Page 69 of Give Me Strength

I retrieve last nights’ sweatpants off the floor — where she not-so-eloquently tossed them before attacking my cock with her hot little mouth — and pull them on. My t-shirt is nowhere to be found, but that’s okay. I make my way downstairs to the studio, my footsteps echoing softly against the wooden floors as the haunting strains of Prokofiev’s “Romeo and Juliet” calls to me, the mournful melody growing louder with each step.

The door to the studio is slightly ajar. I step inside and gently closing it behind me, before lean against the door. I can’t take my eyes off her.

Once again, she moves with a grace that is both mesmerizing and heartbreaking, her body telling the tragic tale of Juliet.

I hate tragedies. I understand that it is an essential part of human existence, but that doesn’t mean I have to like it.

It’s the same routine she danced to on her eighteenth birthday, her movements then and now are infused with the same raw, aching intensity that speaks of her own longing and pain. That fateful night seems so long ago, it’s hard to remember that was only months ago. Interesting, how much can change in such a short amount of time.

But one thing remains unchanged — I can’t keep my eyes off her.

That night, Bonnie told me Ashlynn had a story to tell. And that’s why she was dancing on blistered feet — despite having being told not to by her teachers. Despite knowing what the consequences would be.

Then, it never occurred to me that the story she had to tell was about us. Looking back, I know it was that exact moment I fell in love with her. For the first time in my life. Go figure.

I meant what I said to her a week ago. I will follow her to the ends of the earth.

She notices me and stops, in the middle of the room, her chest rising and falling with heavy breaths. She claps twice, and the music stops. Technology is a beautiful thing.

Still, even from a distance, I can tell that she’s tense and stressed, her mind reeling a thousand miles a minute. She looks at me, her eyes slowly roaming over my body, lingering on my naked torso and the obvious tent in my pants, before moving back up.

“I didn’t wake you, did I?” Her tone is apologetic but the tint of pink on her cheeks says otherwise.

Sometimes, in the last few months I’d come down here and watch her dance. Normally I’d stick to the sidelines, not wanting to come into her sacred space. Because that’s what ballet is to her — a sacred act. That she even allows me in here, I consider it to be a privilege, not a right.

But in this moment, there’s something in her eyes that calls out to me. Pushing off the doorframe, I step up to her and reach behind her, unclasping the hair tie and hair band holding up all that her hair of hers. The auburn locks fall around her shoulders, instantly softening her look.

Reaching up, I draw a hand down her cheek. “You did,” I say softly.

“My bad.” Her expression tells me she’s anything but.

I close the distance between us, resting my hands on her hips. Underneath her dark tights and form-fitting top, she’s not wearing anything underneath. That, as I’ve come to learn, is normal with dance clothes as they are made to accommodate that. But now that every delectable inch of her naked body has been permanently seared in my brain, I get a hard-on every time I see her in her skintight clothes.

She grins and rises to her tiptoes. “I had a lot on my mind,” she whispers, her lips brushing against mine, her body melting into mine.

“Bayard?” I ask, even though I know the answer to that.

She nods, her eyes flutter closed as she kisses me. I smile against her lips and thread my hand through her hair, pulling her closer roughly. She moans as she kisses me properly, her body moving against mine, betraying her desire. I push against her, forcing her take a step back, then several, until her back presses against the barre, my lips never leaving hers. She moans against my mouth, my tongue tangling with hers as I channel all of my pent-up need for her into her lips. Then, when she is least expecting it, I pull back and spin her body around so she’s facing the mirror, her torso pressed into the barre.

My body crowds hers, and I place my lips right below her ear, pressing a featherlight kiss to her skin. Her tongue slips out between her lips, and she wets them.

“I need you to watch.” One hand trails up from her waist to her breast. The other hand moves lower, disappearing into her tights, not surprised to find that they are already soaked through. “You’re so wet for me already,” I whisper in her ear, then trail my tongue over the outer shell. “So turned on, and I’ve barely even touched you.”

“It’s all your doing,” she rasps, the sound shoots straight to my cock.

It is. Her body is so responsive, I can’t get enough of her. My hand travels further down, and I stroke her slit with two fingers. “Keep your eyes open, Ash. I need you to see yourself as I do. See how mesmerizing I find you.”

A sound between a whimper and a groan spills from her mouth. I can’t tell if she’s groaning because of the request, or because I’ve just dipped my middle finger into her pussy up to my second knuckle. My thumb grazes over her clothed nipple, the nub pebbling instantly at my touch. I swirl my other thumb around her clit, and she gasps the moment I press down on the sensitive bub.

I can tell it’s taking everything out of her to resist closing her eyes. Her eyelids flutter, and I bite down on her earlobe. “Keep them open, baby.”

She does, her needy whimper is music to my ears. “Gil, please. I can’t...”

“You can, and you will.”

Then, because I can, I push a second finger up into her pussy. Her walls tighten around my fingers when I dig the heel of my palm into her clit. She shifts her hips and parts her thighs, desperate for more. And I live to serve her every pleasure.

Palming her pussy, I bring her lower half flush against my hard and clothed cock. The fucker twitches in protest, but I ignore him and thrust harder into her sopping pussy. The heel of my hand digs into her clit, as I hit the spots that drive her crazy with need. Between her nipples and her pussy, I know it’s an overload of sensation, but I don’t let up on her. Harder and harder, I fuck her with my fingers. Her body tenses, and I can tell she’s close.

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