Lyrical (Academy of Stardom, #2)

by Bea Paige

It’s the worst thing I could’ve done because a beat later the air shifts above me and Zayn’s warm breath wafts over my cheeks, his jacket brushing against my arms. “Pen…” Zayn grinds out, his firm legs encasing my hips, his voice cracked and breaking. Brittle. “I need you to stop. I need you to listen…” My pulse races as his body cages mine. his nearness creates an ocean of fear inside my chest and suddenly I feel like I’m losing the battle to stay afloat.

My throat closes over as Zayn lowers himself over me, his warm breath feathering over my skin as his lips brush against mine. That delicate touch is too much, and a sudden, soul-searing anger rises up my chest. No! “No!” I repeat out loud. He doesn’t get to invade my space like this. He doesn’t get to be this close. He doesn’t get to dominate me this way. He doesn’t get to make me feel exposed, weak. He doesn’t get to make me want him, despite it all. Fuck this!

“Fuck you!” I snarl, refusing to engage him further, willing to fight against this man I clearly don’t fucking know. Lifting my hands, I push against his shoulders, shoving him upwards. He rears backwards and our eyes meet. His black orbs spark with fire, but rather than say anything he waits, his chest heaving as he looks down at me. I’m still on my back between his legs, but as Sia sings about hiding vulnerability, I flip onto my stomach, and use my forearms to pull myself out from between his legs, refusing to be vulnerable to him. A warm hand wraps around my ankle, yanking me backwards and I slide against the floor as he drops back over me, his fingers wrap around my throat possessively, but his hold is gentle as he urges me upwards into a kneeling position. “Listen to me, Pen,” he growls, pulling me back against his body as I face away from him.

I’m ready to fight, but then he presses his lips against my ear and whispers something that surprises me, that makes me question my sanity. “If you don’t want to talk, then at least let me dance with you. Help me to feel again, Pen.” There’s a desperation to his request. A heavy sadness, a longing. Am I imagining this? “What?” I whisper out, confused, taken aback. That’s not what I thought this was. “I need to feel like you do.” “No.” “It’s been too long,” he whispers into my ear. “I want to know I’m still capable.” “It hurts,” I admit,

“I know.” “I can’t—" “Don’t make me beg.” For a split second I consider turning him down, I consider doing exactly that and making him beg, but as he drops his forehead onto my shoulder, his fingers stroking lovingly against my throat, I find that I can’t. I can’t turn him down.

We lock gazes, our fingers gripping tightly. Zayn pulls me towards him with such force that instead of colliding with him and ruining the flow of music, I leap into his arms, my legs and arms wrapping around his body. He grunts, stumbling back slightly, then his arms come upwards as he holds me to him. But I’m not ready to give in. Not yet.

His arms unravel from behind me and I run backwards away from him. Zayn chases me, throwing himself forward onto his knees so he slides across the floor and ends up at my feet. His chest heaves as he looks up at me his expression earnest, humble, as he begs me to forgive him without words. And I want to do that. I want to do that so badly, but I need him to understand that I’m not a pushover, that he hurt me and that needs to be addressed. He wants to feel, so he’s going to feel. I grab his throat. My fingers dig into his skin as I pull him upright, and even though he towers over me, he allows me to squeeze just that little bit, submitting in a way I never thought he could.

Moving my hips provocatively, I roll my body before him, close enough so that he can feel the whisper of me against him, but not close enough that my body is pressed against his. In a way, I suppose I’m pushing his boundaries, daring him to claim me like he wanted to do at Grim’s club, like I believe he still wants to now. Zayn’s pulse beats erratically beneath my fingers, but a fierceness replaces the humility. He knocks my hand away then reaches for my waist, yanking me towards him, but I don’t let him get purchase. I spin away, slipping out of his hold. He chases me.

I don’t get to voice my question as he reaches for me, pulling me against him before placing his hand on my chest over my heart. Without thinking about it, I raise my own, placing my palm over his shirt between the lapels of his jacket, and with only our palms touching each other, we move together. Zayn steps away from me, sliding his feet lightly over the floor. I mirror him. Chasing his every move. I feel the heat of his body, the thump of his heart, the beat of his truth. I see that honesty in the way he moves, in the sincerity of his stare, in every single step. It upends me.

When he grabs my wrist with one hand and flips me around against him, my back to his chest, he groans again, his arms wrapping around me in a hug, his fingers finding my throat. For a moment we stand like this, his heart beating hard against my back. My tears clog my throat as he presses against it with the pad of his fingers. When his open mouth falls against my shoulder, his lips and tongue rubbing against the bare skin there, something inside opens up to him. I open myself to him. “I hurt you,” he mutters. “Yes.” “But you hurt me too. You fucking hurt me too.”

Zayn bites my neck where it meets my shoulder, his teeth sinking in. Not hard enough to break the skin, but hard enough to make me suck in a jagged breath. The pain is pleasurable, especially when he licks over the same spot. Then he runs his lips up the side of my neck and latches onto my earlobe, biting it gently. I can’t help myself; I moan. Goddamn him. With one hand wrapped around my waist, Zayn yanks me tighter against him, his hand working its way back up to my throat and cupping my chin as he stretches my head to the side and lavishes my neck with kisses. My toes curl, my core gushes with heat and my heart pounds erratically as he kisses and licks, bites, and teases. I’ve always had a sensitive neck and he fucking knows it.

“You may be the Breakers, but you will not break me,” I say, my nostrils flaring as I echo Sia’s words. It’s a warning as much as it is the truth. I love him, but no matter how talented a dancer, a kisser, I won’t let him break me. I will not let them break me. Not now. Not ever. Because I won’t survive it again. Zayn nods, his expression beaten, sad almost. “What if I told you that I don’t want to?”

He’s still wearing the same clothes from Friday night. My anger was too vivid, too in the moment to allow me to really see him. But now I do. I see the dark circles beneath his eyes. I see the sorrow on his face. I see something I hadn’t before. I see him. My best friend. I see the boy I loved morphing into a man who’s no longer a stranger. Right here, right now, he’s in front of me. There is no mask, no bravado, no distance. Just him, just Zayn, and my determination to hold onto the hate begins to crumble.

Pen

“What do you really want?” I ask heavily. “To speak with you,” he responds, stepping back towards me. His shoulders sag, exhaustion pulls at his features. As he moves, his jacket pulls apart and I see what I hadn’t before. I see the dark stain of blood stark against his white shirt. “Zayn, what happened?”

“I’m okay,” he replies, pulling his jacket closed hastily and buttoning it up. “It’s just a scratch.” “That wasn’t what I asked. What happened?” Of course he doesn’t answer. Instead, he lifts his hand to cup my cheek. “I’m sorry,” he says, as his thumb brushes across my cheekbone.

“Pen. I’m sorry,” he repeats, and I honestly don’t know what to do with that. Does he want me to just forgive him because he’s apologised? It would be so easy, so simple to do, and for the briefest of moments I consider doing just that. The thing is, we’ve never been simple. We’ve always been complicated, messy. Even when we were kids, our friendship was never straightforward.

Love is chaotic, agonizing, complex. It’s like DNA, no one really knows the depths of its power or can unravel its mysteries. Love is just there, it’s something that exists and we’re all just a bunch of people either looking for love, are in love, or are heartbroken without it, because of it.

“I didn’t know what Jeb had planned. I’m sorry you were put in that situation. I’m sorry you were scared.” “Bullshit. I saw the look on your face. You wanted to screw me.” “No!” “Don’t fucking lie to me, Zayn. I saw the truth in your eyes that night.”

“Of course I want you, Pen, I can’t deny that. Look at you, you’re goddamn beautiful and fucking strong, and determined and unafraid. How could I possibly not want to fuck you? But not that way, not like that. I’m many things but I am not a goddamn rapist. Jeb was wrong to do what he did.”

“Is he ever right?” “I don’t know. You tell me, Pen. You walked away from us to be with him. Has it been everything you hoped for?” he asks me, a sudden sarcasm and vitriol dripping from his tongue. I flinch as though slapped. Zayn’s words hurt, but only because they’re true. I did walk away from the Breakers to be with Jeb but not for the reason he thinks. “And the others? What about them? Did they know what he had planned? That I was a fucking gift to be served up to you without any say or choice in the matter.” “Fuck, no! They didn’t know.” “It doesn’t matter though, does it? We’re still enemies. I’m still on the outside looking in. I’m still the girl you all hate.” “I don’t hate you, Pen.” I laugh bitterly. “You could’ve fooled me.” “Listen to me,” he says fiercely. “I don’t hate you. I never did. I was angry, hurt, fucking cut-up, but I never hated you. I want to understand. Tell me the truth.”

“Just fucking tell me, Pen. This is only as complicated as you make it. Put me out of my goddamn misery!” he growls, angry at me, at the situation, at us. “We could always talk, you and me. That was never a problem. What the fuck happened to change that? What you did came out of the left field. You blindsided us, Pen. We were happy. We fucking loved you.” His hands come up once more and his fingers slide into my hair, tightening on the strands. “I know you did—” “Is that it? Is that all you can fucking say? I know. You don’t fucking know. You don’t fucking understand what that did to us,” he

“Of course I understand!” I shout back, yanking his hands away and backing off. “You don’t think it hurt me to walk away? You think I haven’t felt every minute of your absence all this time? You think I don’t hurt, that it doesn’t cut me up inside to know the boys I would do anything for never even questioned why I did what I did?”

“I can’t do this anymore. I fucking can’t.” “Can’t do what, Pen?” Zayn asks, crowding me. He forces me backwards until my back hits the wall. “I’m not letting this go,” he says emphatically, grasping my head in his hands. His gaze searches mine like he’s trying to uncover all my secrets with that one look. I can smell his expensive aftershave overshadowed a little by the metallic scent of blood and two days of wearing the same clothes. I don’t hate it. I don’t hate him. How can I when I still love him despite it all? “Fuck, Pen. Just talk to me. Give me something at least. Make me understand.”

“Pen, goddamn it, don’t you dare shut down now. Give me something, anything. It’s important.” “Why?” “Please, Pen.” Our gazes clash, our breath mingles, and I get the distinct impression that Zayn isn’t a man who pleads very often, that he doesn’t beg for anything. I’m not sure if it’s because he’s showing a more vulnerable side, the absolute misery in his gaze—or the fact that I’ve missed his touch, him, so much—but I give him the only thing I can in the moment. My kiss. My lips smash against his as I grip hold of the lapels of his jacket and yank him close. I kiss him in anger and with love. I kiss him with fierceness and hurt. I kiss him with longing and loathing. This kiss isn’t a white flag of truce. This kiss is meant to distract, to disarm. I can’t give him the answers he seeks, but I can give him something to think about. After a beat, he kisses me back. He presses his body against mine, lifts me up beneath my thighs and traps me against the wall. His stubble scratches against my skin, but I don’t care. We kiss in a way that opens old wounds.

There’s no holding back with this kiss, and despite my intentions, I fall into it headfirst, searching for what we once had. Zayn’s moans mingle with mine and the noises we make are nothing short of erotic. This kiss is filthy in the best possible way, it’s wet and torrid and insanely hot. Instinctively, my legs tighten around Zayn’s back, my core pressing against his lower abs. I jerk my hips, trying to ease the intense throb there but when he grunts in pain, I’m reminded of the wound to his torso and pull back sharply. “Fuck, Zayn—” I say against his lips, but he shuts me up with his mouth, refusing to let reality settle back in and presses me harder against the wall, propping me up so that he can reach between us. His fingers slide beneath the waistband of my joggers and knickers, and his whole hand cups my mound. He just holds me there, the heel of his palm pressing against my clit that throbs beneath his hand. I don’t push him away. I want his touch. I want his kiss. I want his fucking attention.

I rock into his hand, pressing against his palm. I’m slick with heat, with want, with need, and as his finger rims my entrance lighting me up from the inside out, I weep for him, for this. My pussy fucking cries out for his touch as tears slide down my cheeks. I cry with relief and with new beginnings. At least that’s what I dare to hope. “Pen,” he laments as we both taste the saltiness of my tears. The sound of my name on his lips is different, it’s reverent, loving in a way I haven’t heard for three years. It sounds like grief, sorrow, pain, but also hope, joy and the start of something new. As he rubs the pad of his thumb gently over my clit and kisses me with hunger, an orgasm builds at the base of my spine. Our tongues duel and his fingers rub against me expertly. I mewl into his mouth and he growls into mine, until the years apart fall away and we’re just two best friends planting that first seed of love with touch and kisses and ecstasy.

I can feel it reaching for sunlight, for a chance to flourish, and despite everything, I let it, because what am I if not a girl desperate for this boy to love her again?

His tongue laps at my mouth, sucking my tongue into his and the groan he makes as I flood his hand makes me want to rip off his clothes and fuck him right here on the hardwood of the studio floor. “Come, Pen,” he growls against my mouth whilst his fingers fuck me into oblivion. So I come. I come on Zayn’s hand, his fingers deep inside me. I come with his chipped tooth biting into my bottom lip. I come with a warmth in my heart that I haven’t felt in a long, long time. I come undone, and Zayn… Zayn holds me until I’m spent.

Zayn

I came here with a message from Jeb. I came here in search of Pen with his words burning on my tongue and his wrath bleeding from the wound on my chest. I came here to destroy Pen. Only she destroyed me.

seeing her like this, so raw, in pain, bleeding from her soul, that hurts me so much more. It makes me view things differently. It makes me question everything.

And she’ll be the death of me. Of us. I’m here to do a job. I’m here for our crew. But Pen is a problem we hadn’t foreseen. Stupid. Of course she would be here at the Academy. This place was always her dream, and despite every damn thing going against her, despite a mother who never supported her, she’s made it happen anyway. She’s grabbed her future by the balls, and I admire her for it even if in the beginning I’d believed that Jeb had pulled strings for her to be here.

The end goal doesn’t seem so clear anymore. Nothing is clear anymore.

I want her to trust me again, but the second I give her the message from Jeb she will shore up her defences and harden herself to me. I hate that. I fucking hate that, but I have little choice. Actually, who am I fucking kidding? I do have a choice. I could have told Jeb to take his message and shove it up his fucking arse, but I didn’t. I played the game even when the prize wasn't so clear anymore. We’ve always had a goal in sight, and Pen was never part of that. Xeno never fails to remind us all of that fact over and over again. The fucking prick.

“What do you want, Zayn?” she asks again. Her body is trembling and it’s all I can do not to pull her back into my arms and hold her like I often did when we were kids. It takes monumental effort to keep my distance when all I want is to close the gap and end this fucking torment for good. “Zayn, what do you want?” And I know she isn’t talking about the here and now, she’s asking about the future, about what’s really in the depths of my fucked-up heart. You. God fucking damn it, I want you, Pen.

Of course, I don’t give her the honest truth. Instead, I deliver the message from Jeb because that’s what I have to do. “I’m here to pass on a message. Jeb said that your dance, whilst entertaining, wasn’t what he had in mind. That he hasn’t forgotten your conversation and you’d be mindful not to piss him off again.”

“And?” she asks. “You no longer work at Rocks—” “But I need the money…” she whispers after a beat, even though there’s an acceptance in her gaze. She expected this, and for some reason that scores a deeper cut into my flesh than the knife wound that sits there now. She knew something like this was coming. Pen hasn’t had it easy, but like with everything in her life, she handles it. The least I can do is the same.

“There’s more, right?” She jerks her chin and squares her shoulders. I nod. “Jeb said that you are too valuable to be working behind a bar. That your skills are required elsewhere.” I try to hide my distaste, but fail.

It took me a long time to not think about her every second of every fucking day, wondering what she was doing with Jeb. Whether he was treating her well, whether he made her smile like we did, whether he loved her like I did, I do. I turned my pain into anger. I fucked other women, I cut people, broke them and didn’t fucking blink, but a couple of weeks in her presence and I’m questioning everything I’ve become. “Malik Brov…?” she croaks, swallowing hard. “No! Not him. I made sure of that,” I say fiercely. No fucking way. Not that man. Not him. “What do you mean?” she snaps, confusion in her gaze. “He offered a price for you, Pen, a high price that I paid for in blood, my blood.” “What are you saying? I don’t understand.” I undo my jacket and point at the stain of my blood. I lied when I said it’s only a scratch. The wound had to be sewn up, a two inch gash that fucking stings like a bitch. It’ll scar, just like all the rest. “Jeb cut me for disagreeing with him. I let him.” “Zayn, oh my god!” She reaches for me then,

“So if not Malik, who?” she whispers. “A deal was made with Grim,” Zayn explains. “Grim?” Pen bites out, anger flashing. “Yes, you will perform in the cage at her club with the other…” “Strippers?” she spits, her gaze narrowing on mine. I nod tightly. Believe me, I fought against that decision too. I don’t want her paraded like that, I fucking don’t, but it was the lesser of two evils. Grim might be a tough bitch, but she has some morals at least. She won’t let anyone touch Pen. She treats her girls well.

I can’t help but ask myself why she’s agreeing to it. It’s a mystery I intend on getting to the bottom of, because if I’ve realised anything since returning it’s this: my uncle has something over her, and I intend on finding out what. York and Dax are on the same wavelength as me, and after Friday night’s fucking mess seem as invested in finding out what the fuck is going on. Being in Pen’s orbit again is affecting them both and causing issues between us all and what we came here to do. Xeno, however… Well, let’s just say that he’s being a dick. He's determined to keep Pen at arm’s length. He refuses to back down. He’s single-minded in his goal.

“Call Grim. She’ll fill you in.” “Fill you in on what?” A bubbly voice asks. Clancy. Fuck. I wanted more time alone with Pen. I growl under my breath. Don’t get me wrong, I actually like Clancy, but her timing sucks. For a split second Pen stiffens as she struggles with how to answer. Then she flicks her gaze from me to Clancy behind us, and plasters a smile on her face. A beautiful, fake, smile.

My ego takes a hit at her ability to shut off her emotions so well, but if she thinks this is over, she’s got another thing coming. Fuck that. She’s not shutting the door on me, not again. Now that I’ve opened her up a crack, I’m going to do anything I can to keep it that way. If Xeno has an issue with that, he can have a conversation with my fist. He’s been begging for an excuse to fight. Right now I’m happy to indulge the bastard. “We’ll continue this conversation later,” I say,

Pen

“How was it?” “How was what?” I throw back, knowing perfectly well what she’s asking. She cocks her hip and raises her brow. “Playing tonsil tennis with Mr Hip-Hop Gangster, of course!” Kissing Zayn was… Fuck! It was everything I’d hoped it would be and now I’m reeling. “I—” I begin, then fumble. I’ve no idea what to say or do. I need time to unravel what’s just happened. Clancy’s smile drops as she reaches for my arm, squeezing it gently. “Sorry. Listen, you don’t have to tell me anything. I’m just here if you need me, okay? Are you okay?” “I’m not sure,” I say honestly. She nods. “I thought you two weren’t friends anymore?” “We aren’t.” Clancy raises a perfectly arched brow. “No?” “No.” I sound more certain than I feel. “Pen. Forgive me. I’m not normally intrusive, I swear. It’s just…” She cocks her head, her pretty red curls falling over her shoulder. “I’ve seen the way he looks at you. I’ve seen the way you look at him, at all of them. The tension is off the charts. It’s hot-as-hell, fanny-fluttering, insanity. I could come just being in a room with you all.”

“Yeah, teenagers suck,” Clancy responds grinning, giving me a funny look. “What?” “You know, strictly speaking I’m still a teenager…” “Wait, what? How old are you?” I giggle. “I’m nineteen, bitch. My birthday is in a couple of weeks.” Laughing, I sit up, pulling her up with me. “Well then, we got to make some plans, right?” My words run away with me before I’ve had time to really think about what I’m saying. I can’t afford a night out, not to mention the fact I don’t know what nights I’m supposed to be working for Grim… as a goddamn stripper.

“Yes?” A gruff voice answers. It’s Beast, not Grim. “I’m calling to speak with Grim. It’s Pen.” “Pen?” “Yes, I was at Grim’s club Friday night with the Skins. A deal was made,” I say, unable to hide my disgust. “Ah, that Pen. You caused a lot of shit. Quite the little badass mover, aren’t you? Not to mention full of spunk.” He chuckles, his gruff tone replaced with a warmth that surprises me. “I didn’t cause any shit. I was just dealing with the crap thrown at me,” I reply, feeling more than a little prickly.

“Grim, Feet of Flames is on the phone. She’s cranky,” he chuckles. I wince at the nickname, Grim must have told him what Malik Brov had called me. I swallow down my very cranky response as Beast passes the phone over to Grim. “I’d wondered when you’d call,” Grim says, conversationally.

“When do I start?” I simply say, my voice tight and filled with gravel. “That’s it? I’m surprised. I expected more of a reaction than that.” Her voice is even, cool, and it pisses me off. I can’t help it, I bite. “What do you want me to say? Thanks for making a deal with the Skins without my fucking permission?” I respond angrily, my fingers wrapping tightly around my phone. “Ah, there she is! Don’t stop fighting, Pen. The minute you give up, they have you. Got it?” “What are you talking about?” I retort, thrown by her response. “I promised that you’d never be touched by any of the Skins whilst in my club, and I will keep that promise. Being a performer affords you that protection. The alternative would’ve been far, far worse. Jeb was willing to sell you off to Malik Brov. Zayn stopped that. He impressed me actually, the way he stood up for you.” “Wait, you know that Zayn was playing Jeb?” Grim chuckles. “Yeah, I knew. Jeb has a lot of enemies. The bastard will willingly put his own flesh and blood in the line of fire to protect his arse. I knew it the moment he arrived that night. I played along until we were behind closed doors.”