Page 85 of Barre Fight
He smiled, unseen by her, and increased the pressure on her clit. She answered by speeding her hips, and he matched her rhythm, loving the way she whined, eyes still shut, her breaths thinner and shorter with every second that passed. Relishing the pleasure he could make her feel, and how right it felt to lose himself inside her.
“You feel so good, Ivy. So good. So right.”
Ivy opened her eyes then, and when her gaze found his, he saw it. The same longing that was tugging at him. Longing for release, yes, but for everything that came after. For more. For him. Justin dragged the soles of his feet up the bed until the tops of his thighs pushed Ivy’s body even closer to his, and they both groaned as she took him deeper than she ever had. Her head tipped forward as though the pleasure was overwhelming, and he could feel her hot, sharp breaths at his temple.
“God, Justin, I’m close,” she said, the words half whisper and half moan. “Please don’t stop, please, please.”
“I’m not going to stop,” he whispered back, not letting the tightness in his chest interrupt the steady motion of his thumb. “I don’t ever want to stop.”
She let out a gasp, and he felt her muscles start to quiver around his aching, desperate cock. “Oh, god, Justin,” she moaned, and he wrapped his other arm around her waist, holding her tight against his body as her orgasm broke. She bucked against him, hips rolling as her pussy clenched, and sweet Jesus, he couldn’t last another second, not with Ivy on top of him like this, gasping his name as she came, hard and beautiful and his.
He pulled her down hard against him, wanting to bury himself as deep as possible inside her perfect body when he came. A second later, he let himself go, and his orgasm raced through him hot and ruthless, and he pulsed inside Ivy’s sublime, luscious heat. The white-hot pleasure of it tore a strangled roar from his throat, something frantic and ecstatic he’d never imagined could come from him. He heard the sound through the thunder of his own pulse in his ears, mingling with Ivy’s subsiding whimpers as her hips slowed and she pressed her mouth to his temple. He gentled his thumb on her clit, then extricated his hand from between their bodies so he could wrap both arms around her and slide one hand into her hair. It was damp with sweat at the roots; her ceiling fan was no match for the evening heat and their exertions. She was panting, her ribcage almost pulsing against his chest as she dropped kisses at his hairline, no doubt tasting the dampness and salt that had gathered there too.
Justin wanted to hold her like this for hours, stay here all night until their sweat dried and the sky turned dark. Distantly, he knew he’d have to feed her soon, or she’d turn into Ivyzilla.And he’d have to handle the condom before long. But for now, he kept his arms locked around her waist, feeling her breaths turn full and steady.
“Justin,” she said after a long moment, her voice ghosting low over his ear.
“Yeah?”
She paused, as though she was weighing her words.
“Spit it out, Kurt,” he said quietly, and her answering chuckle reverberated through his chest.
“I really like you, too.”
Justin’s heart lurched, and he turned his head so that his lips were an inch from hers. “I can tell,” he said, aiming for lighthearted and almost pulling it off. He felt, rather than saw, her roll her eyes.
“I mean it,” she said, and in those three small words he heard determination mingle with uncertainty.
He pressed a kiss to her mouth, tender and reassuring. “I mean it, too, Ivy,” he murmured against her lips. “I really like you. And if we keep doing this…” He knew it was still too soon to say it, so he didn’t. But he knew she heard it anyway.
“I know,” she replied, and she kissed him, her lips already so familiar to him that her kiss felt like returning home after a long day of rehearsal. He was about to say more when her stomach gurgled, and she pulled back, wincing.
“Uh oh,” he said. “I know what that means.”
“It’s fine, I’m fine,” she said, waving a dismissive hand and leaning forward to kiss him again. He put a hand on her shoulder to hold her off.
“No way. Let’s eat dinner.”
“But,” she objected, rolling her hips against him, and damn if his cock didn’t stir inside her, despite that shattering orgasm and his knowledge of just how little time they had to get hersome food before she transformed from the sweet, sexy woman in his arms and into a cranky beast.
“But you’re hungry, and I value my life,” he said, pushing gently at her hips as he grasped the base of the condom and pulled out of her. She sighed as he slid against her, and he wondered how quickly he could secure food so he could hear that sound again. Ideally more than once. “Now, let’s get some food in you so you don’t turn into a monster, and maybe later we’ll have the energy toreally likeeach other a few more times.”
Chapter Twenty-Five
The only place in Clovelly that had bagels on the menu was a fifteen-minute walk from her place, so Ivy crept out of bed the next morning and slipped on a pair of shorts, tucking Justin’s T-shirt from yesterday into the waistband as she slid her feet into a pair of thongs. As she walked along the quiet tree-lined streets towards the main drag, rainbow lorikeets squawking overhead, she scrolled through her email, catching up on everything she’d missed after she and Justin had come home from the performance and fallen into bed. Several times.
Amid the notifications about new donations and the PR job openings she knew she’d never apply for, there was an email from the mayor of Hillstone.
My deepest thanks for your efforts to support the town and its residents in this challenging moment, Mayor Holmes had written.
The mayor hadn’t been at the Opera House yesterday, because she’d said it was more important to be on the ground to work with emergency services and be available to residents. But, the email said, she’d seen a video of Justin’s speech and hadheard from Miss Mary that the kids had had a great time. Now, she had a request for Justin.
Would he be willing to come to Hillstone to present the cheque in person?
Ivy thought she knew the answer, but she was ready to make the case that Justin should go. She could reach out to the same journalists who had covered the fundraiser and secure another round of coverage, this time highlighting how much money they’d raised. With any luck, images of Justin handing over a giant cheque to Miss Mary and the mayor would prompt yet more people and corporations to donate. With any luck, there’d be enough money for Justin’s former teacher to offer scholarships to kids whose parents couldn’t afford classes. As her final act of PR, she could do worse than making sure rural kids could learn ballet—and completing the rehabilitation of Justin Winters’ reputation to boot.
Her phone buzzed with a text notification.
