Page 57 of Barre Fight
Holy shitwas right. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d come that hard, let alone twice in rapid succession.
“Agreed,” she sighed, and she smiled down at him. It was a nice change, being taller than him for once.
He looked down at his hand. “I should go clean up. But I don’t know if my legs are going to hold me up.”
Ivy laughed. “I can get you a tissue. I think my legs work.”
“It’s okay,” he said, getting up slowly. He headed for the bathroom and she heard the tap running.
When he returned a few minutes later, Ivy was sitting with her back against the headboard, her panties back on, pulse still racing. Her legs felt like she’d just danced a three-act ballet, warm and liquid and totally spent, but the sight of Justin walking towards her in nothing but his briefs, all shifting muscle and sinew under sweat-damp skin that seemed to glow in the light seeping in from the street, made her long for a second wind. Third, really.
He sat on the still-made bed, close enough to reach for her but keeping his hands to himself.
“You doing okay?” he asked, watching her closely.
“Better than okay,” she smiled weakly. “You?”
“Better than okay,” he agreed. “Do you need anything? Water?”
“You’re in my room, I should be the one offering you refreshments.”
“Yeah, but you look so very worn out,” he said, unable to keep the self-satisfaction out of his voice, or off his face. God, that smile. The muscles were one thing, and the hands and tongue were clearly in a talent class all their own. But that smile was ruinous. Ivy couldn’t help thinking of all the times he’d scowled at her, making sure she knew she wasn’t welcome, that he could barely tolerate her presence, when all this time he had that smile up his sleeve. And now she got to see it. Here, alone in her hotel room, both of them mostly naked.
“Proud of yourself, are you?” She arched an eyebrow.
“Should I be?” He tipped his head cockily, like he damn well knew the answer was a resounding, moaned, breathyyes.
Ivy rolled her eyes in answer, but the motion felt like work. Her entire body was exhausted by what they’d just done.
“Who’s incorrigible now?” she asked sardonically.
“Nah, incorrigible is giving you a few minutes to rest and then going again.” He grinned, and she shook her head with a laugh.
“I can’t. I need to sleep.”
Justin shrugged. He didn’t look disappointed. He looked like he needed the sleep, too—unlike her, he’d danced a ballet earlier tonight. “There’s always tomorrow.”
Ivy hoped he didn’t hear her surprised, hopeful little intake of breath. “Is there?”
“Do you want there to be?” He was watching her intentlyagain, like he’d done across the table at the jazz club. Like he didn’t need a notebook to remember everything about her.
“Yes.” She was saying that word around him a lot lately.
“Well then, Kurt, I should probably let you sleep. You probably have a long day of sightseeing planned, and I have a long night in mind.”
She smiled sleepily as he stood and looked down at her. She pulled back the covers and slid underneath them, drowsiness already creeping over her.
Ivy watched as Justin picked up his clothes, then collected hers and folded them and set them on the desk. He opened the adjoining door and walked through it, then turned around and leaned on the doorjamb.
“So long, farewell,” he said, in a slightly sing-songy voice.
“Auf Wiedersehen, good night.” She smiled through a yawn.
“I hate to go and leave this pretty sight.” He didn’t sing this time. He said it softly, like it wasn’t a lyric, but just the truth, and Ivy felt the insane urge to tell him to come join her under the covers.
“I don’t remember what comes next,” she said instead.
“Choreography, I think.”
