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We Like to Party

Zayne | Love and Deepspace

summary: you meet Zayne at a Juneteenth day party cw: MDNI, hook ups, fingering, oral sex (reader receiving), vaginal sex, drunk sex, NY coded (my fault), use of the n-word wc: 8.8k a/n: Last year I wrote a little drabble for Juneteenth and have been wanting to write a longer version ever since. I hope people enjoy. Happy Juneteenth to my fellow Black baddies in the LADS fandom!

The late afternoon finds you and two of your girlfriends pressed up against the wall of one of many repurposed warehouses in this lot, seeking refuge from the drizzle underneath a very minuscule awning. You're grateful the line for this party stopped moving when it did, otherwise you'd be braving the elements yet again like your guy friends Jerome and Eli, who left in search of tallboys to drink while you all wait to gain entry. Your friend Tasha, however, is having a hard time seeing that the glass is half full. She sticks her hand out and sucks her teeth when she pulls it back to her side, water dotting her skin like freckles.

"Rain on Juneteenth is anti-Black," she says as she adjusts the t-shirt wrapped around her head. "It's gonna fuck up my hair."

"As if you didn't sweat it out at the park earlier," Simi says.

Before you all decided to try your luck getting into one of the more popular Juneteenth parties, you'd been at a cookout in the park that boasted free food and good music. You'd managed to have a life-altering burger and scream 'That's my song!' before the sky darkened and unleashed a torrent of water. You and your crew ran for cover underneath a sprawling oak and tried to get your anti-social friend Riley to pick you all up from the park at Tasha's behest – "I don't even like you niggas like that. I'm staying my ass indoors. Hope y'all learned how to swim cause this is some biblical level rain."

Though the rain cleared up ten minutes later, the cops showed up within twenty to shut shit down, claiming that there was no 'permit' for the party to have even taken place at all. With your first plans dashed, you'd called an XL and made your way here. As soon as you set foot out of the car, a light drizzle came out to greet you. Tasha started bemoaning her puffy silk press and Simi ordered Jerome to strip off his mostly dry tee, leaving him to search for a deli in his undershirt.

"You sure it's worth waiting in the rain though?" Tasha asks.

You look up at the window that the awning actually is protecting from the weather. It's frosted over with humidity, lights pulsing in time with the music shaking the very ground you're waiting on. While the dreary atmosphere hardly gives off the vibe of a day party you're still determined to have a good time with your friends.

"We're damn near at the front of the line," you say. "Might as well wait and see what it's giving."

"Exactly," Simi says. "Also, Jess and Angie are already inside and they're saying that not only is it a whole vibe, but there's some fine ass men in there."

"I know you're not talking about fine ass men when I'm not around," Jerome cries. He and Eli join you three in line, each with a brown paper bag in hand.

Simi winks at you and Tasha from over her shoulder before she walks up to Jerome, cups his face and gives him a kiss. "I would never, baby," she says as she extracts the tall boy from his hand.

"Simi, do me a favor and please keep talking about finding an actually attractive man," Eli says. "I bet Riley that Jerome would cry at least once today and I need my parlay to hit."

"Actually attractive? You don't think I'm tall, dark, and handsome anymore?" Jerome asks.

Simi jerks Jerome's chin so he faces her again. "Ignore Eli. You should care if your girlfriend thinks you're tall, dark, and handsome, which I do."

Eli tries to take a sip of his drink, but he can hardly contain his amusement long enough, snickering just as he's about to tip the can of seltzer into his mouth.

"Give me that." You wrench the drink from his hand. "You need to stop playing with him, cause if he actually starts crying and scares off our prospects I'm grabbing my claymore and beating your ass."

"See, this is why I don't exclude you Hunters from ACAB."

You roll your eyes and take a sip, but the bitter liquid fizzing on your tongue makes you wince.

"Why the hell did you get black cherry?"

"Ew, you did what?" Tasha asks as she takes the can from you. When she confirms the flavor she shoves it back into Eli's chest.

"Fuck you mean ew? This is my favorite flavor," Eli says.

"I told you not to get that shit bro."

You all shuffle forward as the group ahead of you gains entry, meaning you can finally get under the tent where a girl with a shock of blue goddess braids piled on her head and silver jewelry is seated at a fold-up table, waiting to check your tickets. A security guard stands stoic behind her, metal detector in hand. You present your phone to scan all five QR codes; the attendant secures bright green paper wristbands around your left wrists in turn. She gives you the rundown of the event as she does. The main room is playing hip hop all night, mostly R&B in the basement – "The DJ's going through it so we all gotta go through it. She might lighten up though." The bar is outside, but it's thankfully under a tent. Re-entry guaranteed with the wristbands.

"Oh, and you can't bring those in there." She motions to the two cans. "Either dump 'em or chug."

Simi's quick to give Jerome his can back so she can stride ahead to security, purse already open for inspection.

"That's how you do me, baby?" Jerome whines.

"I'll see you inside!" she says.

You and Tasha move to follow her, only turning when Eli asks, "You're not even gonna help a brother out?"

"Hell. No," Tasha says.

"What she said. Not our fault you bought that nasty-ass flavor," you say with a shrug.

The three of you hurry along, though the drizzle has become more of a mist now. You follow the buzz of conversation until you find the entrance at the very back of the building, right beside the long white tent that covers the bar and a mass of party guests. You grab Simi's hand, who grabs Tasha's, so you can lead everyone through the crowd and join one of the amorphous lines at the bar.

Tasha stands on the tips of her toes, nodding as she surveys the crowd.

"Not bad, not bad," she says. "Plenty of dark chocolate for me. I like that. How's my hair look?"

You and Simi exchange a look. Tasha's hands fly to her head and she gasps upon realizing the t-shirt is still wrapped around it.

"Y'all are some bitches, you know that."

"Bitches?" Simi laughs.

"It's still raining! I figured you meant to keep it on until we went inside," you say.

"Whatever. I'm gonna run to the bathroom and wait for y'all there. Just get me a vodka cran."

You and Simi giggle as Tasha shoulders her way back out of the crowd, though you're not sure what she can do to fix hair that has been rained on and sweated out. You're sure she'll be able to work some magic though.

"So what about you?" Simi asks.

"What about me?"

"See any men you like? I spotted a few contenders on the way over here."

"I thought Jerome was the only fine man period?"

"To me, yes. But no one said I couldn't scope out the scene for my girls plus Eli. Look at that man over there. He looks good, right?"

You crane your head to look where she's pointing to a man dressed in all brown: Yankee fitted over an impressive bundle of locs, vintage baseball jersey and shorts. He holds his phone up in the air while he records himself among the crowd. He does this about three more times before he's satisfied.

"Watching that lowkey turned me off, I can't explain it," you say.

"I get it. You don't need an IG baddie, you need a real nigga."

The pair of you take turns pointing out bachelors, though you keep finding things that make them far from eligible. The crop top is hot and he knows it. Definitely a whore. He's ashy even in this rain? Pass. Who wears Jordans like those? Lame ass niggas, that's who.

You spot Eli and Jerome as you're searching for another victim to point out. Sixteen ounces each really did a number on them; you didn't think it possible to stumble with so many people pressing up against them, but the boys sway their way to your spot in line.

"And with that, the game is over," you say once they finally make it.

"We're going to the bathroom," Simi says. Before Jerome can protest she asks for Tasha's vodka cran and a tequila soda for herself.

"Let me guess. Gin and tonic for you?" Eli slurs.

"You know me so well," you say. "Barr Hill gin if they have it please."

Simi leads the way this time, though everyone is more than willing to let you through since you're on your way out. The bathroom is immediately to the right of the entrance. Tasha is at one of the sinks, a mini flatiron in hand. The left side of her hair is back to sleek already. She squeals in delight upon seeing you both in the reflection of her mirror.

"Can you believe I forgot my travel flat iron was in this bag? Clearly I'm god's favorite." She grabs the tee draped over her shoulder and hands it to Simi. "I gotta thank J for the shirt."

"Nuh-uh, you gotta thank me for the shirt," Simi says before retreating to one of the stalls.

"Thank youuuu."

You go to stand beside Tasha one sink over so you can touch up your look. You adjust your backless draped halter so the slinky fabric perfectly frames the body chain that glitters down the center of your exposed torso. You shift the statement belt around your waist so the amber stones sit the way you like, then pull your mini skirt so it sits lower on your waist. Once you look more put together, you grab a slender vial of your signature fragrance from the very bottom of your purse and give yourself some additional spritzes to your pulse points.

"Let me get some of that," Tasha says. "I'm scared I smell like nasty rain water and sweat."

You hand over the perfume and rifle through your bag for your powder puff to blot your face, shiny from hours out and about. Despite the rain and the humidity, your makeup has held up pretty well.

"Damn, this shit smells good." Tasha turns the vial around to read the notes. "Jasmine, green tea, ylang ylang, honey. Yeah, I need a bottle of this."

"Your own bottle, preferably." As much as you love Tasha, you'd be remiss to overlook her tendency to borrow things indefinitely.

"Ready, girlies?" Simi asks when she goes to the wash her hands on the other side of Tasha. "Angie and Jess said they're dancing so let's see if we can find them."

Tasha unplugs the flat iron and sticks it back in it's pouch and you apply another coat of lip gloss after taking a hit from Simi's pen. The boys are waiting just outside of the bathroom. After Tasha grabs her drink from J, Simi grabs the other two so he can put his shirt back on. Eli hands you your gin and tonic and says he owes you one.

"What for? You're the one who got my drink," you say.

"Well the bartender there gave me his number for requesting his favorite gin. You gotta walk me down the aisle at our wedding or something," Eli says.

With your drinks in hand, you head into the dark main room of the warehouse, barely lit up by flashing blue lights and the dim grey sky filtering in through windows high up. Angie and Jess end up finding you all first. They come up behind your group, announcing their arrival with shrieks of excitement. Jess has a full glass in one hand, a stack of plastic shot glasses in the other. Angie has another cup full of lime wedges, and hugs everyone in the group before announcing that everyone has to take a shot.

"What is that?" you ask when Jess pours the amber liquid into your tiny cup.

"Reposado, baby!"Jess shouts.

"Noooo," you whine. Your worst enemy won't ever leave you be.

"Yessss. We getting drunk tonight!" Angie sings. She drops the lime wedge on top of your gin and tonic as both your hands are otherwise occupied.

You take the shot without further complaint, though your mouth does turn down at the corners right before you do. The tequila warms your blood but the taste makes you wince. You drop the shot glass on top of the stack that Jess is rebuilding before you grab the gin covered lime and suck. Jess tosses the cups in a nearby garbage can before she leads you all deeper into the throng of dancing party goers. You blend in with them soon enough, moving to the music as you scream the lyrics. Everyone is having a great time except for a very frustrated Jerome.

"What's good with you?" You scream into his ear while Simi grinds against his side.

"Why are there white people at the function?" Jerome whips out his phone with a shake of his head. He opens Instagram and takes a photo of the the darkened floor and types out in all caps “HAVE YOU WISHED A BLACK PERSON A HAPPY JUNETEENTH TODAY?”

"You play too much. Leave 'em alone and dance with me," Simi says.

"Nah, imma get my well wishes first."

Jerome scans the crowd and his eyes almost brighten when he spots his victim at the opposite end of the room, a white guy dancing with a Black girl. He jogs over to the couple and flashes his phone before the pair fall over each other with laughter. The guy takes out his own phone and shows Jerome something that leaves him visibly shocked then amused. Both men dap each other up before your friend returns.

"Yo, that has got to be the lightest nigga I have ever seen. Damn near translucent and the whole family’s Black as hell. He just showed me a picture from his family reunion. His parents are the pot and the kettle.”

You all disperse with your laughter. Jerome would be the one to embarrass himself like that.

"See this is what you get paying any mind to white people on Juneteenth,” you say. “Let’s just have a good time.”

"Yeah, nigga. Have a good time or I'll scoop your girl," Jess yells.

"Damn, chill!" Jerome pulls Simi to him so he can finally dance with her, all while casting anxious glances at Jess, who could easily scoop Simi if she chose to.

The DJ transitions into another banger that has Angie and Eli jumping and screaming for joy before they rap at one another. You bend over to whine on Tasha. She grips your waist and rolls her hips against your ass while Jess slaps it. The lights flash white for a moment, and that's when you see him across the dance floor. He's standing just in front of the lighting technician's booth, with two Black guys. It's clear that he's with them, as they talk animatedly on either side of him, but all his attention is on you. And you feel warm with it, this singular focus from one of the most beautiful men you've ever seen.

You blow him a kiss that startles him into realizing that he's been staring. He tears his gaze from you, instead honing all that attention to the glass in his hand.

"Girl you know him?" Tasha calls from behind you.

You straighten up and shake your head.

"You sure? He looks mad familiar, I swear I've seen him before," Jess says.

"I promise I wouldn't be this far away from him if I knew him," you say.

"Well, you better get to know him, then. He looked like he wanted to switch places with me real bad," Tasha laughs.

"Yeah, go talk to him. He is fine as hell and I don't even swing that way," Jess adds.

"I don't know. I'm shy."

"No the hell you're not, bitch," Tasha groans. "He's at a Juneteenth party. Safe to assume he's down with the swirl."

"Who said something about a swirl?" Jerome looks over to where the three of you are conspiring, then past you to where your guy is trying not to look at you.

“He’s definitely not Black.”

“Nuh-uh. You’re doing entirely too much.” You pluck the phone from his hands and make your way across the warehouse. Nerves send your heart into overdrive, but you down the rest of your drink to keep them at bay. The gin guides your steps, and the closer you get, the more of him you like. He's dressed well, in black slacks and a black turtle neck that fits him like another layer of skin. You see the outline of well-defined abs; his sleeves are rolled up to his elbows to reveal toned forearms. His silky hair hides his eyes from view, but not the cut of his jaw or the slope of his nose. And he's so damn tall. You want to climb him like a tree.

His friends register your approach before he does and move past you, clearly amused.

"Twenty bucks says he fumbles with his awkward ass," one says.

"Not too much on my boy," the other friend says. "He's drunk enough that he might actually have a shot."

Your guy looks more startled than drunk when you, admittedly, step too close to him; you have the potent mix of weed and alcohol to thank for your lack of spatial awareness. He blinks down at you a few times before his gaze shifts to Jerome's phone held up in your hand. Hazel green eyes dart across the screen and he laughs quietly before leaning down to your ear to speak with a voice smoother than velvet.

"Happy Juneteenth."

You might just be in love.

"Thank you. You're the first person to wish me that all day, you know."

"That's a shame. But I can't say I'm not glad to be your first."

You can't help but let out a nervous giggle at that. He doesn't seem too drunk to talk to you at all, and you say as much to him as you drop Jerome's phone into your purse.

"On the contrary; I'm drunk enough that talking to you is not so daunting."

"Oh, really?" Your whole body flushes with satisfaction. "What's your name?"

"Zayne. A pleasure to meet you." He takes your hand in his and kisses it. You swear you hear your friends hooting behind you but you don't so much as turn around. You need to gather all of your focus in order to give him your name in turn, especially since he has yet to let go of your hand.

"You're quite the charmer," you say.

"I assure you this is the power of liquid courage."

"Lucky me then." You smile up at him and he blinks rapidly again. "So are you gonna dance with me or what? My friends over there seem to think you'd like to."

"I wouldn't say I'm the best dancer," he admits a bit shyly. "But if you accompany me outside, I’ll be more than happy to get you another drink. Maybe we can get better acquainted?”

"I'd like nothing more."

You leave your empty cup on the ledge of the booth and allow Zayne to lead you out of the warehouse. Now you're sure you hear your friends hollering, their excitement clear over the din of music. Outside, the humidity has abated so it no longer feels like you're walking through a wall of hot moisture. Far less people idle out here in the patio area, which means there's no line for the bar. You order another gin and tonic while Zayne asks for a strawberry lemonade.

"Pacing yourself?" you ask.

"I don't typically indulge in alcohol, however one of my friends gave me a frozen drink earlier, and I failed to realize it was alcoholic. I've been trying to become less intoxicated ever since, but meeting you hasn't helped much in that endeavor."

A grin threatens to split your face in two. "Would your tipsy state explain why you're still holding my hand?"

"I've only confiscated it," Zayne says, giving it a squeeze. "I'll return it in due time."

"Mhm. Well, don't rush on my account." You run your thumb over the back of his palm, noting the ridges of scars. Now that you're out of the dark, you notice that his arms are also covered in scars, long lines that carve his skin. You can't help but think that they ramp up his sex appeal, but you quickly tamp down that thought. You feel a bit guilty sensualizing something that could very well be a point of insecurity for him. But even the idea that he could be insecure about something is a massive turn on.

The bartender –Eli's future husband if his enthusiasm at your order is anything to go by– prepares your drinks in record time, so Zayne releases your hand far sooner than you would have liked. He reaches into his back pocket for his wallet, slides a black credit card from it. He leaves a tip generous enough that you raise a brow. You offer a quiet murmur of thanks when he passes you your drink. Your gin and tonic is not nearly as elaborate as his lemonade, and you can't help but think of Simi, who complains when men's drinks are cuter than hers. The most you have is a wheel of lime on the rim, meanwhile his tall glass has slices of strawberry and lemon chilling among cubes of ice. A whole strawberry is wedged onto the rim, and a dehydrated slice of blood orange floats on the top.

Zayne gestures for you to walk forward, and while you're disappointed he hasn't taken your hand back up again, it's replaced by the excitement of feeling his cool palm on the bare skin of your lower back. A thrill of pleasure shivers along your spine at the touch, but Zayne's breath hitches and he pulls his hand away.

"I apologize. I hadn't realized–"

"What? That I like having your hands on me? You can keep it there," you say with a shrug. "How else will I know where I'm supposed to go?"

He swallows thickly, but places his hand on you again after a moment, steers you towards a rattan bench under one corner of the tent. There'd been so many people outside when you first arrived that you hadn't realized it was there. You readjust your skirt once you're seated and take a sip of your cocktail. You want to jump his bones and devour him, the desire is dizzying. But you don't want to scare him off, being too intense. So, you decide to go for more neutral conversation to quell those lascivious longings.

"So, who are your friends from before? And which one got you drunk?" you ask.

"William and Malachi. I met them during my time as a combat medic. Malachi always had a flask on him in case of 'emergency'. So you could say he has a penchant for trying to get me drunk, yes."

"No way? You were a combat medic? That's impressive." That could explain the sexy scars. Girl, enough with the scars! Get it together!

"For a time, yes. Now I work as a cardiac surgeon at Akso."

"How have I never run into you there? I stay getting admitted into Akso. Might as well pay rent there instead."

Zayne huffs out a laugh. "Should I be concerned as to why you frequent a hospital enough to joke about living there?"

You have another sip. "I work as a Hunter! Scrapes and bruises are par for the course."

"That certainly makes you remarkable in your own right."

"Let's cheers to that, then. Two remarkable people getting to know each other."

You hold up your half empty glass, and Zayne raises his cup to meet yours with a dull thunk instead of the clink you were expecting. He takes a generous sip of his drink, scrutinizes it for a moment, before drinking a bit more.

"So, Dr. Zayne, what do you do in your free time? I can't imagine you have much of it, being busy with the hospital and all that."

"Outside of work, I typically read research papers or books. I might go skiing in the winter if my schedule permits. Around this time of year, I enjoy the flowers. And I watch movies from time to time."

"All by yourself? No girlfriends I need to worry about?"

Zayne looks down at his lemonade and shakes his head.

"Are you for real? With a face like yours? Something's not right here." Pleased as you are to know that he's single, there's no way no one has scooped him yet. A hot, charming doctor doesn't stay on the market for long.

Though his ears are red and he still has that sheepish expression on his face, he manages to turn the tables on you with ease. "No one has quite piqued my interest until now."

You try in vain to hide your smile behind your glass. "You don't play fair," you whine.

"I wasn't aware that we were playing a game."

"We're not. We're getting to know each other better. Tell me more about you."

Your plan to engage in neutral conversation backfires gloriously. The more you learn about Zayne, the more you want him. He's clearly very smart, considering he's the youngest Chief at Akso across all specialties. He visits the same museum that you love at least once a month to check out the new exhibits. His sweet tooth could certainly rival your own, and you soon deduce that he's the Eye Candy that the girls and gays at Maltosio are always swooning about.

"You're the one who has a booth named after you!"

"I beg your pardon?"

"Yeah, my friend Jess works at Maltosio. No wonder she said you looked familiar! They're always talking about some sexy doctor that sits in the same booth and– Oh!"

You slap a hand over your mouth hard and stare down at your own drink this time. That shot of tequila earlier is certainly to blame for this.

Zayne looks pleased enough. Smug, almost. "So I take it that you agree?"

"Agree with what?"

"That I'm 'some sexy doctor'?"

"I might," you say

"What was that? I couldn't hear you." He moves to sit closer to you, his muscled thigh now pressed beside your own.

"I…" You chance a glance at him. His handsome face is flushed, his green eyes lidded, almost hazy. For someone who wanted to sober up, he looks drunker than when you first came out here.

"Can I try some of that, please?" You point to Zayne's all but finished lemonade. He holds it out to you to drink. It's very sweet, which explains why he enjoyed it so much. But you notice a secret ingredient that could explain why his words have been melting into each other and why he's not living up to the stoic and reserved picture that Jess and the Maltosio crew have painted of him.

"There's Hennessy in this," you say.

Zayne looks startled. It's cute.

"Why don't I finish this for you, baby?"

"Be my guest."

There's only one sip left, and it's mostly watered down at this point. You pluck the strawberry off the rim and hold it up to your mouth. His eyes lock on your lips as they close around the fruit. The burst of sweetness hardly compares to the satisfaction you feel upon seeing the hunger in Zayne's eyes, feeling his shuddering breath as it fans over your face. You hadn't realized he was this close to you. Close enough to kiss.

"You sure you don't want to dance with me?" you breathe. You look up at him from beneath your lashes, and his eyelids flutter with those cute blinks again.

"I…I would love to dance with you."

You stand up from the bench and hold out your hand to help him up. He follows close behind you, his chest to your back as you navigate through the crowd at the entrance. Instead of going back into the main room, you lead him down to the basement. The DJ is still going through something, because smooth R&B echoes through the stairwell. It's equally as dark down here as upstairs, though red and purple lights flash across the dance floor. You lead Zayne through the crush of people until you find a less populated corner of the room. The DJ transitions seamlessly into the next song, so well that it takes you a minute to realize that Beyonce's Party is blasting through the speakers.

"This is my song! Okay, just follow my lead."

You shouldn't be surprised that he can keep up with you. In the little time that you've known him you've been so in sync, it's as though you've known each other your whole lives. Zayne rolls his hips in time with yours, keeping the rhythm as you sing along. You turn so your back is to his chest again and grind your ass against the seat of his pants. He gasps quietly in your ear, and you smile when you feel his length firm up. His hands fall to your hips, though he doesn't pull you closer or push you away.

"I'm not used to dancing quite like this. However…" he murmurs in your ear before he spins you around to face him again. Now he pulls you in closer. "I like the feeling of you only looking at me."

You wrap your hands around the back of his neck. You revel in the way his eyes widen when you draw him down to you, his lips eagerly meeting yours in a kiss better than you had been imagining. His plush lips glide against yours, his tongue tastes like tart strawberries and oaky cognac. When you moan into his mouth, he stumbles closer. You manage to brace you both, breaking the kiss with a laugh.

"I'm sorry," he says.

"Don't worry about it, baby," you say as you rest a hand over his chest. His heart pounds as fast as yours is, and it emboldens you along with all the liquor you've had today.

"Why don't you follow me to the bathroom?" you ask.

Zayne looks confused, but still follows behind you, an arm wrapped around your middle as to not trail to far from you. The gender neutral bathroom is thankfully open, so you lead him in there. As soon as you lock the door, you turn in his embrace and kiss him again. He matches the ardency with a groan, presses you into the door hard. His body is a line of muscled heat against yours, and you only hope to be closer. You hike one leg at his waist so you can grind against his clothed cock again, but Zayne wastes no time in grabbing your ass and picking you up. Your skirt slides up to your waist with the new position, so your cunt is only covered by a flimsy lace thong. Your hips move much like they did on the dance floor, only there's a more frantic rhythm to your movements now.

"Before the party reaches it's end. I can satisfy you," he grits out.

"These parties tend to go well into the night," you sigh as he nips at the juncture of your neck.

"That hardly matters. I'll spend every second with you."

The ridge of his cock against your clit makes you frenzied with lust. Arousal stains the front of his pants and trickles down your thighs as he presses into you faster. It feels so good, but it's not nearly enough. You want so much more of him, to be full of him.

"I want you so bad," you moan into Zayne's mouth. "Please fuck me."

A pitiful noise emits from the back of his throat. It's followed be a ripping sound, and you gasp when you realize he's torn your panties off you. Two of his fingers sink inside you and curl against your sweet spot.

"Want more," you whimper.

"B-but I don't have a condom, I don't think–"

"I'm clean." You kiss the hinge of his jaw. "I'm on the pill."

"Are you sure? I'm sure I can find one–"

"Just fuck me, Zayne."

He pulls his fingers out of you to fumble with his belt. Once he pulls himself free you brush your slick pussy against his hard length. Zayne shivers in your hold and guides himself into your clenching heat, stretching your walls deliciously until he reaches the hilt. He pulls back slowly, then sinks into you again.

"Faster, please" you whine.

"I'll give you what you need," he says into your ear before he pounds into you, each thrust rattling the door behind you, driving him deeper inside you. Pleasure like you've never felt lances through you, forces cries of ecstasy to warble from your throat.

Zayne leans his head down, kisses a trail of kisses down the center of your chest before seeking out one of your nipples from beneath the panel of your top. You arch your breast into his mouth, cunt bearing down on him when he sets his teeth into your peak. Your legs tremble and your breath leaves you in short bursts.

"I'm so close," you say, and he groans in agreement. You feel him try to pull away but you lock your legs around him, keep him locked against you.

"No, don't go anywhere. Come inside me," you whisper, desperate for all of him.

A harsh growl escapes him, but Zayne grabs your hips to bruising and drives himself into you harder until your orgasm washes over you, an explosion of passion lighting up your body. You feel his warmth fill you with each jerk of his hips until his cock softens inside you. He rests his head on your shoulder and tries to catch his breath.

"You good?" you ask as you run your fingers through his sweaty hair.

He chuckles quietly. "You are dangerous company to keep."

"Not my fault you're so easy," you say.

He lifts his head, looking at you with lust darkened eyes and a slight quirk to his lips. "That's just it. I'm far from easy. It's safe to say that you've bewitched me."

"You sure it wasn't the Henny Lemonade?"

"I'm certain it wasn't. But was this enough?" he asks. Your walls clench around him again. "I can only assume…you want to do more."

"I do want more."

"I'm glad to hear it. But, for certain things," he says, lips brushing yours. "We should take our time."

Just as he presses his lips back to yours, insistent banging on the other side of the door startles you apart.

"Occupied!" you yell. "We should probably get out of here."

"Agreed," Zayne says, red-faced. He pulls himself out of you and puts you back on your feet. He busies himself with putting himself back into his pants while you run grab some toilet paper to clean his spend from between your thighs. You make sure to pull your skirt and belt down low enough – not that your thong was doing much to keep you decent.

You wash your hands after Zayne finishes up, looking at your reflection as you do. Your makeup has a misty finish again. Mascara smudged at the corners, gloss kissed off. But there's a glow to you that you wouldn't have been able to achieve with any of your products.

You take Zayne's hand again before unlocking the door. To your surprise, Simi and Jerome are on the other side of it. The mix of amusement and shock on their faces makes your blood burn once more. So much for a cut and run.

"Oh! H-hey y'all," you say. "This is Zayne. Zayne, these are my friends Simi and Jerome."

"Pleased to meet you," Zayne murmurs, looking very much like he'd rather the basement split open beneath his feet.

"The pleasure is all mine," Simi says, giving him a not-so-subtle once over. She leans close to you and says. "And here I thought you needed a real nigga. How the turn tables."

"Can you shut up?" you say, and she moves away from you with a cackle.

"Yo, I hope you didn't use my phone for no nasty shit," Jerome says. Dark as it is, you know Zayne's ears have taken on that flaming red color.

"Definitely not." You grab the phone from your bag and hand it to him.

"Good. Oh, and nice to meet you man," Jerome says. He offers his hand to shake, but pulls it away. "No offense, but I don't know what y'all got into in there."

"Bye," you say, tugging Zayne along.

"Don't be embarrassed! We 'bout to get into the same shit!"

"Jerome!"

You don't stop marching until you're upstairs and outside again. It's dark out now, so the outdoor area is lit up by bright, warm bulbs of string lights. You turn to face Zayne again.

"I'm sorry about my friends," you say. "They're just…"

"There's nothing to forgive," he says, gives your hand a reassuring squeeze.

"Oh. Good," you say.

You stand in tense silence. You're still so turned on but you're not sure how to ask if he wants to continue after the sudden interruption. If he's feeling the same apprehension, he hides it well. Zayne just pulls out his phone, taps it a few times before his attention is back on you.

"I hope this isn't too forward…" he begins, blinking nervously again. "But if you'd like to accompany me home, I've ordered a car. It's set to arrive in two minutes."

"Oh! I'd love to. Let me just–let me just text my friends."

Reluctantly, you let go of his hand to search for your phone. But when you grab it, the lock screen is a selfie of Simi and Jerome.

"God fucking damn it. I gave him my phone," you groan.

"Should we go back downstairs to retrieve it?"

"Absolutely not." You really don't want to chance another run in with them, even if it's to get your phone back. "I'll get it later or something. You mind if I call one of my friends with yours? Jerome changed his pin after I figured it out last time." His and Simi's anniversary date.

"By all means." Zayne hands you his phone and you dial Tasha. The phone goes to voicemail after two rings, so you call her again.

"Hello?" she asks, her voice muffled by the music blaring inside.

"Hey, it's me! I gave Jerome my phone by mistake, but I wanted to let you know I'm heading out."

"Bitch, the party's not over. Fuck you mean you're leaving? Wait! Please tell me you're going home with that gorgeous man who was eye-fucking you earlier."

His phone buzzes with a notification, and you pull it away in time to see the car is a minute away. Zayne places his hand on the small of your back again to lead you back to the street.

"Sorry. Yes, that's who I'm with."

You have to pull the phone away when she screams a very audible 'Yes, bitch!" Zayne chuckles quietly, and pulls you further into his side.

"Anyway, don't worry about me, talk to you tomorrow, bye!"

You end the call and hand Zayne his phone with a quiet thank you.

A sleek, expensive car is waiting out in front for you. Zayne opens the door for you to slide in, and he settles beside you like he can't bear to not be pressed up against you. He reaches over your waist to secure your seatbelt, and your heart blooms with affection for him. You don't even give him the chance to secure his own belt before you draw him into a charged kiss, your tongue slipping between his teeth. He cups your face in his hands and tilts it up to kiss you deeper, like he could swallow you whole, just like this. You're all lucky that the seatbelt is restricting your movements, otherwise you would have climbed into his lap by now.

It feels like no time has passed when the driver clears his throat and announces your arrival. You hurriedly unlatch the seatbelt as Zayne opens the door. Because the windows of the car were so tinted you hadn't seen the insane modern masterpiece that is his home.

"This is where you live?" you ask, beside yourself. Everyone your age lives in apartments.

"Yes," he says. "At least, I hope it is. When you're this drunk, it's easy to lose your sense of direction."

You offer up a quiet Thank god when his key successfully opens the front door. You both kick off your shoes at the threshold before he takes your hand in his. Though Zayne's supposedly drunk, he leads you through the darkened home without incident until you reach his bedroom. He releases your hand to cross the room, and a dim light beside the head of the bed illuminates the space to you, cool slate and deep gray. You make your way over to him, drop your bag on the ground once you reach him. You place your hands on the back of his neck and kiss him again. His own hands trail over your back, your arms, squeeze at your hips. He turns you both around so that the back of your knees meet the mattress.

Zayne carefully lowers you onto his bed, his firm body on top of yours. He kisses across your throat and the top of your breasts before his lips meet your again. You reach for the hem of his turtle neck, and he helps you peel it off so he can go back to kissing you. Lithe fingers find their way into your cunt, petting at your softened walls until you're panting.

"Do you like it?" Zayne asks as he presses into your sweet spot.

"Fuck," you whimper. "I like it."

He eases his fingers out of you then despite your whine of protest. His lips chart a wet path down the center of your chest, along the gold chain, over your stomach and down to your hip. Zayne unlatches your statement belt and lets it drop to the ground. He pulls your skirt down, bunching the material at your knees, while you pull your top off. He pushes your bound legs to your chest before he closes his mouth over your cunt in a sultry kiss. He flicks his tongue against your clit, and you reach down to rub at the smooth skin of his shoulder.

"Zayne," you moan as he sucks your clit into his mouth.

"I like it when you say my name," he says before giving you a broad lick. "I want to hear my name leave your lips a thousand times." He kisses your cunt again. "Ten thousand times even."

Zayne wraps his hands around your hips and pulls you closer to the edge of the bed. Desire pools low in your belly, prickles at the soles of your feet. He looks so sexy between your legs, his face wet with your arousal and his saliva. You come with a near silent cry of pleasure, and Zayne licks up your release until your body stops twitching. He presses back up to his feet, pulls your skirt the rest of the way off then tosses it aside. Now that he's standing , you can confirm that his abs are just as mouthwatering out of the shirt as they were concealed by it. If Tasha is god's favorite, then what could that possibly make Zayne?

You watch with your bottom lip caught between your teeth as he unbuckles his belt and removes his pants. His cock is thick and red with unsated lust. You know your girls would approve despite the color.

Zayne rocks himself into you with a groan, each thrust a jolt of white hot bliss. He reaches down to swipe at your clit, and the added the stimulation makes you press your head back against the mattress to moan for him to keep going, don't stop. He picks up the pace of both his fingers and hips, rubbing circles into the swollen bundle of nerves as the slap of wet skin echoes in the quiet of his bedroom. Your cunt tightens around his cock as you cry out again, another orgasm ripping through you.

Zayne readjusts to kneel on the bed, and he presses into you deeper like this, the head of his cock kissing the soft ring of your cervix.

"You want more, don't you?" he grunts, though it's not much of a question.

"Mhmm!" you mewl. Words are impossible with how good he's giving it to you.

"Good. Then I'll give you more," he says as he grabs your hips and pistons his own into you harder. You scream out his name, over and over until he leans down to capture your lips in an open-mouthed kiss. With his body nearly flush with yours, his pelvis grinds against your clit each time he drives himself into you. Arousal sparks through your blood, sets your body aflame until you melt into the bed with one last powerful orgasm. Your entire body trembles in his hold, and you bear down on Zayne's cock so tight that he can hardly pull away, only nestle himself deeper into you until his cum fills your fluttering cunt.

He collapses on top of you, spent, his body a delicious, warm weight on top of you. Both your breaths slow until you two are inhaling and exhaling in sync with each other. You decide to rest your eyes for only a little while, until Zayne can muster the strength to get off you.

When next you wake, a beam of sun shines directly in your face. Your mouth feels full of cotton, and your head is fuzzy. One of Zayne's heavy arms is draped over your hip, the green wristband crumpled around his wrist. The rest of his body is a warm, solid wall at your back.

You certainly hadn't thought to spend the night. Yes, Zayne was certainly feeling you yesterday, but what if that was just the rare influence of alcohol talking. You'd rather not live through that disappointment, so you carefully lift Zayne's arm off you, slide off the comforter, and slip out of his insanely comfortable bed.

You take a moment to look at his sleeping form. His long lashes cast shadows across his cheeks, his hair is a sleep tousled nest that you just want to run your hands through. He's far too beautiful for his own good, and part of you screams that you're insane to try and sneak out of his house without his number at least. The part of your brain that's scared that this is nothing more than a one-night stand prompts you to look for your clothes and get the walk of shame over with.

Your shirt is easy enough to find, flung onto the bedside table last night while you were in the throes of ardor. When you pick it up, you unveil an alarm clock underneath. 7:08. At least most people will be asleep.

You pick up your bag from the ground, and you swear you can hear Tasha screaming about how it's bad practice to leave it there. You look for your phone and get pissed all over again when you see Simi and J's smiling faces. How are you gonna get home now?

Later, find your skirt first. You tiptoe around the room, but all you can find is your chunky belt, which you stuff into your bag. You drop to your knees to look under the bed and find that your coveted scrap of fabric is waiting for you there.

You shimmy back into your skirt, finally fully dressed. You're sure you hair looks insane, but you'll have to deal with that later. Right now, you just need to quickly, quietly make your way out of–

"Going so soon?"

You yelp at the sound of Zayne's voice, gravelly with sleep. Turning to face him just so happens to be the worst thing you could do. One of his forearms are thrown over his forehead, protecting his eyes from the sun. His muscles bunch together so enticingly, you want to lick every single one, take your time with it. You didn't think he could be more attractive than he was yesterday, but right now he is, and that is making it difficult to think straight.

"Oh, um, yeah. I-I figured you'd want some space?" Are you for real.

Zayne's brows furrow. "I don't remember asking for that."

You blink once, stunned, warmed, turned on again. All you can manage is a soft 'Oh'.

"Unless you want to go, I'll be happy to take you home. Or call you a car if you prefer. I know you're without your phone."

"Thanks. I really appreciate it."

Silence falls over you, a heavy sheet of tension. Neither of you move. You doubt that you're even breathing. You're bracing for the worst, but you don't know why.

"When would we…" Zayne tries to sit up but winces and opts to lay back down once more. "When would we be able to meet up again?"

"Oh." The only word you know, it seems. Your heart flutters dangerously in your chest. You have to take a moment to ensure you heard him right. "You're the doctor. I'm sure your schedule is packed–"

"Next week. Sunday."

Your face floods with warmth at how assertive he is with it. You want to jump on him again, keep him in bed all damn day. "I'm free then," you say instead of please fuck me again.

"Though I doubt I can wait that long. Do you have any other plans today? I'd like you to stay and perhaps accompany me for breakfast."

You look down at your mini skirt and the top that fails to cover one of your areolas. When you glance up at Zayne again, his ears are red with his blush.

"I don't think this is breakfast appropriate unless we're going to brunch at a strip club. If you have a dress shirt I can borrow I'd be down." He's tall enough that you could wear one of his shirts like a dress, accessorize it with your belt.

"The rest of my day is yours, then."

A small smile graces his face, and your own lips pull up into a grin. Zayne motions for you to him, and you follow, giddy and infatuated. He holds his hand out to you, and you place your purse on the bedside table before you slide your palm into his.

"I had a lovely time with you yesterday," Zayne says. He lifts your hand to his mouth and drops a kiss to the back of it.

"So did I," you admit.

"Did you? Then why were you moving so furtively just then?" he asks.

"I–um…" You struggle to come up with a good excuse, so you just sigh, "I was just too in my head. I'm sorry."

"There's nothing to forgive," Zayne says.

You yelp again when you're yanked down into the bed. Zayne pulls you into his strong arms, and you curl your body around his as well.

"There's nothing to forgive because you did not manage to escape," he says. "But now I'm afraid I must keep you bound until Maltosio opens for breakfast."

"You're gonna hold me like this all morning?" you ask.

"I'm afraid you might vanish without a trace, otherwise, like you'd been planning to do earlier. You move so swiftly. Securing you like this is the only way to stay safe."

You pull away as much as he'll let you –which is not much– and manage to hold your pinkie out to him.

"I promise not to run out on you like that again."

Zayne laughs softly and curls his pinkie around yours. "That promise is quite reassuring," he murmurs, before he nuzzles into your neck with a contented sigh.

#to freedom

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