“You sure?” His lips press into a line, eyes scanning over my body, as if he’s worried he’s done something to break me. But if this is what being shattered by Jax entails, I’d gladly let him break and piece me back together for the rest of time. “I can just hold you if it’s too much.”
Jax hisses as my hips buck and I draw figure eights against him. Moving helps the discomfort ebb, and my body begins to adjust to the fullness. I swirl and shift, Jax continuing to suck and stroke me into a ball of tension ready to burst. When I do, he growls his satisfaction.
Another gush of cum paints my insides, his cock jerking within me. The ball of his piercing nudges the nerves within as I pulse around him. I crest again, pleasure hitting me in a deep wave. Now that the dam has crumbled, each orgasm unleashes more rapidly than the last, feeding off of Jax’s. His attention is wholly poised on my body, working us into a delicious cycle of my ecstasy dominoing into his.
He fills me over and over, our bodies locked and rocking in front of the fire until I’m covered in a sheen of sweat despite the chill of his skin.
Hours later, my eyes flutter, spent by the ripples of our pleasure. When he goes to move, I tighten my legs around him. “Not yet.”
It’s not lost on me that these days are the last few before I return to DC. To summer.
I want to imprint this into memory. His body weight against me. The chill of his breath tousling the wisps of my hair. The fullness of him in the deepest parts of me. Every second we get together is precious. A snowflake cradled in my palm.Something to admire, to memorize each delicate line before it melts away.
Jax’s hand comes to rest over my mate mark, and I interlace my fingers with his. I focus on every crackling ember of the fire and every spot where his skin meets mine. I draw the details across the pages of my mind, then tuck them away.
He kisses my shoulder at the start of my scars, trailing his fingers along my body, and I can’t help but wonder if maybe he’s doing the same, just as scared of these memories fading.
38
JOLIE
Ispend the night in Jax’s arms, the warmth of the fire beaming on me while he’s cool on my back. My body aches. A glorious throb between my thighs that he soothes with his icy magic. Every so often I wake, kissing him, pulling him on top of me to feel him solid against me. I need these reminders that he’s here. Real.
Mine.
Buzz, buzz, buzz.
I crane my neck over Jax to see who’s calling. The last thing I want to do is leave his arms, but Maral’s name flashes across the screen.
Buzz, buzz, buzz.
I ignore the slickness between my legs, some of it seeping out from me, and I get up to hurry to the phone vibrating on my nightstand. “Hello. Mistress Maral?”
“Hello, Ms. Wilder.” Her tone is firm with a brush of something lighter. “I wanted to inform you that the director and I spoke after your performance at the festival. We both agree that you’re ready to take a more prominent position within Ballet Potomac.”
My throat quivers and my heart pounds wildly. “Really?”
Jax’s arms wrap around me, dragging me backward until I’m flush with his chest. The ridges of his frost marks graze my shoulder blades, and I sink into the sensation.
“Yes, really. You’ve worked hard all season, continued to show that you take your career seriously. Gone to your physical therapy appointments,” she adds, tone a bit sterner. “You’ll start rehearsals as a soloist once you’re back. And will continue your appointments with Heather.”
“Yes!” I squeal, then clear my throat, trying to train myself into regal calm. “Thank you, Mistress Maral. I promise you won’t regret it.”
“Continue to impress us, Ms. Wilder, and I see big things in your future.”
I see them too. The beautiful ache of long days at the studio. Floating above the audience, gliding gracefully across the stage in silks, tulles, and chiffons. The thunder of applause beneath the heat of the spotlight. They’re flashes of dreams buried deep in my soul—ones I thought would be made reality at the Institute. Instead, those dreams have been saved for the place where I truly belong.
“Thank you, Mistress Maral. For everything. See you when I get back stateside.”
“See you at rehearsals, Jolie.”
I knew I danced my heart out. Left every piece of me under those magical lights. But being proud of your own performance doesn’t mean anything will come of it.
I didn’t dare hope for more.
Now it’s happening.Really happening.A reclamation of the soloist I was. Only this time, it’ll be better because I’m stronger. Not just physically with the help of my PT sessions, but mentally and emotionally too.
I’ve spent my ballet career wanting to be seen. To show my worth. To be valued. But I’ve learned so much over the last year and a half. No matter how much I’ve sought their validation, the only one who can truly give it to me is myself. I know my worth. Know the blood and sweat and tears I’ve given season after season. Mistress Maral and the director have recognized it too, but at the end of the day, no one can believe in me more than myself.
