Under Summer Sky • Zarry

14. Muse

Muse: noun; a person or personified force who is the source of inspiration for a creative artist.

I didn't ask about Remi again.

I didn't know anything about him or why he and Zayn broke up or what their relationship even entailed, but I told myself that I didn't want to know about any of it.

I mean, that was a lie. I actually did want to know more about them but I also knew that if I kept starting more arguments with Zayn that it wasn't going to end well.

And I was going to go fucking mad.

It was obvious that Zayn didn't want to tell me, didn't feel the need to explain himself, and I couldn't force Zayn to open up to me if he wasn't willing. That's not how things work. We weren't in a relationship, I wasn't his boyfriend, which had been clearly stated, and therefore I had no authority over the situation.

Or over Zayn.

When he asked me that day after going out on the yacht if it was too much, if I wanted him to back off I had said no and I meant it. Truthfully, I didn't want him to be any farther away from me than when he was on top of me, which also meant that I had to deal with some of the other stuff, the stuff he kept hidden from me, if what he and I were doing was what I wanted.

And that's what I wanted.

On the other hand, the best part that had come from that weekend was how I got to spend every night sleeping with Zayn in his comfortable bed. He held me close to him, petted me, kissed me, caressed me under the warm covers. But my hormones were raging so fucking badly that every single time Zayn touched me, even the simplest, non-sexual gesture, I was instantly turned on by it.

Zayn would hold me around my torso with his tattooed arm and his hand would sleepily drop down near my dick like dead weight as I laid into him, just being spooned, and within a matter of seconds I'd be hard as a rock. So he'd wake up and his hand would end up wrapped around my length just jerking me off under the covers instead.

Then there were other times where I'd feel Zayn pressed up against my ass and I'd back into him several times, acting like I was just snuggling, when really I was trying to create a tiny bit of friction between us until I got him excited. I always did. And then the next thing I knew it would be five in the morning with his hard erection up my ass fucking into me while we spooned.

And on two separate occasions I woke up an hour early before we had work and Zayn would be laying fast asleep on his back all innocent looking, and my eyes dropped down, spying his flaccid dick hanging there between his legs when he slept naked and I would immediately move under the blankets and start sucking him off, making his cock grow hard in order to wake him up from a sound slumber.

I don't think either of us knew what a good night's sleep even was anymore. The concept had now been stolen by this thing upon me that howled like a beast.

Nobody on the vineyard even said anything about us either. It was like his whole family just went on with their normal daily lives and treated Zayn exactly the same as they always did, except that everyone seemed to be extra nice to me, especially Natalia.

I was happy to see her back from the hospital and recovering slowly. She hugged me one evening after family dinner out of the blue for so long in the kitchen, right after I finished up doing the dishes, and she told me that Anne had raised such a wonderful son.

I don't know where that compliment came from or why she felt compelled to tell me that, but it made me smile anyway.

Zayn had also been spending a lot of his free time time working on that lotus sculpture after family dinners, for hours it seemed, and sometimes I'd hang out there and watch him work and other times I'd go for a swim or dive into reading In Watermelon Sugar, which was actually a very gripping book and it surprisingly kept my attention.