Kate Hewitt - The Chatsfield - Series 2

Of course, if she did touch him, she would have no idea what to do with him.

Really, she had only just got her first proper kiss a few moments ago. She didn’t think she was ready for more. She didn’t think she could possibly pull off more.

He turned back to her and she tried to redirect her gaze. “I think we would both be warmer if we laid down.”

“Sure.” She nodded dumbly, not entirely sure if she’d spoken, or if she had just stared at him like a dazed marmoset, all wide eyes and soaking wet hair.

He went over to the nest of blankets that was in the corner of the tent, and rearranged the pillows. She swallowed hard and went to where he was, sitting down alongside him, her blanket still wrapped firmly around her.

“You know, the quickest way to get warm is to be skin to skin,” he said, his tone grave.

She opened up the front of her blanket and adjusted herself, throwing one side over him and drawing herself beneath the same one he was under. Heart pounding she folded herself into his embrace. She rested her cheek on his chest, felt his heart raging against his skin. The hair over his skin was rough, the flesh beneath smooth and hot. She raised her hand and pressed her palm flat against him, reveling in the feel of him. In the differences between their bodies.

This moment should have been surreal, and yet it wasn’t. It was too sharp, too all-consuming. She was wholly in this moment with him, completely aware of who he was, who she was and what they were doing.

She lowered her head, resting it in the curve of his neck. He tightened his hold on her, one hand rested between her shoulder blades, the other on her lower back.

His breathing was ragged, fanning over her temple.

“I want...” She didn’t know quite what to say, because she didn’t know quite what she wanted. She only knew that her heart was raging out of control, that she felt shaky, that she felt needy. And she knew he had the answer. “I want—”

He cut off her words with a kiss, a gentle one, a soft one. This wasn’t a claiming, but a tasting. A question.

She slid her hands up his chest, and locked them around his neck, deepening the kiss. She could feel his arousal, hardening beneath her hip. She shifted, bringing his hardness between her thighs.

He moved, bracing his weight on his arms, settling between her legs. His dark eyes bored into hers, his focus unwavering.

“Sophie—” his voice was rough “—do you know what you’re asking for?”

Pressure built in her chest, built in her body, squeezing her throat tight. All she could do was nod. And she hoped she was being honest.

This seemed like the right time. It seemed like the right place.

He seemed like the wrong man. Engaged to another woman, the ruler of a country worlds apart from her own. A man who controlled the fate of the nation, a man who held the fate of millions in the palm of his hand.

He seemed like the wrong man, but at the same time he seemed like the only man. Because no one else had come close to this, no one else had made her feel this way.

Attraction, lust, it always seemed like something terrifying to her. Something to be avoided. It had seemed like great bouts of weeping, depression and a stalled-out life that was enslaved by one person who held all the control, all in the name of something that was supposed to be love.

But this wasn’t like that at all. This had been so easy. So easy to kiss him. So easy to take her clothes off for him. So easy to lay down with him, and let him take her into his arms. It was right in a way she had never imagined something like this could be.

He pressed a kiss to her shoulder, before lifting his head and looking into her eyes, sweeping her hair out of her face. Yes, when she looked at his face it made it all feel very easy.

She had to wonder at who she was right now, at who this woman, lying in a desert tent in the arms of a man who should feel like a stranger, was. Because a week ago this wouldn’t have been possible. A week ago she would never have been able to imagine this.

She didn’t know what she was doing, and it was okay. For the first time it was okay. Because she had stripped off her clothes in the tent, but she had stripped off her armor down at the bottom of the mountain. And now she could feel everything. Every touch, every whisper against her skin, unprotected, vulnerable, exposed. But it wasn’t scary.

It was right. It was everything.

“Sophie,” he said her name again, “I need you to say you want this. I need to know.”

“Of course I do, Zayn.” She put her hand on his cheek, kept her eyes on his. “How could I not? I think this was always going to happen. From the very first.”

Whether it made sense or not, there had been something compelling about him from the instant they’d laid eyes on each other. Something different. Whether it made sense or not, knowing him had begun changing her from that very first moment.

“Nothing is inevitable. Isn’t it all about choices? Weren’t you just saying that?”

Something shifted inside of her, an avalanche of feelings pouring through her. “Yes, it is about choices. I had a choice when we met. If I had told you I was leaving, you would have let me go. I’m confident in that now. You didn’t force me, even if you did manipulate the situation. I chose to come with you. I’m choosing to be here now. I’m choosing this.”

“I shouldn’t,” he said.

Her heart squeezed tight. “I know.” Because she did know, she knew that this didn’t make sense. But she also knew she needed it. Needed him. “Doesn’t it feel like we’re the only ones in the world?”

“Out here it’s easy to believe,” he said.

“Yes, a little bit too easy. But you have to know that I feel different right now. What you said about why I make choices... It was true. Everything I do has been in reaction to other people. But if other people didn’t exist, if there was nothing but this, if there weren’t kingdoms, and cities. If there weren’t mansions and hovels, if there weren’t haves and have-nots. If there was only this, I would want to be here with you. And I know that when we leave, all of that other stuff will come back. But right now, right now it’s not here.”

He closed his eyes, letting his head fall back, his expression pained. Then he lowered his head, opening his eyes slowly, black fire blazing from them. “If there are no kingdoms, then there are no kings. And if there are no kings, there is no duty that must be kept. And if there is no duty, if there is only myself, then I choose you.”

She swallowed hard, an ache building in her chest, her throat burning. “Please,” she whispered. “Please, choose me.”

He groaned and cupped her cheeks, kissing her deeply, his tongue sliding against hers. She wrapped her arms around his neck, opened herself to him. He tangled his fingers through her hair, let one hand slide down the curve of her neck, down her back, before he shifted position and cupped her rear, tugging her up against him. He kept on kissing her, the world beyond the desert a distant memory, and the desert itself slowly falling away, sand through an hourglass. It was a countdown timer that couldn’t be denied. But she was also weightless, falling, all while being held in Zayn’s arms.

He abandoned her mouth, kissed the hollow of her throat, before moving lower, tracing the valley between her breasts with his tongue before adjusting position and sliding the flat of his tongue over one hardened nipple. She gasped, arching her back, pressing herself more firmly against him.

A dull ache beat at the apex of her thighs, a deep feeling of emptiness at her core. She had no idea being hollow could be painful, but it was. In this moment it was.

He palmed her breast with his other hand, as he drew one tight bud into his mouth. She laced her fingers through his hair and held him tightly against her, not wanting the sensual assault to end.