The ropes bit into Victoria’s wrists as Zayn pulled them tighter, binding her arms above her head and tying them to the carved post of his bed.
She smiled into the restraint, her body arched in invitation, the red silk robe puddled at her knees and she kicked them away.
“You always did like control,” she purred, her voice thick with anticipation. She wanted him badly.
But Zayn didn’t respond. He didn’t need to.
He stepped behind her, shirtless, his broad chest rising and falling with slow, measured breaths. His eyes, usually unreadable, were sharp tonight, dark with something far more dangerous than lust. His belt was already in his hand, coiled like a serpent, ready to strike, ready to bite.
Without warning, he entered her.
A choked gasp escaped her lips as he filled her from behind with a single, powerful thrust. He didn’t pause. Didn’t give her time to adjust. He gripped her hips and began to move—hard, fast, merciless.
