasts spilled free.

Kneeling between my spread thighs, he hooked his fingers into the waistband of my jeans and yanked them down just past my knees—no further, leaving the rough material tangled there like a restraint. My pussy was bare now, exposed to the air, slick and aching, lips parted and swollen from his touch. He stared for a beat, eyes locked on me, before leaning down.

His tongue dragged flat from my entrance up to my clit, slow and broad, lapping up the wetness I'd made for him. I arched, back bowing off the mattress, hands twisting into the sheets as he repeated it—long, deliberate strokes that made my toes curl.

He didn't rush, alternating licks with soft sucks on my folds, his breath fanning hot over the sensitive skin. Pleasure built in waves, cresting higher each time his tongue flicked just right, my moans spilling out unchecked, filling the dim room.

"Zayn... please," I whispered, the plea raw in my throat, my body thrumming with need—wanting his mouth harder, his fingers back inside, anything to push me over.

He hummed against me, the vibration pulling a gasp from my lips, then sealed his mouth over my clit, sucking with steady pulls while his fingers returned, sliding deep once more.

They thrust in rhythm with his tongue, curling and twisting until the tension snapped. I came hard, walls fluttering around him, a sharp cry tearing from me as ecstasy ripped through, leaving me shuddering and spent.

But he kept going, softer now, drawing out the aftershocks until I whimpered from the overstimulation.

Only then did he rise, crawling up my body, his cock heavy and flushed as he nudged it against my entrance. The head teased along my slit, coating itself in my release, back and forth, until I was rocking up to meet him.

"Ready for me?" he rasped, voice thick with his own restraint, forehead pressed to mine.

I nodded, hands framing his face to pull him into a kiss—tasting myself on his lips—as he pushed in. Slow at first, the stretch burning sweet, then deeper, filling me until our hips met.

His cock filled me so completely, the initial stretch giving way to a full, throbbing pressure that made my inner walls grip him tight. I gasped into the kiss, tasting the salt of our shared sweat on his tongue as he held still for a moment, buried to the hilt, letting me adjust.

My legs, still tangled in the half-down jeans, strained against the denim cuffs, the fabric rubbing rough against my calves with every subtle shift.

Zayn broke the kiss first, pulling back just enough to watch my face, his dark eyes locked on mine as he started to move.

Slow drags out, almost all the way, until just the head notched at my entrance, then a deliberate push back in, deeper each time, like he was claiming every inch.

My hands roamed his back, nails scraping down the flexing muscles, urging him on without words. The bed creaked under us, sheets twisting as I arched up to meet him, the rhythm syncing—thrust, withdraw, thrust—building that slick friction that had my breath hitching.

"You feel so fucking good," he murmured, voice low and gravelly, his mouth trailing to my neck, teeth grazing the skin he'd marked earlier.

Each roll of his hips sent sparks through me, his cock hitting that perfect spot inside me. I clenched around him, deliberate, drawing a groan from his throat that vibrated against my collarbone. My pussy was soaked, easing the slide, but the jeans at my knees kept my thighs from spreading wider, forcing a tighter angle that made every penetration feel more intense, more possessive.

Time blurred in the dim light of his room, the air thick with the scent of sex—musky and raw, mingling with the faint trace of his cologne.

I lost myself in it, in the way his body covered mine, heavy and warm, his hand sliding up to cup my breast, thumb flicking the hardened nipple until I whimpered.

Pleasure coiled again, slower this time, winding tight from the base of my spine, my hips lifting to chase it.

"Harder," I finally whispered, the word slipping out unbidden, my hesitation from before dissolving into pure want.