♥ HOW MUCH FOR AN HEIR'S HEART? - ZARRY ♥

Four (2)

It finally satisfied Zayn, claiming Harry's lush mouth, that tiny mole teasing the corner, his to kiss. The mole that had distracted him time and again for hours on end.

Harry's skin scorched him as if a heater burned just below the surface. Suddenly the desire to have Harry naked, to be against the rest of that soft skin, crashed into him.

His hands were under Harry's sweatshirt, and he hit what he was seeking- hot, damp flesh. But like an addict craving more, he wasn't satisfied with the mere touch of Harry's skin, the feel of Harry's rib cage under his questing hand. He wanted- needed- more.

With his blood pounding thickly in his veins, the ache in his groin an almost unbearable tightness, Zayn found the edge of Harry's tank top and eased his way under the gentle curve of Harry's man breasts.

Harry's sudden gasp snapped Zayn back to reality, and he wrenched his mouth away from the temptation of Harry.

What the hell are you doing?

From a gaping distance, Zayn heard Harry's breathless question, thick with passion.

"Zayn?"

Harry would never know how difficult it was to withdraw from the pleasures his body promised. How much Zayn ached to give in to the raging passion that forced beads of sweats to run down his back.

Desire grabbed at Zayn, yanked and twisted his brain until he was left hot, hard and frustrated. But with a shuddering sigh, he withdrew and stepped back, the coldness rushing into the gap between their bodies.

"Pull your shirt down," Zayn said, knowing it came out more harshly than he intended when the light of desire flickered and died on Harry's face.

Self-disgust filled Zayn, quickly followed by guilt. He'd lost control. For the first time in years, he'd lost it.

He wanted to reach out to Harry, offer some kind of apology, but if Harry's crossed arms and steely back were any indication, he'd have a better chance of flying to the moon.

Slowly, he released the emergency stop button and with a sudden jerk, the elevator started up. "I'll take you home."

Harry shot him an unbelieving look. "I'm not your responsibility, Zayn. I can get a cab."

"Look," Zayn said slowly, turning to Harry. "We..."

"Zayn, I understand." Harry refused to meet his eyes as the elevator doors slid open. "It's not a big deal."

Zayn stared at Harry's back.

Wait, did he hear it right?

The words stuck to the roof of his mouth. Not a big deal? So how is it Zayn suddenly felt the urge to taste him right now? To have those shapely legs wrapped around his waist and feel the erotic glide as he buried himself deep inside Harry?

Dammit, now he was hard again.

With a soft curse, he pressed the basement button before he did something even more foolish than what he'd just already done.

As the morning crept cautiously into his bedroom, Harry lay staring at the ceiling. What on earth had possessed him to kiss Zayn Malik? The implication sent a wave of cold reality over his hot skin. They'd been about to---

He shook his head. And how he had wanted to, still wanted to.

It shouldn't be. Zayn stood for everything Harry despised, everything that had taken his family and forced him into this spying role. But when he tried summoning up righteous anger, all that emerged was an overwhelming mesh of confusion. It happened every time Zayn glanced his way, ran that frankly sensual gaze over his face, let it linger on his mouth.