Page 84 of Barre Fight
She shifted against the couch, and as if that were a musical cue for a phrase of choreography they’d created together, he slid his hand to her waist and hauled her towards him, turning his body so his back was against the cushions. A moment and one fluid movement later, she was straddling him, her hips flush with his and the join of her thighs pressed against his growing erection. Her mouth hadn’t once left his, but now that she wason top of him, he broke the kiss, relishing the small sound of protest that escaped her as he pulled away.
Slowly he traced the same path with his lips that his fingers had taken, tasting the skin beneath her jaw, nipping at the tender skin at the side of her throat, moistening his lips and brushing them lightly along her collarbone. She shivered and lifted her chin, giving him more access to her throat and those strong, triangular muscles that connected her neck and her shoulders, but a few centimeters below her collarbone, he was thwarted by the neckline of the modest black dress she’d worn to the performance. He looked down, enjoying the stretch of thighs that had been exposed when she straddled him and the hem rode up.
It was a perfectly nice dress. But he needed her out of it, now.
As if she’d read his mind, Ivy reached behind her head and grasped at the zipper. The motion thrust her breasts towards him, and his cock twitched in response. She gasped, and her eyes flew down to meet his. For a brief moment, he raked his eyes over her face and drank her in. Pupils blown, cheeks flushed, lips parted because she could feel exactly how much he wanted her, and she wanted him back. She grabbed at the zipper again.
“Let me,” he said, unsurprised by how husky his voice had become. He grabbed the zip pull between his thumb and forefinger and slowly, more slowly than he wanted to, pulled her dress open, letting his fingers follow and trail along her spine. She shivered again, then gave one of her decisive little nods and pulled her arms out of the dress, shoving it down past her narrow waist to the soft flesh at her hips.
There. Now it was a perfectly nice mini-skirt. And now, Justin could see that this whole day, while she’d been orchestrating the performance, while she’d been politely shakinghands with Miss Mary and making sure those kids got the VIP treatment, while she’d been helping influencers make their videos and giving quotes to reporters, she’d been wearing that flimsy black lace bra he’d seen in New York City. The one that made his mouth go dry and his dick go, if possible, even harder than it already was.
She was perfect. Her lips, already swollen from kissing him, were perfect. Her breasts, held tight by the sheer fabric that looked so flimsy he wondered if he could tear it with his teeth. The way she was looking at him, as if she wanted to live here on his lap, topless and torturing him every time she moved her hips. Perfect, all of it.
Justin didn’t waste any time reaching for the hem of his shirt and pulling it over his head. The longer he was clothed, the longer he’d have to wait to feel the press of her bare skin against his and?—
“Fuck,” he breathed, because she’d looped her arms back around his neck and kissed him, pressing the bare skin of her stomach and breasts against him and the contact was electric.
“Bed,” was all she said in reply, and he moaned in agreement. It was lucky he’d only danced one piece today, because his quads didn’t complain at all when he wrapped his arms around her waist and stood up, covering the distance between the couch and the doorway of Ivy’s bedroom in a few strides. Then again, he wouldn’t have noticed if they had, because Ivy’s legs had come around his hips and the friction of her moving against his erection as he walked and a little lactic acid in his legs wouldn’t have stopped him from carrying her into her room and setting her down on the neatly made bed.
She pulled his body over hers as soon as she landed, her hands fumbling with the fly of his pants as he plunged his tongue into her mouth. With a groan of satisfaction, he felt his own zipper come down, and then her hands were cupping hisass, pulling him against her and whimpering as he ground his hips in rhythm with the thrust of his tongue. There was barely anything between them now, just the thin fabric of his boxers and the even thinner fabric of her panties—black, again. Her dress was barely more than a belt now, bunched around her waist as he moved over her, so hard for her it almost hurt.
Ivy pulled him against her and slightly to the side, and he took the hint, moving sideways off her until he was on his back. Instantly he missed the warmth and movement of her body against his, but the sight of her rolling to her knees to sit next to him, hands going straight for the waist of his pants, was some compensation. He kicked off his shoes so she could pull his pants off his legs, and before he could beg her to—and he knew he would have, if it had come to it—she had shimmied her dress off and tossed it onto the floor in the direction of his own clothes.
Justin wanted to reach out and grab her, to pull her body back beneath his and coax more of those whimpers from her throat. But he willed himself to stop, propped up on his elbows, to simply look at her. She was on her knees on the bed next to him in her underwear and bra, hair ruffled by his hands and her dress. His cock was hard, and his heart was racing. But his chest felt full and tight, almost bursting with how beautiful she was, and how fortunate he was to see her like this.
Ivy Page was a work of art. And not something static and unchanging like all those paintings and furnished rooms she’d taken him to see. She was like a piece of music, moving and alive and a little different every time. Like a piece of choreography, where he found something different each time he performed it. On stage today, he’d heard a new lag in the music, a suspension between the notes that he’d never noticed. His body had responded without his mind telling it to, his arm slowing as it drifted down from fifth position to second as ifthe air had suddenly thickened and was dragging on his muscles. Ivy was like that. Her beauty was alive and breathing, her mind always surprising him. In the fading evening light sneaking through her thin curtains, her pale skin seemed to glow, the shadows sharpening her cheekbones and deepening the mouthwatering valley between her breasts. With another full, tight swell in his chest, he noticed for the first time that her toes, tucked beneath the half-covered cheeks of her ass, were pointed. A dancer in her bones, his Ivy.
“Come here,” he said, reaching for her and scooting back until his back found the headboard. She came, resuming her place on his lap, and this time, thankfully, there was no dress keeping him from her breasts. He cupped them gently in his hands, reverently, unable to keep a grin from his face when she moaned from the minimal contact.
“More,” she whimpered, squirming against him, and his grin vanished at the hot streak of pleasure that raced up his cock. He moaned and did as she asked, swiping his thumbs over the tips of her nipples where they strained at the thin, taut fabric of her bra. She answered with another moan and another buck of her hips against him and if she kept up like this, he wasn’t going to be able to keep his orgasm at bay very long.
He wrapped one arm sturdily around her waist, pinning her firmly against him as, with the other hand, he reached to open her nightstand. There were still three condoms left in the box she’d bought in New York, and he grabbed them all.
“Feeling ambitious?” she asked, her snark somewhat dampened by how breathy and needy her voice had become.
“With you? Always,” he shot back. With her. Always. That was what he wanted. Not just more of this, butallof it. He stopped himself from saying that, but he knew he wouldn’t be able to keep those words at bay for long, either.
Instead, he tipped his head up and kissed her. Eagerly, shedeepened the kiss and pressed her hands to the headboard on either side of his head. Her hair fell down and brushed the sides of his face as she kissed him, and he was surrounded by Ivy—her limbs, her hair, the scent of her perfume mingling with the unmistakable aroma of her arousal. Justin slipped his fingers into the waistband of her underwear and brushed his fingers along the sensitive skin there, enjoying the way she gasped against his mouth at the contact. And then, just to torture them both, he slid his hands around to her ass and grasped it hard enough to drag her up the length of his cock. He swore he could feel her wetness through the two layers of fabric.
Ivy moaned against his mouth and sound reverberated through his entire body. She broke the kiss and pressed her forehead to his. “Enough,” she panted, her warm breath flickering over his lips like a phantom kiss.
“I thought you asked for more,” he teased, and the sound of frustration she let out was almost a growl. She dismounted his lap long enough to pull off his underwear, and then her own, and Justin didn’t have it in him to tease her anymore. He had never wanted anything the way he wanted to be inside Ivy Page.
She rolled the condom down his length wordlessly, but her breath was heavy and ragged, and when he was fully covered, she lifted her eyes to his and looked at him, gaze hot and full of what looked like longing. That was certainly what he felt when he looked at her. A deep pull inside his chest that made him want to pull her close and hold on as tight as she’d let him. In silence, she lifted her hips and positioned him at her entrance, and the only sound he heard when she lowered herself onto him was the half-groan half-hiss that escaped him as her slick heat enveloped him.
For a moment he sat frozen with his hands on her hips, looking up at her suspended somewhere between relief and agony. “Perfect,” he whispered. “You’re perfect.”
She smiled, and fuck, there would never be a piece of art that compared to Ivy Page smiling over him with his cock inside her. “No such thing,” she whispered back.
“Want to bet?” He tightened his grip on her hips and canted them forward so that he slipped even deeper inside her, and they both groaned.
“Perfect,” she agreed, her hands returning to the headboard.
Then she began to move, andperfectwas suddenly inadequate. The slide of her against him, around him, and the sight of her body taking his—maybe someone like her, who wielded words with such talent, could find the words for it. But Justin let his hands do the talking, moving one back to her nipple and the other to her clit, stroking both in time with the movement of her hips. She clenched around him in response, and he watched, pressure already building at the base of his spine, as she squeezed her eyes shut and let out a shuddering breath.
“Good?” he asked.
“Yes, god, Justin, yes,” she breathed.
