Supersonic| Zayn Malik |AU

// "Death is inevitable, it's a promise made to us at birth." // Arielle is a regular university student, until she meets Zayn. Zayn’s an illegal street racer, and he wants her, but he’s dangerous and that scares Arielle. What happens when one of Arielle’s friends falls for her? What happens when Zayn gets twisted up with the wrong people? It’s a story about lust, lies, and a love that develops at supersonic speeds, but suffers dire consequences. // in which he loves nothing more than cars and winning, until he meets her // ||| WARNING: This story has scenes of violence, drug use, mature content, sexual content, and foul language. ||| CAN BE FOUND ON WATTPAD WHERE IT'S UPDATED REGULARLY

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7. Six

 

  Chapter Six  

 

  ARIELLE'S POV

 

A/N: quick pre-chapter a/n bc I need to warn you that there are some inappropriate things of the sexual nature in this chapter (jokes and whatnot) so if you're not down for that then this ain't the fanfic for you bc this ain't the first time this'll happen and there won't be another warning. x

 

I open my eyes and I'm in an unfamiliar place. It's a dark room - in fact the room is black, with white chalk sketches covering every square inch of useable space.

 

I'm lying on a king-sized bed in the middle of a fairly large room. There's minimal furniture - all I can see are the two end tables, the bed I'm lying on, a mirror, and a small green chair in the corner of the room.  The only light within the room is provided by a stand up lamp resting beside the chair.

 

I pull myself towards the edge of the bed and attempt to rest my feet on the floor, but they don't reach. I rub my eyes, which feel tired and still heavy. The room is so dark that I can't tell what time of day it is.  My eyes scan over the walls.

 

On the wall in front of me is a sketch of a robot. Further down the wall is a detailed drawing of a woman, and on the wall to my left is an assortment of things - comic book characters, Zayn's name, as well as an extremely large sketch of a race car - which takes up nearly half the wall. It's amazing to stare at the walls, each little detail has been meticulously thought out.

 

When my eyes scan the wall above the bed I catch a quote written in the neatest little font. I recognize it as the same font from the cigarette which was found in my pocket. The quote reads "eye contact: how souls catch on fire." I can feel the grin on my face forming as my eyes catch the sight of another quote on an opposing wall "he looked at her, almost as if he'd once been a blind man, seeing the sun set for the first time." Zayn the romantic, who would've guessed?

 

I throw myself back on the bed. When I stare up at the ceiling I see clouds above a delicate landscape. Wow. How'd he even draw that up there? I lift myself off of the green bed sheets and look in a mirror that has been carefully leaned up against one of the walls. I'm still wearing the clothes that I last remember putting on - jeans and a tank top. But where's my sweater and the shirt I was wearing over this tank top? How long was I out? My makeup is slightly smudged from sleeping, and my hair appears to be lightly knotted.

 

I pat my pockets. Where's my cellphone? I saunter back over to the bed, checking between the sheets, as well as on the end tables. I can't find it anywhere. Did Zayn take it? Did I lose it during the night?

 

I decide it's best to find Zayn since he should be able to answer some of the questions I'm having. I open the bedroom door and am stunned with light. Clearly it's daytime. I have to take a moment while my eyes adjust to the sudden light before leaving the bedroom and beginning to make my way down the narrow hallway. There isn't all that much to look at, and I don't bother opening doors.

 

"Zayn?" I call out, hoping he can come to my aid. My stomach growls reminding me that I probably haven't eaten in hours, maybe even a day. There isn't an answer and so I continue to make my way through the house. I call out his name a few more times, but nothing. All that can be heard are my feet padding against the black tiles of the floor, and the faint noises of a television.

 

Eventually I find the kitchen. It's actually quite beautiful with very modern, white handle-less cabinets. It looks like something straight out of an Ikea commercial. I notice a few pans out on the counter, but it appears as if they haven't been used. A bar stool has been pulled out from underneath the island and a glass of juice rests on the hard marble top.

 

When I turn around I'm faced with a stunning view of a large fireplace, a massive flat screen TV, and a expansive set of windows that overlooks the balcony, which has an incredible view of the beach. My heart begins racing when I see a shirtless Zayn leaning over the railing. He's talking on the phone, and all he's wearing are a pair of boxer-briefs. There's a cloud of smoke billowing around him, almost as if he's in an advertisement.

 

I swallow hard. I begin taking careful steps towards him, but I end up tripping on this little step that goes up into the living room. I am able to catch myself but it causes enough noise that Zayn hears it and he turns around.

 

Zayn finishes off his cigarette quickly and ends his phone call. I make my way to the balcony and open the door. "Good morning babygirl," he leans backwards on the railing, eyeing up my body in the tight little tank top. I can feel him staring at my breasts, which are basically visible through this tank top and my black bra isn't as much help as I need it to be.

 

"What day is it?" I ask, my voice hoarse.

 

"It's Monday morning."

 

I've been trying incredibly hard to not look at his body, but I can feel him smirking at me. When I turn to look at him he's still eyeing up my body, staring at my breasts. He licks his lips, which are a beautiful shade of light red this morning.

 

With barely any clothes on I have a chance to admire the black ink that covers a large portion of his body. There's a large wolf on his leg, a tiger on one arm, a snake on his other shoulder, a thick black heart on his lower abdomen, and various skulls, along with a ton of other things that I can't quite make out. I'd love to sit down with him and decipher his tattoos, listen to stories about each one. His boxer-briefs are somewhat tight on him and it has me squirming in front of him. He notices me staring and his lips curl into a wicked smirk.

 

His eyes scan down my body and he catches the small portion of my ink that is visible through one of the rips in my jeans. He takes a step forward and places his hand on the upper portion of the tear and pulls upwards - revealing the stem of a rose. "Would love to see this without these," he points at my tattoo and then at my pants - basically telling me he wants me out of my pants.

 

He steps even closer to me and pushes my hair back. I'm afraid he'll give me another love bite and so I take a step backwards, "don't worry baby, I won't." I can feel his soft fingers as they lightly trace over the bruised skin. I find myself unable to move or speak as his fingers raise goose bumps all over my body. The feeling is incredible and he's merely touching my neck.

 

"Are you hungry?" He asks me.

 

Still unable to speak, I nod. He scent fills my nostrils and I don't know how I've ever lived without it. He smells like cigarettes and mint. I feel his hands move their way up my tank top where they come to rest on the lower portion of my back. He bites lightly on the corner of my jaw, "then I guess I'll fix something up for you." He says still mere inches from my face.

 

I look over at him and his face is inches from mine, his caramel eyes are piercing up close. His lips are so close to mine and I can swear he's going to kiss my lips, but he doesn't. He just stares at me. And I stare back because it's almost as if I've been sick all these years and he's the medicine I've needed.

 

After a few moments he steps away from me and makes his way into the kitchen. I take a seat at the stool that's already been pulled from the island. I sit absentmindedly and stare at the ink imprinted into the back of his neck. His shoulders are broad and muscular - much more muscular than I had figured when I'd first seen him.

 

Eventually after a few minutes he's cooked up a few eggs and he offers them to me on a plate, "coffee?" He asks.

 

I wrinkle my nose and shake my head furiously, "no, juice is fine."

 

Zayn chuckles dryly and places a small glass of juice - what appears to be orange - in front of me. I continue eating and when I look up I notice a small clock on the microwave, it's already past my first two classes of the day. Shit.

 

"I need to get back," I state once I'm done with my plate. He looks at me from behind a small notebook he's been staring at and writing in for the past ten minutes.

 

"When?"

 

"Basically ASAP." I'm already anxious and nervous knowing that Zoe's probably freaking out. My phone. "Where's my cellphone?"

 

Zayn looks up again and his eyes wander to my chest. I roll my eyes and I hear a laugh rumble within his chest, "I have it charging, it was almost dead what with all the calls and texts you had received."

 

I begin to panic.

 

"Don't worry," he places his notebook in a drawer and walks around the island, "I have a mate that let that little hyperactive chick know that you're okay." He leans up against the counter, and stares down at me. "Now let's have some fun, shall we?" He says as he reaches a lanky finger forward, yanking on the fabric of my tank top. I go to swat his hand away and end up spilling the orange juice - all over my pants. Great.

 

"Now you're wet babygirl," he says it in a joking way, but it's still sensual and I squirm a little within my chair. All he wants to do is fuck you, Arielle.

 

"Do you have something I could change into?" I stand up and the orange juice just runs further down the material, making my legs totally sticky. "On second thought could I maybe shower here?" I regret asking the moment it falls from my lips.

 

"Is that an offer?" He asks as he takes a step towards me. I can feel his hand on the button of my jeans. I pray that he doesn't undo it.

 

"No it really isn't. Just show me to my phone and my clothes then and I'll be on my way." I say to him.

 

His hand releases from my button but both hands quickly move to my sides. He pulls me in close to him, my breasts are pushed up against his bare chest. I have to brace myself on him with my hands from the sudden movement. His lips find the already bruised and sensitive area on my neck and he sucks harshly. When I try to move away from him it's to no avail, he's much stronger than me.  He continues sucking until it brings out a whimper from me.

 

"I am not a patient man, Arielle. I will not wait forever. Now go get your things in the living room. I will drive you back to your campus." He stares at me intensely, just inches from my lips before turning away from me and walking down the hallway.

 

 

 

A/N: omg zayn's secretly a romantic, but he's literally so artistic and unique and i love it so much. i want chalk walls that i can write endless amounts of quotes, and draw on :(

 

zayn ain't a patient man arielle, so basically just drop trow and bend over the counter and zayn will be a happy man. okay? okay. (don't worry my dirty minded little friends that're waiting for this bc it's on the way)

 

anywaaays, don't forget to comment and vote x

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