by Bea Paige
“You’d like that wouldn’t you, Titch?” York asks between kisses.
I don’t bother to answer, he knows me well enough to know that I would. Feeling adored like this is what gives me something to fight for after being starved of love and affection for so long. Loving the Breakers is my greatest sin according to David, but fuck him. If feeling like this, this loved, is a sin, then I will walk into the gates of Hell willingly. He can take his sanctimonious bullshit and fuck right off. That man is no saint. He’s the devil incarnate.
York pulls at my bottom lip gently with his teeth and I groan into his mouth, loving the way he tastes so sweet, like he’s been sucking on a hard candy. His tongue strokes mine, exploring my mouth, and when I suck on it, the sound he makes is music to my ears. Breaking free from the kiss, York watches my expression as his hand reaches the waistband of my joggers. He hesitates and I can’t have that.
“Touch me,” I whisper, covering his hand with my own and urging it lower.
“Fuck,” Dax pants beside us.
When I glance over at him, his cock is gripped in his hands, the head glistening with his arousal. I watch as he spits, lubing his dick with his own saliva. My thighs clench and my heart thunders at how fucking erotic that is.
It’s strange, I should be feeling shy, but I’m not. This feels right somehow, and it makes me feel good knowing that Dax is as turned on by me as I am by him.
“Titch, I’m gonna touch you now,” York says, his voice low, guttural, and when his fingers slide beneath my knickers, I snap my head back around to look at him. With pure concentration on his face, York lowers his mouth to mine once more just as his finger parts the lips of my pussy and slides over my clit. The sensation is overwhelming and my hips jerk at the touch. When he swirls the pad of his finger in circles over the tiny bud, I can’t help but moan, my head tipping back.
“You’re so wet,” he groans, his hot mouth closing over my nipple as he strokes me.
Pressing my eyes closed, I lose myself in the moment and just enjoy the feeling of York kissing and stroking me. Moving my hips instinctively I rock against York’s hand. Low down in my stomach, a familiar sensation builds, making me feel coiled tight like I’m about to freefall from the top of a cliff. Up and up I go, sensation climbing and growing with every swirl of York’s thumb and kiss of his soft lips. Heat expands between my legs as I grow wetter and wetter.
“Let me touch you, York,” I pant, wanting him to feel what I feel, needing him to know I’m not selfish, that I can pleasure him the same way he’s pleasuring me.
He nods, shifting me in his hold so that I’m laying across the bed between the two of them. Reaching back between my legs, he swipes with his fingers, gathering my own arousal then pops open his fly and shoves his jeans and boxers low, slicking his dick with my wetness. I pant, my cheeks flushing at the sinfulness of such an act. Cupping him, I feel his velvety smoothness covered by my desire and something desperate unleashes within me. I let out a little moan, and his fingers find their way back between my legs, slipping and sliding expertly across my sensitive flesh.
Unlike some other girl’s my age, I’ve never touched a dick before, but when Dax shifts closer on his knees I decide that I may as well go all out and pleasure them both. Gently, I wrap my hands around the bottom of their shafts, both feel enormous in my small hands as they jerk at my touch.
“Holy fucking shit!” Dax grinds out. I peek over at him. He looks almost in pain with his eyes squeezed shut and his mouth slack. I’m not sure what to do next. I mean I know what I should do, but fear of doing it wrong makes me hesitate.
“Slide your fist up and down, Titch. Keep that same kind of pressure,” York says, guiding me in a voice I don’t recognise. It’s low, deep, and filled with passion.
I do as he asks, and when Dax leans over and kisses me, the tight coil in my stomach intensifies further as more heat and wetness blooms beneath York’s deft fingers.
Instinct takes over.
I pump my fists up and down, revelling in the silky warmth of their cocks and the power I feel holding them both in the palm of my hands. Their pleasure is mine to give, and mine to receive. I feel wanton, delirious with lust and love.
York replaces Dax’s mouth, his kiss hot, urgent, and when Dax’s mouth closes around my nipple, that tightness within me unravels like a spinning top, sending an explosion of sensation ricocheting out from my core. York pulls back and I catch a glimpse of his satisfied smile before my eyes roll back in my head and my hands drop to the side as waves of splintering pleasure wash over me. I swear to God, fireworks go off behind my eyeballs. If this is what an orgasm feels like then no wonder guys jack off all the time. I want to do it all over again.
“Oh. My. Fuck,” Dax grinds out as I come down from my orgasm. He shudders and jerks, quickly pulling up his boxer shorts to capture the cum shooting out of his cock. York follows shortly afterwards and like Dax he captures his cum in his underwear.
When they both finally come down from their orgasmic high, York fastens his jeans, looking sheepish. “Thank fuck we didn’t get any jizz on the covers, Xeno would’ve lost his fucking mind.”
“Yeah, though I kinda wish we had…” Dax pulls a face, reminding me that his boxers must be just as wet as my knickers are. “Do you think Xeno will notice if I borrow some boxer shorts?”
We all start laughing and despite the bruises that cover my body, I no longer feel any pain.
These boys, my Breakers, they’re my forever. No matter what.
27
Present Day
“Good luck,” Clancy says, squeezing my hand as I hover in the hallway outside studio nine, wishing I was taking krumping lessons with her instead of bachata lessons under Xeno’s tutelage.
“I’m going to need a lot more than luck,” I mutter, knowing that this lesson is going to be a special kind of torture.
Since my phone call with David, I’ve been trying to figure out how to keep Lena safe. I even considered running away with her, but both David and Jeb’s reach is too far, and they’d catch up with us eventually. Running isn’t an option, it never was, and neither is begging Madame Tuillard to switch my classes, not if I’m going to keep my sister safe. There is no alternative but to make the Breakers love me again, or at least trust me enough to tell me what Jeb’s up to so that I can feed the information back to David. Whilst I’m not foolish enough to believe that will happen at the drop of a hat, I know that our friendship was once built on our mutual love of dance. It’s the only logical place to start.
Giving Clancy a quick hug and forcing aside the gut-wrenching feeling in my stomach at what I must do, I head inside the studio. The space is already filled with students, mostly girls, all of whom are starry-eyed over Xeno. Right now an attractive blonde girl is talking to him. She keeps touching his arm and laughing at what he’s saying. I hold back my sudden urge to go storming over there and yank her backwards by her hair, instead I hang up my gym bag and find an empty spot in the room and start warming up like the rest of the students.
After a couple of minutes, Xeno looks at his watch, and indicates for the blonde to join the rest of us. She saunters off, but not before squeezing his forearm and sashaying away sexily. I roll my eyes, gritting my jaw to prevent myself from saying something I shouldn’t.
“You know, you really don’t stand a chance, street rat.”
I bark out a laugh, looking over my shoulder at Tiffany. She’s like a fucking wasp buzzing around my head, irritating the fuck out of me, and waiting for the perfect moment to inject me with her venom.
“And I suppose you do? I’m not sure that pretty blonde thinks the same, not to mention every other female in this school and a few of the men. Just face it, Tiffany, the competition’s steep, so why don’t you just give up and go back to fucking rando’s you pick up in clubs.”
Tiffany’s scowl deepens, her mouth popping open, but Xeno coughs to get our attention, preventing her from coming back with a suitably cutting remark
. I look at him in the afternoon sunlight as it filters through the windows. He’s doused in a glow that makes his black hair chocolate and his tawny skin golden, a mythical god with angry eyes and a defined jaw that’s sharp enough to cut glass. Just like every other girl here, I imagine running my finger against the stubbled edge and losing blood just for the pleasure. Xeno’s always had the ability to make me bleed. My heart hasn’t stopped dripping blood since that night he refused to kiss me and asked me to choose. I wonder if he’s ever regretted that decision.
“Last week was just the taster session. Today, we’re going to get into the nuts and bolts of the dance. You’re all here because you love bachata. It intrigues you, right?”
The class murmurs in agreement but I smirk, unable to keep my derision in. Yeah, right. The majority of the people are here because they want to fuck Xeno. He’s everything you could possibly want; fit, beautiful to look at, an expert in his speciality, and edged in danger. I’m betting most of the girls in here are already fucking wet.
“This week I want you paired up, because this isn’t a dance that can easily be taught without a partner. Steps can be learnt individually, but the feeling of this dance, it’s truth, comes in the arms of another. The connection between dance partners is as important as the steps. More so.” He looks at me again, and for a split second I swear he’s trying to tell me something.
“Did you hear that, street rat, the connection is more important. Xeno chose me to dance with him last week. Tell me that doesn’t mean something,” Tiffany snarls under her breath.
I flinch, not wanting to give credence to her words, but knowing from experience that she’s probably right. Xeno never chose me as his partner.
Never.
Except last week when he’d held me against his body and pressed his thumb in the middle of my back. It hadn’t lasted long, but the connection I’d felt, the charge between us had been electric. He’d have to be dead not to notice.
Maybe that’s the problem… He notices. He’s always noticed. I remember those words he said to me back when I was fifteen, the night I admitted my feelings to the Breakers.
“I’m not going to kiss you, Tiny. Not because I don’t want to, but because someone has to keep their head tonight, and I guess that someone is going to be me.”
No matter the circumstance when we were kids, he never stepped over the boundary he drew between us, never acting on any feelings because of some deep sense of responsibility that I’ve never really understood. Yet last week he kissed me at Rocks in front of the whole damn nightclub, knowing my situation with Jeb. He kissed me understanding that it would get back to his boss, back to David. The question is why?
“You can’t deny it can you? You saw how we danced together,” Tiffany continues, her words making tiny cuts in my armour, scarring me, no matter how much I wish they didn’t.
“You’re deluded,” I growl.
“He practically fucked me. You can look at him like all you wanna do is ride his cock, street rat, but we all know that someone like him would never choose someone like you,” she growls into my ear.
Without knowing it, Tiffany has hit a nerve and I react. Stepping backwards I slam my heel onto her foot. “Fuck you, Tiffany.”
“Ow! You bitch!” she yells, lifting her foot and hopping on one leg. Good. I hope I’ve broken a few toes.
“Oops,” I respond, lifting my hand to cover my mouth in mock horror. “I’m so sorry, it was an accident.”
“You fucking liar!”
Xeno strides over and looks between us. He grinds his teeth together on the cusp of doing something that could get him fired. He’s pissed. Well, what does he expect? It’s bad enough I have to put up with Tiffany making a claim on him, let alone the rest of the fucking academy. A girl can only take so much. I’ve been telling myself for years I hate him, but I’ve only been lying to myself. I still feel that throat squeezing kind of possession when it comes to Xeno. I want to do bad things to anyone who steps near him. I want him to do bad things to me. Swallowing the bitter stones in my throat, I try to put a lid on my feelings.
Dropping to the floor in front of Tiffany, I watch as he wraps his hands around her ankle and gently presses his thumbs over her foot. “Wiggle your toes,” he says.
Tiffany does as he asks, giving me a satisfied smile the whole time. Fucking bitch.
Xeno stands, addressing Tiffany. “I don’t think anything’s broken, but you might want to sit this lesson out.”
“I’m not sure I can walk on it right now,” Tiffany wheedles, milking this for all its worth. I should’ve stomped harder. Next time.
“Pen, pair up with Niall,” he states, wrapping an arm around Tiffany’s waist and helping her over to the front of the studio. The smile she shoots over her shoulder at me makes my blood boil. I’m about two steps away from losing my head. If it wasn’t for Niall distracting me, I might have.
“You’re not going to stand on my foot if I piss you off, are you?” Niall asks, only half-joking.
“It was an accident,” I respond with a shrug.
He looks at me warily with pretty cornflower blue eyes and dimples in both cheeks that I would’ve found cute if I wasn’t completely distracted by the fact that Xeno has yet again cast me aside in favour of another girl, just like he always did when we were kids. The pretty blonde who was flirting with him earlier is now up the front of the class standing next to him, looking smug as fuck. Me and Tiffany aren’t the only ones scowling now.
“As I mentioned last week, bachata has a basic four step timing,” Xeno begins, motioning for the pretty blonde to come closer. He doesn’t hold her close like he did with me that morning in the dance studio, or like he did with Tiffany the other day. Instead he holds her hands in the open dance position with their bodies arm’s length apart.
“Like this, one, two, three, tap. Five, six, seven, tap. It can be danced in the open position as we’re doing now,” he explains, keeping space between himself and the blonde as they continue to showcase the steps. “Or in the closed position, like this.” Xeno draws the blonde against his chest, placing his thigh between hers, holding her right hand in his whilst his other hand rests on the middle of her back.
I watch with fascination at the way his hips sway and the muscles in his arm tense and release with every step. There’s a fierce concentration on his face, as he guides his partner in a sensual, slow dance, that not only brings a flush to my cheeks, but to everyone else’s in the studio. God, this dance is so beautiful. He’s beautiful.
“Fuck sake,” I mutter, drawing attention from Niall who frowns. I ignore him. I don’t need to explain my reaction to anyone, let alone someone I’ve only just met.
“Over the years the dance has evolved, mixing in tango and salsa steps but never letting go of its origins,” Xeno continues, still moving with the blonde. “The music is just as important as the dance, and often tells the dramatic story of love…” Xeno steps to the side, moving his partner so that her back is to the class now. He catches my eye just at the point he pulls her tighter against his chest, and drops her backwards, “And heartbreak.”
The blonde giggles as he sweeps her back up and drags his gaze from mine, schooling his features into an emotionless state.
By the time the class finishes, I’m about ready to murder a bitch. The blonde, Saskia, has well and truly thrown herself at Xeno and I swear to fuck there’s a damp patch blooming in the crotch of her strawberry red leggings. In fact, there’s a distinct smell of arousal mixed with sweat and pheromones as though all the women in the room and a couple of the blokes have wet underwear too.
It pisses me the fuck off.
Especially since Xeno made his way around the studio and danced with every single one of the girls during the lesson bar me. Never fucking me.
Anger bubbles dangerously inside like a volcano ready to spew lava and hot rocks. I know I should be figuring out ways to get back into the Breakers good graces again, but right now all I can think abou
t is giving Xeno a piece of my mind.
Shoving my sweatshirt into my gym bag and growling at Niall when he says goodbye, I plonk myself onto the bench at the back of the class and wait for the thirsty bitches to leave. Tiffany and Saskia are the last to go, both of them lingering to get Xeno’s attention. It gives me a great sense of satisfaction when he ignores their attempts at flirting. Eventually they get the picture and leave but not before throwing daggers my way.
“The class is over,” Xeno says, not bothering to even look up.
There’s a tautness around his shoulders and stiffness in the way he moves, but still he refuses to engage further which is ironic given he forced me to attend this class. When he pulls off his t-shirt, wiping away at the sweat on his face before spraying some deodorant under his arms. It’s such a simple, every day act, but it reminds me so much of those blissful few days I spent at his house when we were kids after that awful confrontation with David. Spending time with the Breakers and playing happy family, even if it was only for a short time, was one of my happiest memories, actually. Not that I ever told him that.
Perhaps now’s the time.
“Xeno…” I begin, losing some of the anger on the back of those sweet memories.
“What do you want, Pen?” he growls, grabbing a clean, black t-shirt from his gym bag and pulling it on over his head. I bite down on my lip at his sheer masculinity. He’s broad-shouldered, not as wide as Dax but bigger than York and Zayn, and has a slim waist with strong arms. When I look at his reflection in the mirror, my mouth dries at his defined six pack and beautiful v-muscle.
“What do you want, Pen?” he repeats.
I flick my gaze upwards. I want you to dance with me. I want you to forgive me. I want you to fucking fight for me… That’s what I want to say. Instead, I ask him something else.