The Human Among Wolves Chapter 147

Aurora

Not long after, the bathroom door finally creaked open. I lifted my head, expecting him to come out already dressed, just like I had.

Instead… he stepped out with only a towel wrapped low around his waist.

And my brain completely short-circuited.

Water still clung to his skin, sliding slowly down his chest, tracing the lines of muscle like it had all the time in the world. His hair was damp, darker than usual, curling slightly at the ends. For a split second, I forgot how to breathe.

“Zayn!” I hissed, my voice coming out sharper than I meant it to.

Pure instinct made me slap my hands over my face, even though it was already too late. My cheeks burned, heat rushing up my neck, my ears, everywhere. I could feel how red I was without even needing a mirror.

“For the love of—what are you doing?” I muttered from behind my hands, peeking through my fingers despite myself. I absolutely was not winning this battle.

“Oh, come on, Rory,” he said, a teasing smirk tugging at his lips, “don’t act so innocent. You already saw, and felt—”

“Shut up!” I cut him off sharply, my hands still pressed against my burning cheeks. My heart was hammering like it wanted to escape, and my wolf was practically screaming at me to run—but where could I go? The bed was behind me, the walls too close.

Zayn just laughed softly, low and amused, clearly enjoying every second of my flustered state. “Relax,” he said, shrugging, towel still around his waist. “I’m not going anywhere.”

I groaned, burying my face deeper into my hands, wishing I could disappear entirely. “You’re impossible,” I muttered, voice muffled.

He moved closer, deliberately slow, just enough to make me aware of his presence without actually touching me. “Impossible?” he echoed, his voice teasing but warm. “Baby, you make me feel alive. That’s hardly impossible.”

I peeked through my fingers, narrowing my eyes at him. “Alive? You call this making me feel alive?”

He chuckled, shaking his head. “Yeah… and don’t pretend you didn’t like it.”

I huffed softly, rolling my eyes as I finally lowered my hands. “You’re too cocky,” I muttered.

He laughed, that deep, effortless sound that always did strange things to my stomach. “Too cocky,” he repeated, tilting his head, “or do I just know I’m completely irresistible to you?”

I opened my mouth to shoot back some sarcastic answer—something quick and sharp—but I never got the chance.

Because in one smooth, careless motion, Zayn let the towel fall to the floor.

My breath vanished.

My jaw actually dropped as I stared at him, frozen in place like someone had hit the pause button on my entire body.

Heat rushed straight to my face, my ears, my neck—everywhere at once.

There he stood, completely naked, his thick cock hanging heavy between his muscular thighs, semi-hard and veined, the broad head already swelling slightly as if it knew exactly the effect it had. His balls dangled low beneath, full and tight, and a trimmed patch of dark hair framed the base, drawing my eyes right to that impressive length that twitched faintly under my gaze.

“Z-Zayn,” I managed, my voice cracking in a way that was humiliating on every possible level, my pussy clenching involuntarily at the sight.

He didn’t look embarrassed. Not even a little. If anything, he looked amused. Dangerous. Way too confident for someone standing there with his cock on full display.

“What?” he asked lightly, arching a brow. “You’re the one who was staring.”

I snapped my gaze upward immediately, mortified, but not before I caught how his shaft thickened just a bit more, rising toward half-mast. “That is so not fair,” I muttered, my nipples hardening against my shirt.

He leaned down just long enough to grab a pair of sweatpants from his backpack, his cock swinging freely with the motion, brushing against his thigh before he tugged the soft fabric up over his hips, trapping that bulge right at the front where it strained noticeably.

When he straightened again, he was still watching me, that same knowing look in his eyes.

“See?” he said calmly. “All safe now.”

I let out a breath I hadn’t realized I was holding and pointed straight at him. “You absolutely did that on purpose.”

He smirked. “Maybe.”

Then, finally—mercifully—he turned away from me, pulling a shirt over his head and settling onto the bed beside me like he hadn’t just completely wrecked my ability to think straight.

The mattress dipped under his weight. That simple shift—so small, so harmless—felt impossibly loud in the quiet room.

I lay stiff on my side, staring straight ahead at the dull glow of the motel lamp on the wall. My heart was still racing. My thoughts were everywhere and nowhere at once. Every nerve in my body felt awake, too aware of the heat beside me, the steady rise and fall of his chest, the quiet proof of his presence.

Zayn shifted slightly, stretching an arm behind his head. “You’re awfully quiet,” he murmured.

“That’s because you broke my brain,” I muttered.

He chuckled under his breath. “Didn’t realize I had that kind of power.”

I swallowed, trying to force my breathing back into something normal. It wasn’t working. Not with him this close. Not with everything unresolved between us. Not with my wolf quietly stirring beneath my skin like she was listening too closely.

The silence settled again, heavy but not uncomfortable. Just charged.

After a minute, Zayn turned his head toward me. I didn’t look back. I wasn’t sure I trusted myself if I did.

“Rory,” he said softly, no teasing now. Just him. “You okay?”

I nodded once, even though he couldn’t see it. “Yeah. Just… tired.”

He shifted beside me, the mattress dipping slightly as he scooted closer. Not enough to crowd me—just enough that the space between us felt intentional now. Protective. Warm.

“Try to sleep,” he murmured quietly.

I let out a slow breath, staring at the wall in front of me. I really tried. I closed my eyes. I focused on slowing my breathing, on the steady rhythm of his beside me. But my thoughts refused to settle. They kept circling, restless and awake inside my chest.

“Zayn…” I whispered after a moment.

I turned my head toward him, meeting his gaze in the dim light. The words crowded my throat, heavy and uncertain. I didn’t even know how to ask what I was about to ask. I wasn’t sure I could bring myself to say it out loud.

But he already knew.

His expression shifted instantly—softer, serious, completely present. He searched my face for a heartbeat, then shook his head once, slow and sure.

“No,” he said quietly.

The word wasn’t harsh. It wasn’t cold. It was careful.

“I can’t,” he added softly. “Not right now. Not when you’re this vulnerable.”

Something in my chest tightened at that—not with disappointment, but with the weight of how deliberate he was being. How controlled. How much effort it clearly took.

I swallowed and nodded, even though my emotions were tangled and unfamiliar in my throat. “Okay,” I murmured.

His hand moved then—slow, cautious—resting lightly over mine on the bed. Not gripping. Not pulling. Just there. Grounding.

“Sleep,” he said again, gentler this time.

And this time, I tried a little harder