Mr. Styles » H.S.

Mara Zaragoza has never been the person of quite confidence. On her first day of at Portland University, she encounters with her Literature professor - Mr. Harry Styles. Who's a charmer and has expensive taste. Dealing with her anxiety and not accepting who she is, Mr. Styles brings out the best of her. With misunderstandings, finding love again, and completely bringing out the best of each other. Mara finds that her deepest affection in life is found in the one and only - Mr. Styles.

Copyright © 2014 || All Rights Reserved


13. Twelve

The next morning, Zayn came over for breakfast and we had to the study. Not for our final but a pop quiz. It was our last week before Thanksgiving break. We were sitting close to each other, looking over my textbook. Once in a while we'd exchange small smiles and nervous giggles. We were trying to solve a word problem—I dislike math really. I never understood it nor will I ever. My career isn't going to need numbers, only letters and sentences and words.  

"We should go out for coffee after school." Zayn suggested.  

"Can't," I said hopping off the stool.  

"Why not?" He asks.  

"I've got a dinner date."   

"Oh, with that bloke."  

I knitted my brows together as I poured myself my third cup of tea. "Harry isn't a bloke." I said.   

"Mara, he's your professor. Isn't that weird?"  

"Zayn, he's as old as you. It's like I was going out with you."  

"Would you?" He questions.  

I said, "Would I what?"  

"Go out with me."  

My head shot up. Almost making me drop my cup of tea. His brown-hazelish eyes meeting mine. A smirk played on his lips as his eyes did that thing that twinkled in the light. His carved face created from Gods, and brown skin. Zayn is growing a beard and mustache which I like; and goes along with his new haircut. Razored from the bottom but his top hair was still long. It used to be as long as Harry's hair. Just before I could blink, he was standing in front of me. He was wearing a Misfits t-shirt with black ripped jeans and black combat boots. His arms showed off his inked tattoos; which I love to stare at during class. Zayn's hand gently placed on my waist as he moved closer to me. My heart was beating loud. My hands moved up his arms, feeling every muscle he had flex. His face leaned closer to mine—Zayn's lips about to touch mine.  

"Give me a chance," he said before his lips smashed on to mine.  

Every atom awakened with his kiss. I wrapped my arms around his neck, and his arms pulled me closer to his body. It wasn't enough. No matter how our bodies rubbed against one another it wasn't close enough. Zayn pushed his tongue between my lips, savoring the peppermint from my mouth. I moaned and moaned. He was turning me on. I felt on fire. I felt alive. I jumped on the edge of the sink; my legs wrapping around his waist. From my mouth, he kissed my jaw, down my neck and chest. Zayn began to unbutton my blouse as he left wet kisses around my neck. My hands traveled down to his jeans—unbuttoning them and unzipping the fly. My blouse was thrown on the floor, and I took off his shirt in a flash.   

"I want you Mara. I fucking want you." Zayn muttered against my skin.   

The heat and vibrations felt exotic and hot. Zayn tightened his grip around my waist and lifted me off the sink. He took off his boots and his jeans were sliding off of him. We both landed on my bed; him on top of me. I began to wiggle him out of his briefs as he unclipped my bra. I wanted him too. Since the day I bumped into him. The only thing separating us was my panties. Zayn went down; kissing my breasts, stomach, and inner thighs. He growled against the fabric. My fingers tangling in his hair, and I threw my head back and arched my back. Zayn leaving kisses on my sensitive spot made me wet. I moaned his name so loud that I heard the door knocking. Wait?   

My eyes flew open. I can feel my heart beat in my ears. My hand placed on my heart as I tried to catch my breath. "Oh my god," I said to myself. I just had a sex dream with Zayn. Zayn, my Pre Cal study partner. My best friend. My—oh my god. I ran my hand on face to my frizzy and dry hair. A sex dream with Zayn. Zayn?! Someone continued to knock on the door as I tried to recollect my thoughts. Oh Mara, you're in super deep shit.  I got out of bed and almost tripped on a book I had on the floor. I pushed it with my foot and continued to walk toward the door. Unlocking the lock, I swung the door open to find a smiling Zayn in front of me.   

"Sorry, did I just wake you up." He apologized.  

I shook my head. "Uh no—I was in the bathroom."  

I wandered my eyes trying to avoid his. They landed on his t-shirt—Misfits. I looked down to his pants; denim and his shoes were Vans. I sighed in relief. I looked up at him again. His brown-hazel eyes glimmer with the morning sun and they did that twinkle.   



"Are you going to let me in?"  

"Oh yeah. Yeah, um come in."  

I opened the door wider for him and he walked in. What time is it? I looked at the microwave clock: 11:13AM. I slept through all that, and my alarm. Closing the door, I showed Zayn to the kitchen. I didn't want to touch or look at him in the eye. How can I dream something like that? I shuddered, shaking it off. I put a kettle on the stove. "Tea?" I offered him. He nodded. I grabbed two tea cups, sugar, and cream; just in case he prepared his tea. Zayn has the textbook opened on the review test, and already started working. I excused myself to go change, and grab my stuff too. I stumbled into some jeans and put on a shirt instead of a blouse. I went to the bathroom and brushed my hair. As I walked out, the kettle started to cry, and I dashed to the kitchen. My body bumps against his.   

I felt it. In the pit of my stomach; that butterfly boiling feel. My hands on his chest and his hands on my waist. We were breathing low and steady; none of us moving. My eyes fluttered to look up at him, and Zayn was already staring down at me. I can feel my face flush. "I'm sorry," he whispers.  

"You bet your ass." A very familiar accent spoke from behind us.   

My heart dropped to the pit of my stomach. Turning around quickly, I've never been so afraid in my life. The one person that hated Zayn with all his guts was right at the door.   


He rushed inside, knocking every book pile I had on the floor. He pulled me away from Zayn's warm embrace, and I nearly fell to the floor. Harry had Zayn's shirt in his fist and pushed him on the isle.   

"You son of a bitch," Harry hissed at Zayn. "I warned you that night—don't ever get close to my girl."  

"She doesn't belong to you, twat." Zayn spits out.  

Just like everything moved in fast forward, Harry's fist contacted with Zayn's face. A loud groan escaped from his lips, as Harry continued to do so. My eyes widen in shock at the action. I froze. Watching Harry beat the hell out of Zayn; I had to do something. Then something in me sparked. As fast as my legs could take me, I went to interfere with the fight. I didn't notice that my cheeks were wet from the tears I was crying.  

"Harry, please stop you're going to kill him. H-Harry please stop." I begged him.   

I felt my chest tighten. No. I haven't had one in weeks. Not today. Did I take my meds? Shit. Again, I tried to stop Harry. My breath leaving my lungs so quickly.   

"H-Harry please," I cried out loud.   

Just before Harry hit Zayn again; I stood in between them. My breath rising, and my eyes narrowed at Harry. His fist stained with Zayn's blood. I was so angry at him. He's so … so … childish.   

"Leave," I whispered.   

Harry looked a me confused. "Pardon?"  

"I want you to leave now. Look what you've done to him."  


"No! I'm tired Harry. I'm tired of all your macho bullshit. I'm tired of you trying to keep me away from my friends. I'm tired of it all. It's over! Leave now!"  

The green in Harry's eyes disappeared, and his eyes widen with every word I spat at him. He reached out towards me, but I stepped back and turned my attention to Zayn. Who was badly bleeding from his nose, and had bruised lips. Harry didn't say a word when he stormed out if my apartment, and slammed the door. I helped Zayn up, and helped him to my bathroom. He leaned against the faucet, and winced when he touched his nose. I opened the medicine cabinet, took out alcohol, and ointment. Taking the cloth that was on the edge of the tub; I dabbed a bit of alcohol, and pressed it in his lips. He winced. I apologized. Then I started crying. I don't know why I did; I felt all of this happened because of me. Zayn got hurt because of me. I wiped my tears with the back of my hand, and cleaned his cut. I wet another towel, and cleaned his nose. More tears running down my face.    Zayn's hands placed gently on my waist. I'm sorry, I'm sorry–I kept telling him. Then I broke down in front of him my face nuzzled against his chest. I felt so guilty. Zayn caressed my hair, and hugged me. "It's alright Mara. It's alright." He said. I shook my head. "It's n-n-not. Look at wh-what he's done to you. I've been s-s-so st-stupid."  

"Mara look at me," Zayn told me as he held my face in his hands. My eyes looked up at his. Soft, and gentle; he leaned his forehead against mine, our noses touching, and our lips inches away. "Baby stop crying. None if it was your fault. Harry just had a short temper that's all." He whispered. I felt his breath on my lips, and my knees weakened. I did it without thinking, and pressed my lips against Zayn's. I think you can say it was those I'm-sorry-my-ex boyfriend-beat-you-up-kiss. We parted to catch our breathes.   

I whispered against his lips, "stay the night please." 


End of part one!

Part two will be posted soon, and I hope to post more

since I'll be in summer vacation.

Hope all is well.

love, ISA xx

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