Only the Brave Try Ballet

by Stefanie London

  ‘Don’t stop...’ Her voice was strangled. ‘Please.’

  ‘I’ve only got one night, remember?’ He rested his chin on her lower belly. ‘Don’t rush me.’

  He ran his hands up and down her legs, toying with the edges of her knee-highs. He hooked his fingers underneath the elastic and went to peel one from her.

  She gasped. ‘No!’

  ‘It’s OK,’ he soothed, his voice low and quiet, as though he were convincing a frightened animal not to run from him.

  ‘No.’

  She shook her head, and the tremble of her lip almost undid him. She was far from the writhing, sensual beauty of a minute ago. Her pale face and sad eyes sliced away at his composure. He remembered the shame in her eyes as she’d talked about her accident, the self-loathing he understood with a painful acuity.

  ‘Let me see you,’ he said, reaching up to clasp her hands. Her delicate wrists were fragile in his grip, trembling beneath his fingertips. ‘Please.’

  ‘It’s ugly.’ She squeezed her eyes shut, her head angled away from him.

  ‘Jasmine, open your eyes.’ He was firm, determined to be strong for her. ‘Open them for me.’

  She did as he asked, her eyes shimmering beneath heavy lashes. She let out a shaky breath as he brought his hands back down to her calves.

  ‘You’re stunning.’ His voice was rough, emotional. ‘Scars or no scars.’

  She gave a slight nod of her head, the most minimal of movements, but he wasn’t going to proceed until he got her consent. His lips pressed against her knee and followed the line of her shin as he peeled her sock away from the skin. The room was heavy with silence; she was holding her breath so that all that could be heard was the thundering of his heart. The ankle she’d injured recently had yellow patches discolouring the skin. The swelling had gone down, but the marks on her skin would remain awhile longer.

  He moved to the other sock and revealed the leg injured in her accident. The scar was bright red against her fair skin; it snaked up the side of her leg and finished a few inches under her knee. He looked up and saw that she had her eyes clamped shut again, her bottom lip between her teeth. His heart burst at her fear.

  ‘I tried to warn you.’ Her voice quivered.

  Grant pushed up from his position on the bed; locking his eyes on hers. ‘I don’t care that you have scars.’

  His fingertips gently traced the length of her injured leg. He treated it as though it were as precious and beautiful as the rest of her...because it was. He pressed himself against her, pushing her body into the soft depths of the bed.

  ‘We all have scars...even if you can’t see anything on the outside.’ His lips trailed the length of her jaw until he reached her ear. ‘If you think even for a second that I’m bothered, then I’ll stop right now.’

  She stared up at him, uncertainty flickering across her face. Each second felt like hours as Grant held himself there, waiting for her to call the next move.

  ‘Don’t stop.’ Her voice was the barest whisper.

  He brought his hands to the insides of her thighs and lowered himself down her body. He ran his tongue up the delicate join of her hip, working his way back to her centre. A moan—soft and delicate—urged him on.

  Something within him shattered as her eyes fluttered shut. She pressed another condom into his hand and he sheathed himself before entering her with a single, smooth thrust. Jasmine clenched instinctively around him, her body responding to his as though they were made for each other.

  The tension had melted from her face and her wide eyes glimmered up at him. Her full lips were parted, a pink flush warming her cheeks. She was stunning.

  She lifted her hips so that he could hook his arms underneath her thighs and drive deeper into her. Each thrust sent pleasure shooting through him. His entire body was alight with the feeling of her. She lifted her legs higher, draping her ankles over his shoulders, and giggled at the delight on his face.

  ‘Being a dancer does have its perks.’ She smiled up at him, the confidence blossoming on her face once more.

  ‘No kidding.’ He ran his hands up and down her legs, taking care to be gentle over her scars but not wanting to leave any part of her out of his worship. ‘Your body is amazing—every goddamn inch of it.’

  His careful strokes were aimed at putting pressure in the spot where she needed it most; she clenched around him as her pleasure mounted. It was all he could do to control himself, to stop himself from ravishing her.

  ‘I need it now...’ Jasmine tipped her head back, exposing the delicate white skin of her neck. Grant kissed her there, she shivered and a soft moan escaped her lips.

  He moved harder and faster, pushing her towards release with each thrust, until her fingers dug into his back, her nails scratching at his skin as she peaked. The sound of her crying out his name brought him to a sudden and powerful climax.

  Exhausted, he fell forwards. His face was cradled in the sweet curve of her neck, where she smelled of pleasure and satisfaction and wonder. The room was silent as they clung to one another as if their lives depended on it.

  TEN

  Grant had been tempted to slip out of Jasmine’s apartment when the sky had not yet encountered the pink whisper of dawn. After they’d ravaged one another for a second time Jasmine had fallen asleep curled into his side, her French knickers hanging from the post at the end of the bed.

  The temptation of her lithe body tucked into his had been far too much. The way she slept—with her hair fanned out over the pillow and a small smile on her lips—had made Grant want to stare at her until the image was permanently embedded in his mind. He’d known he should get out before she decided to wake and go for round number three...as good as that sounded.

  But he hadn’t been able to bring himself to do it. Thinking about leaving her had caused his heart to clench. What would she make of a silent departure?

  She said herself it was a one-time thing. Though his logic was faultless, he couldn’t help but worry that she might conclude that he viewed her as a one-night stand—nothing more.

  So he’d stayed, savouring her body against his. His mind swirled with confusion. This girl was going to bring him undone.

  One slender arm draped over his midsection. Her nails were painted baby pink and in the pale morning light they shimmered like pearls. Everything about her was graceful and dainty, yet she’d turned out to be a tightly wound bundle of sexual heat.

  His coach’s voice echoed in his head: Don’t replace one crutch with another. He had to make sure that this thing with Jasmine—whatever it was—remained casual. He couldn’t afford to fall into anything serious...not while his reputation was hanging in the balance. He needed a big win this season to get his career back on track.

  Even as he warned himself he ached at the thought of leaving her. He was in trouble...big trouble.

  Jasmine shifted, her sleepy movement causing her small naked breasts to rub against him. He felt himself stiffen beneath the cotton bedsheet and he had to contain the guttural groan that threatened to burst forth. She had the most incredible effect on him.

  Her eyes fluttered open, dark lashes blinking as a shy smile spread across her lips. ‘Well, that escalated, didn’t it?’

  Grant chuckled and pulled Jasmine closer to him. Her hair swept over her, the glossy lengths giving her a goddesslike appearance. He ran his hands through the gleaming strands, enjoying the silken sensation against his palms.

  ‘No regrets?’ He searched her face.

  ‘We didn’t do anything to regret.’ Her face was buried into his side, her lashes tickling his ribcage as she blinked.

  ‘You should be able to look me in the eye, then.’

  She peered up, her cheeks pink. ‘No regrets. I promise.’

  Silence settled over them until all that could b
e heard were the sounds of normal life occurring outside. Inside, life was anything but normal. They’d crossed a line that could not be uncrossed, no matter how they tried to rationalise it away.

  Jasmine rolled onto her back, eyes locked onto the ceiling. ‘So...’

  ‘So?’

  They looked at one another and laughed. ‘This is...’

  ‘It’s only awkward if we let it be awkward.’ He rolled onto his side to face her. ‘I know our one night is over, but I propose coffee.’

  Her eyes lit up at the suggestion of coffee—it was like a moment of pure sunshine. ‘I never say no to coffee.’

  * * *

  She hadn’t been sure of how Grant would react the morning after, though part of her was relieved he hadn’t made some lame excuse to run away. Or, worse still, made a sneaky exit in the middle of the night. Her fragile self-esteem wouldn’t have been able to take it. However, what it now meant was that they were standing awkwardly in her kitchen, making small talk.

  In some ways that was worse than nursing a bruised ego. She should never have gone down this path in the first place. You didn’t have to force conversation with a fantasy—nor did you have to make it a cappuccino.

  She folded her arms across her chest, pulling her baggy sweater closer around her. Her feet were bare, and the cold of the tiles seeped into her bones. She’d thrown on a pair of leggings to cover up her scars—not that it made much difference at this point.

  How had she allowed him to see so much of her last night? Was she that desperate for affection that she let him take over? He’d been tender beyond what she’d expected, his gentle handling of her more visible flaws better than she could have hoped for. But the dark part of her mind—the blackened recess where Kyle had once burried his claws—told her that he was secretly disgusted.

  How could he not be?

  She turned to the coffee machine, hoping he couldn’t hear the shame that roared within her at full force. She let out a breath, forcing herself to be silent as the machine whirred to life. She twisted the too-long sleeves of her jumper, covering her hands completely as though it might protect her.

  ‘About last night—’ he started.

  ‘If you say How was it for you? I’m going to brain you with this mug.’ She waved a coffee mug at him as if to illustrate her point.

  ‘What?’ A sly smile spread over his lips as he leant against the breakfast bar. ‘You got a problem with giving positive reinforcement?’

  She poked her tongue out at him.

  ‘No matter—I’ll take the fact that you screamed the house down to mean I did a good job.’

  ‘Do you want this coffee or not?’ Her cheeks flamed, but she couldn’t prevent a smile twitching at her lips. He was cocky, but then again, when you were that good....

  She held his cup under the coffee machine and filled it with steaming dark liquid. The scent filled the room. Usually it was the most comforting scent in the world—reminiscent of early-morning ballet rehearsals and catch-ups with Elise—but today it did nothing to quell her morning-after jitters. Weren’t people supposed to feel anxious before sex, not after?

  ‘I’ve heard of love ’em and leave ’em, but never love ’em and cease all conversation,’ he teased.

  ‘We don’t need to cease all conversations.’

  ‘Just ones pertaining to sex?’

  ‘Yes.’ She filled her own mug and brought it close to her face. Inhaling deep, she willed the curling tendrils of steam to work their magic, but her shoulders remained bunched, her hands in a death-grip around the mug’s handle.

  ‘So...how about that local sports team?’ He drummed his fingers against the countertop.

  ‘That would be you.’

  ‘Right.’ Grant took a sip of his coffee and paused for a moment. ‘Why don’t you like talking about sex?’

  ‘Don’t pull your psychology voodoo on me.’ Getting psychoanalysed was the last thing she needed right now. She was having a hard time dealing with her own thoughts without someone else picking them apart.

  ‘I’m only asking—’

  ‘Sex is for doing, not for talking about.’

  ‘Only if you’re repressed,’ he muttered.

  ‘Based on what you saw last night, do you think I’m repressed?’ she asked, but as he opened his mouth to answer she cut him off. ‘It’s a rhetorical question. I don’t see why we need to make a big deal out of it. It was one night between two consenting adults...who never need to speak about it again.’

  ‘Point taken,’ he said.

  * * *

  Jasmine experienced a strange twinge of emptiness when Grant left, though she had no right whatsoever to feel that way. After all, she was the one who’d enforced the ‘one night only’ rule and made it clear commitment wasn’t on the agenda. She tried to focus on other things as soon as the door closed behind him, and knew she was in trouble when she waited by the door until the sound of his car vanished down the street. Yeah, she was in trouble, all right.

  So it turned out that Grant Farley wasn’t just an ace football player, but he also had some other—more carnal—skills at his disposal. He’d rocked her world in a way that had surprised her, and she couldn’t help reliving the night in her head.

  Over and over and over.

  * * *

  ‘Earth to Jasmine.’ Elise waved a hand in front of her face. ‘Anyone home?’

  ‘Huh?’ Jasmine shook her head and focused on her friend. ‘Sorry, I drifted off then.’

  ‘I’ll say.’ Elise eyed her suspiciously. ‘And judging by the expression on your face I’d say you drifted somewhere muscular.’

  Jasmine gave Elise a light punch in the arm, but the smile that refused to leave her lips revealed enough. Elise’s eyes widened until they looked as though they might pop right out of her pretty little head.

  ‘You didn’t?’ She grabbed Jasmine’s face and examined it. Jasmine twisted away, but Elise was stronger than her petite frame would suggest. ‘You did!’

  ‘Fine.’ Jasmine batted her friend away. ‘Twice, if you must know.’

  Elise’s mouth opened and closed in shock. Eventually she let out a surprised laugh.

  ‘The goldfish look isn’t good on you,’ Jasmine said, rolling her eyes.

  ‘I’m just surprised.’ Elise picked up a costume from the bag on the table and commenced sewing a row of sequins. ‘I’m guessing it went well, otherwise you wouldn’t be grinning like a court jester...’

  ‘It did go well.’ Jasmine sewed a matching costume, her hands practised in the simple up and down threading motion. ‘In fact I could say I haven’t experienced anything that good in a long time. If ever.’

  Jasmine had forgotten all about her promise to assist Elise with the costumes for an upcoming dance competition. When Elise had arrived with enough sequins to make a small nation sparkle Jasmine had had no choice but to hope that she didn’t look as loved up and dishevelled as she felt.

  ‘I guess football players have a lot of practice.’ Elise propped her chin in one hand, her face alight.

  ‘He was...’ Jasmine paused, thinking of the best way to describe him. ‘I don’t know...more tender than I expected. More considerate.’

  Elise raised an eyebrow.

  ‘Don’t get me wrong, it was still hot as hell, but he wasn’t as self-focused as I expected. He seemed to get a kick out of pleasuring me.’

  ‘Good.’ Elise nodded her approval and went back to her sewing. ‘I won’t stand for you dating any more selfish bastards—you’ve had your share.’

  Jasmine nodded. Though her dating experience was minimal, she did seem to have a type—heartless bastards with more money than feelings. If it had only been Kyle she could have chalked it up to bad luck. One was a mistake; three was a trend.

  She yawned. A ni
ght of passionate lovemaking might have been good for the soul, but it wasn’t great for her energy levels. She was in desperate need of another coffee and a blanket.

  ‘So how did you go?’ Elise abandoned her sewing and went to the coffee machine, as if reading Jasmine’s mind. ‘With the whole leg...thing...’

  ‘That wasn’t easy. I tried to keep my socks on, but he wasn’t having a bar of that.’

  ‘You tried to keep your socks on while you were having sex?’ Elise seemed unsure of whether Jasmine was joking or not, and her delicate features pulled into a frown. ‘You’re not an old married couple.’

  ‘It wasn’t like that—they were knee-highs and it was kind of sexy...a bit of a naughty schoolgirl thing.’

  ‘Well, that’s OK.’ She came back to the table with two coffees. ‘But still...socks?’

  Jasmine laughed, her mind wandering back to the way he’d peeled those socks from her. It had been the single most petrifying thing she’d ever experienced. Give her a packed house at State Theatre over that any day of the week.

  Damn him for leaving her so unsettled. The whole idea of sleeping with him had been to get it out of her system. But she was thinking about him more than ever. Damn, damn, damn.

  ‘Have you looked him up on the internet yet?’ Elise’s eyes lit up. She had on her scary I’ve-got-a-wild-and-crazy-plan face. Jasmine had seen that face before.

  It never ended well.

  ‘No,’ she replied, drawing the sound out slowly. She wasn’t the most tech-savvy of people, and the internet stalking habits of her generation confused her. What was wrong with a little mystery?

  ‘Oh, this is happening!’ Elise jumped up from her seat, snatched her coffee from the table and made a break for the study.

  ‘Dear God...’ Jasmine started after her, her limp preventing speedy mobility.

  The study—which was more of a glorified broom closet than a legitimate working room—was already alive with the sounds of Elise’s hands flying across the keyboard. She typed like a woman possessed.