More effective than the strongest, most soothing medicine in the world.

Zayne knew, as he came home late past midnight, that you were his cure. He kissed you awake, pulled you into his arms, and sighed as your hands worked on his tense muscles. It had been too long since you’d seen each other, and his touch—rough but apologetic—made it clear how much he’d missed you.

His fingers wandered beneath your nightgown, teasing the tender vulnerability of your skin. A groan rumbled from his lips as his desire mounted with every syllable you uttered. Meanwhile, your hands worked to ease his tension, soothing the ache he carried—between his muscles and elsewhere.

After all, weren’t you just helping each other unwind?

"Different muscle groups… require specific techniques," he grunted, his breath warm against your ear. "Sometimes... skill makes all the difference."

As the rhythm between you intensified, Zayne held you close, your movements fluid as you lost yourselves in the moment. But he knew better—knew a way to make it easier, more fulfilling.

With a gentle shift, he flipped your positions, pinning you beneath him. His lips found yours again, the kiss growing deeper, hungrier, each passing second binding you closer. Even as exhaustion flickered in your gaze, Zayne wasn’t ready to let go—not yet. The night was still young, and there was still so much to rediscover, so much to learn from each other.

“Say my name.”