Page 63 of Barre Fight
She reached down and guided him inside her, and for a moment there was no sound in the room but their labored breathing as he slid, inch by delicious inch, into her, hard and hot and absolutely perfect. When she tipped her hips up to take the final inch of him and their bodies met at the hilt, they both groaned, the sounds twining around each other into a filthy, gorgeous symphony better than anything she’d ever hear sitting in a plush red seat at Lincoln Center.
She never would have guessed, but she should have known. Should have known how right Justin would feel inside her, how graceful and careful he’d be when he started to move. How carefully he’d watch her and listen to her as he stroked inside her, thrusting his hips shallowly at first, letting their bodies learn each other, letting their rhythms match and settle. Gently,almost experimentally, he rolled his hips as he thrust, grazing her clit with light pressure that pulled a whimper out of Ivy, and then he did it again, and again, until Ivy was gasping, her orgasm gathering and gaining force but just out of her grasp. He wasn’t one of ANB’s finest pas de deux partners for nothing, she thought wryly, as he circled his hips yet again. He knew how to listen to a person’s body, how to sense them and keep them on balance—even when all they wanted to do was topple over into bliss.
He kissed her hard, rolling and rolling, keeping them both right on the edge.
“Please,” she breathed. It was all she could manage. One day she could write whole paragraphs about what he was doing to her body, but right now all she had was monosyllables.
“Tell me,” he breathed back. “Tell me what you need.”
Ivy reached above her head where his hand was planted on the mattress, wrapped her fingers needily around his wrist, then guided his hand between her legs. A second later, his fingers found her clit, tracing and swirling around it in wide, sweeping circles. Ivy gasped as pleasure shot up her spine in a sharp, hot bolt.
“This?” he asked, even though she knew he already knew the answer.
“Yes,” she moaned, and then his hips were rolling again, the rhythm and rotation matching his fingers, and she was going to expire from the intensity of the heat that was climbing inside her, the climax barreling towards her. It was going to destroy her, sweep her away until there was nothing but shards of her left, but she had never wanted anything more, so she chased it, winding her hips to meet his body as he pushed her mercilessly towards the edge.
“You’re so close, Ivy, you want it so bad,” he murmured into her ear, his fingers relentless on her clit. “Come for me. I wantto feel it when you fall apart. I’m not going to stop until you do.”
She fell.
Tumbled, toppled, went careening over the edge, gasping and clinging to Justin’s sweat-coated skin as her body shook around his. He kept stroking into her, thrusting harder and deeper as she came apart so completely she didn’t know how she’d ever put herself back together.
“Jesus, fuck, Ivy, you feel so good,” he growled in her ear, his words becoming less and less coherent as his thrusts gained speed, and Ivy gathered what little was left of her strength and slid her hands down his back, grabbing onto his firm, round ass—clutching at it, really—and pulling him hard into her.
He let out a strangled, guttural groan and spasmed, panting as he came buried to the hilt inside her, and for a moment Ivy could hear nothing but his rasping, frantic breaths and the sound of her own pulse thundering in her ears.
“Oh my god,” he said, pressing his forehead to hers, his skin was slippery with sweat. Ivy dragged her fingers up his spine and back into his damp hair.
“Agreed,” she panted, letting out a quiet moan as he held the top of the condom and pulled out of her slowly. If she ever managed to piece her body back together, she wanted him back inside her. He went to the bathroom and disposed of the condom, then returned to the bed on what looked like shaky legs. Hers certainly weren’t going to support her any time soon.
He threw himself down onto the bed. “You were right. Shower sex is overrated. Bed sex, on the other hand…” He rolled to face her, chest still heaving, a relaxed smile playing on his mouth.
“A classic for a reason.” Ivy rolled towards him, brushing wet, no doubt knotted hair out of her face.
He nodded, then raised his hand and ran it down the side ofher body, letting it come to rest on her hip. Exhausted as she was, she couldn’t ignore the trail of heat his fingertips left on her skin, and the way her body pulsed in renewed interest just from that simple touch. She leant forward and kissed him, deep and languorous, feeling her heart rate finally settle. Then something funny occurred to her, and she smiled against his mouth.
“What is it?” he murmured against her lips.
She pulled back and smiled up at him, then scooted forward to close the distance between their naked bodies. “I was just thinking about how you’ve now put in two great performances tonight.”
He raised an eyebrow. “Would I get a curtain call for this one?”
“Oh, yeah.” She nodded. “I’d give you multiple curtain calls.”
“I’ve got a better idea.” He grinned, his hand sliding down to grip her ass. “How about an encore?”
Justin didn’t even bother going back through the adjoining door that night. When he woke up the next morning, it was to find Ivy’s golden-brown hair splayed across his chest, and one of her short, strong legs draped over his thigh. He came to slowly, becoming aware first of her slow, steady breaths, warm on his skin, and then looking down to see her eyelids fluttering as she dreamed. He slowly disentangled himself, careful not to wake her, and headed for his room so he could change and run out for bagels and coffee. She stirred slightly as he eased the adjoining door open, and he glanced back at her, but she merely turned over and buried her face in the pillow. The last thing he thought as he closed the door behind him was that, even after a decade without dancing, Ivy Page still pointed her feet in her sleep.
They woke up much the same way on Thursday morning, too, and on Friday, though this time Ivy stirred and insisted it was her turn to fetch breakfast. When she returned, he convinced her to take her street clothes off and come back to bed. And then into the shower. And then into bed again. The coffee was cold by the time they drank it, but neither of them particularly cared.
On Friday morning, Ivy declared they owed it to themselves to eat something besides bagels for breakfast, and she took him downtown to a Cuban diner that happened to be named after one of the most beloved ballets in ANB’s repertory,Coppelia. They sat at the counter in sleepy silence and ate huevos rancheros with plantains and chorizo on the side, gulping down the coffee they both desperately needed after a long and enjoyably sleepless night.
Justin pulled out his phone and checked his messages. He’d texted his mum after hearing from Missy, and she’d assured him that everything was fine. The fires weren’t contained yet and the Rural Fire Service had told everyone to take the usual precautions: no open flames, no construction work involving sparks, clear dry brush and branches away from buildings. But, his mum reminded him, she’d lived her entire life in the Hillstone area, and this was just what summer was. It was smoke-scented air and an awareness of the fierce power of the natural world. The land was meant to burn, he knew that; it was how the bush regenerated. The traditional indigenous owners of the land had mastered the art of controlled burn centuries before the Rural Fire Service had figured it out.
Still, Justin worried. It was one thing for the bush to burn the way nature intended, but what about houses? What about the people who lived in them? It had been a dry winter and a hot summer, which meant the eucalyptus bushland that surrounded Hillstone was a tinderbox soaked in oil.
And what about that go bag? When he’d pressed her on that, she’d reminded him that refreshing a go bag was part of the RFS’s new recommendations, and that she and her neighbours did it every summer now. Fires burned hotter and moved faster than they had when he and Missy were kids. It didn’t mean there was any special danger. Hillstone had a creek on one side of town and a large billabong on the other, which meant fire was less likely to sweep through.
But it was late February. How low was the water in the billabong? Was the creek dry by now?
