Lyrical: Chapter 21


York pulls me into his flat, slamming the door behind us. Within seconds he’s pushing me up against his door, his hips grinding against mine. His kisses are frenzied, passionate and my head is swimming with the way he’s making me feel.

Hot, needy, desperate, mindless.

I can’t think straight. Goddamn him.

“I want to fuck you until we both see stars. Maybe I’ll light up just like the vampire dude you always loved so much in those books—” he states between kisses.

“York,” I mutter against his mouth, needing a moment’s breathing space as his words settle in my bones like a permanent tattoo. The fact that he wants me so bad and remembers my infatuation with a certain series of books makes me smile inside, despite my stupid brain trying to put a stop to what’s happening. My fingers rise up his chest and I push against him, despite my clit throbbing with need. “York, I need a second.”

He bites his lip, his ice-blue eyes heated, but he pulls back, one hand still pressed against the door beside my head, the other running through his hair. “Shit, okay.”

“I just think we need to talk or something,” I say a little helplessly, realising that’s probably the last thing we should be doing. Then again, the alternative is fucking and as much as my body wants that, I need to just reel myself in a little. Back when I was kid and realised I was in love with him, with all the Breakers, all I wanted to do was kiss them, fuck them. It’s all I thought about. I was plagued with fantasies just like this where York would kiss me like the girls he brought back to Jackson Street, with the same kind of intensity, and here I am pushing him away.

“Yes, right. Fuck.”

He pushes off the door, adjusting himself with a rueful smile. My gaze flicks to his erection pressing against his joggers, and I bite the inside of my cheek to stop myself from grinning and to remind myself that pain comes hand in hand with the Breakers just as much as pleasure. Keep your head, Pen.

“Come in,” he says awkwardly, a little bit of the boy I knew peeping out from beneath the chiselled jaw and dirty mouth he wears so well now.

I follow him into his flat, which has the same layout as mine. The only difference is that his flat is tidy. The room’s spotless, actually. My gaze falls to his arse and the swagger of his walk. It makes me smile inside. He was always jaunty. It used to piss him off when I referred to him that way. Being jaunty isn’t cool, but it certainly suits him.

“Sit down,” he says, pointing to his bed.


York hovers in the kitchen, giving me space as I run my palms over the smooth cotton of his bedsheet and flick my gaze around his flat trying to avoid eye contact. I need to get my shit together. I need to keep my head. Seriously though, there’s always been something about York’s eyes that make me weak. It’s not just the unusual, piercing colour, but the way he watches me so closely, like I’m the only thing that matters to him.

“Want a drink or something? I’ve got a Coke?”

“No Amaretto Sour?”

“Beer perhaps…” he grins, with a shrug. “Still your favourite drink then?”

“A Coke is fine.”

York nods and grabs me a cold can from the fridge, our fingers grazing as he passes it to me. “So…” he begins, looking down at me.

“So…?” My eyes drop from his to the can. I pull back the tab and take a gulp, wanting to press the coldness against my cheek to prevent the flush I feel creeping over my skin.

“You wanted to talk… or something? Isn’t that what you said?”

Heaving out a sigh, I lift my gaze to meet his. We look at each other for long moments. When York takes the can of Coke from me and places it on the floor, my breath hitches. Taking my hands, he kneels, his thumbs running over my knuckles as he looks at me. Actually, as he stares. It’s unnerving, but beautifully erotic. My clit throbs some more.

“What is it with you boys getting on your knees for me?” I blurt out, remembering how Zayn had done the same in the studio.

“Ah man, he fucking didn’t…” York smiles, but it doesn’t reach his eyes, and it has me questioning what’s changed. When we were kids, there was never any jealousy between them when it came to me. Well, not enough to cause a wedge, anyway. We just worked. Xeno was the only one who made it difficult, until he finally came around that night at Rocks. I try not to wonder what would’ve happened if my brother hadn’t threatened me, if I hadn’t walked in on Jeb. Where would we be now? Would we still be together? Would we be happy? Or had Xeno been right all along?

“What’s the deal with you guys?” I ask, pushing thoughts of that night aside. It’s an open question that can be answered a multitude of ways. I’m interested to see which way he takes this.

“The deal? We’re still the Breakers.”

“That so? Still breaking things then?”

York heaves a sigh. “We’ve done a lot of fucked-up shit.”

“Because of me?”

“In the beginning, yeah, we used you as an excuse. Then all the fucked-up things we did couldn’t be put on a girl we didn’t know anymore. That was all on us.” He drops his forehead to our clasped hands, resting his head there for a moment. I draw one hand away and start stroking his hair. He kind of sighs, his shoulders dropping.

“Do I want to know what you did?”

He shakes his head. “No, Pen, you don’t.”

“Titch,” I say, my fingers tightening around the strands.

“Titch,” he mutters, his hands travelling up my thighs and around my hips. My legs part allowing him to slide between them, and my hands grasp his head, pulling against the strands of his white-blonde hair until he’s face-to-face with me once more.

“Are you still that boy I remember?”

“Are you still that girl?” he counters, closing his eyes briefly as I cup his face in my palm.

“No,” I whisper.

“I’m not that boy either,” he admits.

“What do we do?”

“We start over, Titch.”

“I’m not sure that’s possible—”

“It’s fucking possible.” I frown, but he leans in and kisses me roughly. “It’s fucking possible,” he repeats, gripping my face tightly in his hands. “You, Titch, aren’t slipping away again. I won’t fucking allow it.”

“And what if it doesn’t matter? What if you’ve got no control over what happens between us? What if this is out of my hands? What then?”

York’s gaze flashes with a fire hot enough to burn. “Then I kill the fucker that’s standing between us.”

“What if he kills you first?” I whisper, my throat tight. These words are the closest I’ve got to the truth of what happened that night at Rocks. I swallow hard, willing him to understand that I’ve never been a master of my own fate, not when I’m owned by Jeb, by my brother. Not when I’m trapped.

“Not gonna happen. I’m a motherfucking vampire, remember? They can’t die.” His lip lifts up in a half-smile, reminding me of that boy standing under the streetlamp outside of number 15 Jackson Street.

“Everyone has a weakness, including you. What if I’m that weakness, York? What then?”

York shakes his head. “You were never our weakness. You were always our strength.”

“Until I wasn’t. Until I walked away.”

“Then don’t walk away again, Titch. Don’t fucking walk away.”

“I want to stay—” I mutter.

His fingers tighten in my hair, his lips brushing against my mouth. “I want you to stay. Now, tomorrow, forever, Titch.”

“I can’t promise you forever, York. No matter how much I want to do that. I can only promise you this moment. That’s all I can give you right now.”

“Then I’ll take that. I’ll take the now, and we’ll bench the future until we can figure this mess out.”

He brushes the tip of his nose against the bridge of mine. Then kisses my mouth sweetly, tenderly, with a softness that makes my heart ache and my toes curl in my trainers.

“Titch,” he mutters against my mouth.

“Yes?” I respond breathily as his lips graze over my chin, my cheek, my forehead, my ear, my throat.

“Can I tickle your pickle?”

My responding laughter has him grinning against my throat, his tongue lapping at my pulse which is throbbing in time with another part of my anatomy. “I thought you’d never ask.”

With one last intense kiss, York pulls me to my feet and into the bathroom. Grasping my hips he lifts me up and positions me on the vanity unit. “Don’t move,” he says.

I’m too worked up to respond, instead I watch him as he turns on the shower, before yanking off his t-shirt in that sexy way only men seem able to do by grabbing behind his head and pulling. My eyes drop to the beautiful tattoo that decorates his chest and arms.

“This is the tree we met under, isn’t it?”

He nods, stepping towards me. Taking my hand, he places it on his chest. “It took a week of trips to the tattooist to finish this. I relished the pain,” he sighs. “I hated you for a long, long time, Titch.”

“I know,” I mutter, as my fingers trail over the trunk and up across the branches that extend over his upper chest, shoulders, and biceps. York’s skin erupts in goosebumps at my touch, and his cock jerks beneath his joggers.

“But I never, ever, stopped loving you. Even if I can only admit that to myself now.”

My gaze lifts to meet his and the truth of his confession is right there in his eyes. “Why didn’t you stop me?” I ask softly. It’s a dangerous question, but I can’t seem to help myself from asking it.

“Stupidity, mainly. Anger. Teenage pride. Hurt. Take your pick.”

“We were kids…” My gaze drops, my chin falling to my chest. “I was a kid.”

“You were. We were. But we aren’t those kids anymore, are we?”

“No, we aren’t.”

“We’re more—” York lifts my chin with his finger and presses his hot mouth against mine, his tongue searching, probing. I respond, helpless against his ministrations as he presses up against me. I can feel his cock rubbing against my core as my legs wrap around his arse, and my fingers tug at the shorter strands of hair at the nape of his neck. York grasps me to him, his hand on my lower back as he encourages me to grind against his length before ripping his mouth away from mine, one hand cupping the back of my head. His eyes gleam as he stares down his nose at me, his hot breath coming in short pants.

“If it hasn’t escaped your notice, we’re men now, Titch. Capable men. Some would even say we’re dangerous, violent, and they’d be right. We might have been teenagers blinded by pain once upon a time, but it’s different now. I’m just sorry it’s taken me so long to see what was right in front of my face. Zayn’s filled me in on everything he suspects. We’re on the same wavelength. I need you to know that.”

“York, I can’t—”

“You can’t talk to us right now. You’re not sure if you can trust us. I know that too, but I also know this. If you tell me what’s in there,” he says, bringing his finger up to tap my temple gently, “And you open up here,” he adds, resting his palm over my beating heart, “then I swear to you, Titch, we’ll make this right.”

We?” I ask, my heart thumping, my pulse rushing in my ears. “Because I know that isn’t true.”

York sighs, scraping a hand through his hair. “I’m working on that.”

“It’s just like when we were kids,” I mutter.

“Titch. You’re wrong, it’s nothing like when we were kids.”

“Dax refuses to even look at me.”

“Dax took it the hardest when you left. He’ll come around. I know him.”

“And Xeno? He certainly doesn’t like that Zayn and I have reconnected. Once he finds out about us—”

“I love Xeno like a brother,” York says, cutting me off, “But I sure as fuck don’t take orders from him.”

“No, is that because you take orders from Jeb?”

York grits his jaw tightly, and I can hear his teeth grinding together. “I did.”

“And now?”

“And now things have changed.”

“Why are you here, York?” I ask, my eyes searching his. For a long time he doesn’t answer, and I realise it’s because he doesn’t know whether to trust me either.

“I tell you what, we’ll make a deal. Today, we bench this talk. Today, we forget about everything in our past and just concentrate on the here and now. Be in the present with me, Titch. Can you do that?” He cups my face, his thumbs pressing into my cheekbones as he watches me.

“Yes, I—”

York doesn’t let me finish my sentence. Instead, he smashes his lips against mine and tugs me in for a kiss that silences all my reservations and turns my insides into mush. This boy—no, this man, can kiss. The gentle sweep of his lips against mine has gone, replaced instead with a single-minded determination to get me off.

Within seconds our clothing is nothing but a pile on the bathroom floor and we’re standing naked in front of each other. York grins down at me, the most beautiful, dazzling smile pulling up his lips. I reach up and yank on the flop of hair in his eyes just like I used to do so much growing up. His grin widens.

“Zayn may have got to you first, but right here and now, you’re mine, Titch. You’re mine.”


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