Page 22 of Shared Obsession

He grins, unfazed. “Don’t be. Shit happens.” His eyes linger on me, searching, as if he can sense the storm I just left behind. “You hungry?” he asks, his voice low and easy, but there’s an edge there—like he’s not just talking about food.

I nod, still catching my breath. Alex grabs his phone, thumb moving quickly as he pulls up a local pizza app. “What do you want?”

“Anything,” I answer, voice a little breathless.

He raises a brow, mouth curving into a lazy smile. “Pepperoni, sausage, or cheese? I’m gonna order pizza.” He’s looking at me now with an intenseness that makes my stomach flip—hungry, yes, but for more than just pizza. For a second, I wonder if he can smell the want still clinging to my skin, if he knows how close I came to giving in upstairs. The air between us is heavy, electric, promising more trouble just around the corner.

“Cheese,” I say, the word catching in my throat as a ripple of guilt for Dean flares through me. Alex’s fingers move quickly over his phone as he finishes the order, but then he sets it aside and gives me a look that feels like it sees straight through me. Before I can say a word, he steps close and cups my face in his hands, his touch gentle but commanding.

“Darling, don’t torture yourself,” he murmurs, his voice dipping lower, velvet and rough. “You know, if you want me, all you ever have to do is ask. I’d drop to my knees for you right now, in front of everyone, if you said the word.” His eyes are dark, daring, a little wicked, and it hits me straight in the chest—heat and nerves in equal measure. “But if Dean makes you smile, that’s a good thing. I can share. I want you happy, Ayla. I want you messy, wild, and all mine—even if it means letting someone else touch you. I can handle it. Can you?”

His lips brush my forehead, soft and lingering, and something in me finally lets go—a tightness I didn’t know I was holding. I feel myself relax for the first time all day, the storm inside me quieting just a little. I’m still tangled up in guilt and confusion, but Alex’s words—shameless, honest, sexy as hell—pull me into the present. For a moment, I let myself believe it’s okay to want this, to want him and Dean both, to want more than I thought I deserved. The tension between us shifts, no longer heavy with jealousy but something warmer, more confusing—a tangle of want, acceptance, and dangerous possibility. I let out a shaky laugh, the relief sweet and electric, and lean into Alex’s touch, letting the heat of his words settle somewhere deep inside me.

“Guys, pizza’s on the way!” Alex calls out, his voice echoing through the cabin. Zayn and Dean roll in a second later, taking their spots at the table. I slide into a chair, still feeling the heat of Alex’s look on my skin. “Beer or soda?” Alex asks, and for a second, he grins at me like we’re about to commit a minor crime.

“Soda for me,” I say, trying to sound casual, but my stomach’s still full of butterflies. The guys all go for beer—Zayn included—but even as he pops the cap off his bottle and takes a sip, his eyes never leave mine. There’s a slow, wicked smile curving his lips, and the way he watches me makes my skin spark, like the whole table could vanish and he’d still be looking only at me.

Alex passes out drinks, and we start joking around as the hunger sets in for everyone. Dean’s stomach growls so loud we all burst out laughing. “Jesus, Dean, you trying to out-hunger all of us?” Zayn teases, waggling his finger at him. “You know Ayla’s the real MVP—she’s gonna put us all to shame.”

I groan. “I could eat an entire pizza myself. I’m starving. And if anyone tries to take my slice, I will bite.”

“Noted,” Alex says, eyes twinkling. "I wouldn’t risk my fingers."

Dean leans in conspiratorially, “So, Ayla, what’s your dream pizza? Don’t say pineapple, or we might have to stage an intervention.”

I laugh, “Cheese, obviously. I’m not a monster.”

All the while, I can feel Zayn’s eyes on me, watching, never wavering—his attention like a low, steady current, impossible to ignore. For a moment, it feels almost normal: four people, hungry and laughing, pretending there’s nothing outside these walls that could break us.

Once the food arrives, the kitchen goes oddly quiet—but not in a peaceful way. Every time I look up, one of them is watching me. Alex’s gaze is smoldering, heavy with something that makes my breath catch. Zayn’s eyes are unblinking and hungry, his stare never wavering from my mouth, like he’s imagining what I taste like. Dean’s is softer, but edged with his own longing, a warmth that makes my skin prickle with awareness. It’s not just that they’re looking—it’s the way they all watch each other, too, like every shift in the air, every brush of my hand or flick of my hair, is a ripple in some deeper current. I can feel the tension building between the four of us, a tangled web of curiosity, and the knowledge that we’re all pretending not to notice how precarious this balance is. Each laugh is a little too loud, each glance a little too lingering. The heat of their attention is a physical thing, winding tighter around me until I’m almost dizzy with it.

I eat, pretending not to notice, but my cheeks burn and my heart thunders in my chest. I can feel the hunger in the room—not just for food, but for something rawer, more electric. Every conversation is loaded, every touch accidental but meaningful. It’s overwhelming, this feeling of being the center of gravity, of knowing they’re all watching and waiting, their desires barely held in check. When my plate’s clean, I push it away, the weight of their stares almost too much to take. I feel exposed, cherished, and just a little bit hunted, as if they are in a silent battle for me.

“I’m tired,” I say with a yawn that’s only half-faked, my voice shaky around the edges. “Think I’m going to get some sleep.” I slide out of my seat, suddenly desperate for space, and head to my room. As soon as the door clicks shut and I collapse onto the bed, I let out a shaky breath. Sleep won’t come—not with all this energy buzzing under my skin, the memory of their eyes on me lingering like a brand—but at least in the quiet, I can finally breathe and try to untangle my thoughts.

Chapter Twelve

Zayn

I’m lying in bed, staring at the ceiling in the room next to Ayla’s, sleep nowhere in sight. My mind won’t quit—turning over everything that’s happened: Derek, what Alex did, the chaos we’re all tangled in now. I know I should be focused on the plan, on how the hell we’re going to get all of us out of this mess and keep Ayla safe. But I can’t stop thinking about her. It’s selfish as hell, maybe even wrong, but every time I close my eyes, it’s her face I see, her laugh I hear. I keep telling myself to stay sharp, to remember what’s at stake. But the truth is, I want to be near her. The worry gnaws at me, sharp at the edges, but so does something else—something hotter, more immediate. I shouldn’t be lying here, thinking about Ayla when everything could go sideways in a second. But I am. I want her, and the wanting makes me reckless.

I get up, padding quietly downstairs for a glass of water, trying to settle my nerves, trying to remind myself what matters. When I head back up, I notice Ayla’s door is cracked open, her room dark except for a sliver of moonlight spilling across the bed. She’s lying on her side, facing the door, her breaths slow and even. I hesitate for a second, battling with myself—this is a bad idea, she needs rest, I need to keep my head straight. But the pull is too strong, and I give in. I slip inside and sit gently on the edge of her bed behind her, knowing I should be thinking strategy and instead just aching for her.

She doesn’t stir when I place my hand carefully on her waist. Slowly, almost reverently, I let my hand drift down to her hip, then to the curve of her ass. She lets out a low, sleepy moan that sends heat flooding through me. I know I should stop—should get up, should leave her alone, should be thinking about escape routes and backup plans. But I don’t. Unable to resist, I lie down behind her, pressing my chest to her back, my hand gliding up under her shirt to cup her breast. She arches into my touch, her nipple pebbling beneath my fingers. I whisper, “Hello, gorgeous,” into her hair, and she pushes her hips back, grinding against my cock—already hard for her.

I press soft kisses along her neck, savoring the way Ayla melts into me, her breath hitching with every touch. My hand slides down her stomach, slow and careful, until I find the waistband of her shorts. She lifts her hips, inviting me, and I ease them down, revealing her bare skin to the cool air. My fingers trace up her inner thigh, lingering, teasing, until I find her slick, wet cunt. When she doesn’t stop me, I let my fingers circle her clit in slow, gentle motions, drawing out a soft, broken moan that makes my chest tighten with need.

“Ayla,” I breathe into her ear, deep and low, my voice thick with desire. She whimpers, arching back against me, her body trembling with pleasure as I keep circling her clit, slow and patient. The way her breath hitches, the way she presses her hips back into me, silently begging for more—there’s no mistaking how much she wants this. Her thighs fall open for me, her body moving with mine, every muscle taut with anticipation. When Ayla’s hand slides behind her and tugs at my waistband, I don’t hesitate—I shove my sweatpants down, kicking them off in the dark. Her fingers wrap around my cock, heat and curiosity in her touch, and she lets out a startled, breathless gasp as she explores the two perpendicular barbells piercing the head.

The way she lingers, her thumb tracing the metal, makes my heart pound. She’s not just letting this happen—she’s exploring. Her moans grow deeper, needier, and she keeps pushing back, grinding against me, her body slick and eager, making it clear that she wants every inch I can give her. The sensation of her palm, her awe, sends a jolt of satisfaction through me, and for a moment we both just freeze in the charged hush—her hand still on me, her breath shaky and ragged with want. Then, without warning, she rolls over to face me, eyes wide, hungry, and a little wild.

She takes a good look at my piercings, eyes full of curiosity. “I’ve never seen this before,” she murmurs, and for a second, I can’t find words.

“Yeah, I got it done on a dare from Alex,” I say, grinning as I watch her tongue run over her lips.

“Of course,” she says, rolling her eyes, but there is humor in it.

My cock twitches in her hand, and when she leans down and licks the drop of precum from my tip, I groan—loud, helpless, the sound ripped out of me. Oh, fuck. She wraps her lips around the head, her tongue playing with the barbells, and then she slides down, taking more of me in her mouth. Fuck, she feels so good—hot, wet, and eager, her mouth moving in a steady rhythm that makes my hips jerk.