Only the Brave Try Ballet

by Stefanie London

  ‘I gorged myself on it until I was sick.’ He brought his lips down to hers, cupping her face in his hands. ‘And speaking of things I want to gorge myself on...’

  She blew out a breath, knowing exactly where he was going. What she didn’t know was if she could stop it.

  ‘Are you reconsidering your one-night rule?’ Grant asked, nuzzling her neck. ‘You’re looking at me like I’m dinner.’

  ‘You’re quite sure of yourself, aren’t you?’ Jasmine tilted her chin up at him, studying his features. There was something utterly disarming about him. The combination of his strong jaw and the slightly crooked, freckle-smattered nose enchanted her.

  His voice was low, predatory. ‘I’m not asking you to stop.’

  In one swift movement Grant had pulled Jasmine to him and pressed her up against the barre, his hands gripping the wooden rail on either side of her hips so that she was trapped. He pressed urgently against her, and she arched to him with equal candour. She ran her hands up the sides of his thighs, skimming the tight curve of his behind until her hands reached his back.

  ‘You’re getting there...’ she said, her voice catching. With each second that passed Jasmine’s resistance was falling harder.

  ‘I want you to wrap those incredibly flexible legs around me so I can make you scream.’ His eyes were hooded, his voice coarse with lust. ‘Again.’

  Before he could say anything else she pressed up against him, her mouth hungry for more. Grant’s arms wrapped around her, encircling her waist as he lifted her up so that she could wrap herself around him. Grant carried her weight seemingly without effort as she pressed against him, her breasts hard against his chest.

  ‘Not here,’ she whispered.

  * * *

  Jasmine fidgeted in the car, her hands unwilling to be still as Grant drove them back to his apartment. She was out of control. The fearful voice inside her told her she was crazy. She didn’t do reckless, and this was pretty damn reckless.

  There were rules and boundaries that she needed to adhere to. Jasmine liked those things. There was a reason she loved ballet enough to make it her life. Ballet was all about rules, about precision. These things made her comfortable. But this...this was something else entirely.

  Her ‘one night only’ was turning into a spontaneous night number two, and she was powerless to stop it.

  ‘Penny for your thoughts, Miss Bell?’ Grant’s voice was teasing, and he watched her as he held the car straight along the freeway.

  ‘Not a penny’s worth.’ She sank down lower in the comfy leather seat. ‘I’m just admiring the view.’

  The city was drawing closer. The ethereal orange glow that encompassed the tall buildings of Melbourne’s CBD grew nearer with each minute. Jasmine loved the city. The lights had fascinated her as a child—she’d always wondered how something could exist for so long without ever sleeping.

  ‘The view will get a lot better than this.’ His eyes raked her slouched form. ‘I promise.’

  ‘Are you always so smooth with the ladies?’ Jasmine propped herself up on one arm and watched him as he laughed, the sound rumbling deep within him. It curled her insides.

  ‘Hardly.’ His lips turned up into a sardonic smile. ‘The sad fact is footy players don’t need to be much of anything to have the girls lined up.’

  Jasmine screwed up her nose at him. The thought of a gaggle of screaming girls surrounding Grant made her stomach churn. ‘So you’ve become lazy?’

  ‘I haven’t become anything,’ he said, frowning at her insinuation. ‘Those girls aren’t my style. I like ’em feisty...like you.’

  ‘Flattery won’t get you anywhere.’ She gave his arm a playful shove.

  ‘Correct me if I’m wrong, but I’ve already got somewhere.’ His eyes glinted in the reflection of the streetlights. ‘You are in my car, on your way to my apartment, are you not?’

  ‘Details...’ She waved her hand, dismissing his argument.

  ‘Have you thought any more about the dancing thing?’

  ‘No,’ she lied. She’d been thinking about it constantly...or rather trying not to think about it constantly.

  ‘I asked you to promise me that you wouldn’t stop trying.’

  ‘I remember you asking, but I don’t remember making such a promise.’

  Grant pulled the car into the parking lot and killed the engine. ‘I’d give anything to see you back up on a stage.’

  ‘Why?’ She unbuckled her seatbelt and turned to him.

  ‘Because you’re magnificent.’ He leant over and crushed his mouth to hers.

  He tasted faintly of mint and the scent of him invaded her nostrils, making her dizzy with lust. If he kept kissing her like that she might promise him anything.

  They walked hand in hand to the building entrance and Jasmine marvelled at how luxurious it was inside. Her attention was diverted from him momentarily as they stepped into the Art Deco elevator, but he didn’t give her long to marvel at the stylish design before he pulled her to him.

  As the reflection of their embrace filled the ornate floor-to-ceiling mirrors she rested her body against the hard wall of his chest, enjoying the way he immediately curled his arms around her. His hands rested against her behind, pressing her against him so that she could feel his erection straining between them. She slipped her hand down to cup the bulge in his pants, enjoying the unrestrained groan that escaped his lips as she massaged him.

  ‘Straight to business?’

  ‘Yep.’ She sucked at the curve of his neck. ‘I find it stops you from asking questions.’

  ‘Suits me fine.’ He wound his hand through the length of her ponytail and gave a gentle tug, pulling her face up towards him. He landed a possessive kiss on her lips and she melted under him.

  The elevator doors slid silently open. The hallway was empty. Tasteful watercolour paintings dotted the pale walls and grey carpet was soft underfoot. Their steps quickened with anticipation and heat shot through her arm where his hand wound tightly around hers, his fingers interlaced with her own.

  Grant opened the door to his apartment and held it aside. She brushed past him, allowing her fingers to graze his hardness. A shiver ran down her spine; anticipation and excitement pooled in her belly.

  The apartment was stark, a bachelor pad, with a large flat-screen TV as the focal point rather than the stunning view that filled the mammoth windows running the length of the room. The city lights dazzled against an inky winter sky and she lost her breath.

  Grant took her hand again. ‘It’s better from the balcony.’

  As he pushed open the sliding door the chilly air enveloped them. Jasmine stood against the railing, her hands gripping the bar tightly at her waist, and leaned over to look down on the city below. Noise from the remnants of city traffic, from people going about their evening and from the dinging of passing trams floated up to them. The scent of rain hung in the air. Grant stood behind her, pressing her against the protective balustrade, his lips on her neck.

  ‘It’s amazing,’ she breathed, arching back against him. Her neck burned where he brushed his lips against the sensitive skin there. ‘You’re so lucky.’

  ‘I am now.’

  He squeezed, his hand trailing down her stomach until it brushed against the juncture of her thighs. She murmured as his hands slipped between her legs and stroked her heat. She was still in her leotard and tights with only a thick woollen coat to protect her from the cold. The thin fabric of the leotard provided little resistance to his hand, and she quivered as his fingers increased their pressure.

  Turning around, Jasmine parted her legs so that Grant could press himself between them. She tilted her head back, enjoying the chilly rush of air across her face while her body burned beneath her coat. Feeling more than a little daring, she felt for his waistband and pulled down hi
s pants, exposing his hardness to the night air.

  She lapped up the surprise in Grant’s eyes as she slid down to a kneeling position in front of him and pressed her lips gently to the tip of him. He gripped the railing of the balustrade above her head.

  Jasmine parted her lips and wrapped them around the head of his cock, sucking gently at first. He tasted salty. She brushed her tongue against his length, feeling him tremble against her. She slid him slowly out and then back in again, hearing him groan from above her as one hand clasped the back of her head.

  ‘If you keep that up—’ he warned, his voice strangled.

  She drew back and looked up at him. His hand brushed her cheekbone as she stood in front of him. ‘Then take me inside.’

  They stumbled through the door into the living room and Grant tugged her along into his bedroom. A huge king-size bed dominated the room, covered in a simple navy bedspread that looked soft as a cloud.

  There were no personal photos on the walls—nothing that gave away any clues about anyone in his life. She recalled him saying his relationship with his family was strained, but she hadn’t expected to find an apartment devoid of any personal photos. The room was simply furnished and utilitarian. Only one picture hung on the wall—a large signed photograph of a football player that looked as though it might be from the seventies. She removed her coat and draped it over the back of a tub chair.

  ‘Enough looking around.’ Grant sat on the bed and drew her to him so that she was standing between his legs. He’d kicked off his pants and was sitting in his jumper. Reaching down, she pulled his jumper and T-shirt off with a single smooth movement.

  ‘I’m looking at you now,’ she whispered, climbing onto his lap so that she faced him with her legs straddling his waist.

  Grant pulled down one of the straps on her leotard, baring a small breast. His lips took in the sensitive bud of her nipple, causing a wave of pleasure to rush through her. Heat throbbed incessantly as his tongue flickered against her. A long drawn-out moan came out of her lips as her head lolled backwards.

  He pulled on the other strap of her leotard and helped her arms out before he continued his attention to her breasts. Pushing away from him, Jasmine peeled off the leotard and let it drop to the floor around her ankles. Her tights and underwear followed, leaving a pool of nylon and cotton at her feet.

  Grant ran his hands up the flat plane of Jasmine’s stomach until they rested on her breasts. His fingers honed in on her erect nipples, rolling the rosy buds between his thumbs and forefingers, wringing a sharp cry of pleasure from her. Beneath his hands the worries of her world slipped away, her fears about her future, the pain of her loss...gone.

  One hand came to dance over the smooth patch between her thighs, his fingers teasing apart the slick folds of flesh to find the tight bundle of nerves at her centre. Jasmine clenched tightly as his thumb found her and started its slow assault on her senses. She spasmed as waves of intense pleasure rolled over her until she reached breaking point. Orgasm shattered through her and light flared behind her shuttered eyes, her cries echoing off the walls of Grant’s bedroom.

  Spent, she collapsed against him and pressed a kiss to his cheek, feeling the roughness of his stubble against her tender lips. She felt safer than she had in a long time—as though the enclosure of his arms could protect her from the world.

  TWELVE

  Some time later they lay tangled in the sheets of his bed, limbless with satisfaction and exhausted. Sex with Jasmine put to shame any of the workouts in his training regime. Grant took pride in the fact that she was limp and murmuring incoherent pleasure sounds against the crook of his neck. He’d be happy to listen to that sound for the rest of his life.

  He rolled the thought around in his head. The rest of his life was a long time, considering he was generally fed up with someone after twenty-four hours. To go from a day to forever seemed...crazy. But the more time he spent with Jasmine the more he wanted. She’d become part of his life without him realising it, and going without her would be like going without air or food or any other life-giving necessity.

  When had it happened?

  ‘Grant?’ His name was stretched out, half yawn, half groan. ‘Am I dead?’

  ‘Why do I feel like this is the start of a cheesy pick-up line?’

  ‘It’s a little too late for that, don’t you think?’ She laughed and stretched her legs out.

  ‘Especially considering we broke the one-night-only rule,’ he pointed out.

  She traced her fingertip over his shoulder, outlining the curves of his tattoo. ‘That rule was put in place so no one got hurt. Therefore, if we don’t hurt one another we should be OK.’

  ‘Sounds good in theory.’

  ‘And in practice?’ She stilled beside him, her face tilted up.

  ‘I’d like it to work in practice too.’

  Like most things that sounded good in theory, reality was a little more complicated. But that didn’t stop him wanting—for the first time in years—to see where reality could take them.

  She reached up and pulled his face to her, kissing the corners of his lips, the tip of his nose. ‘Sounds good to me.’

  ‘So you’ll come to the Brownlow with me, then?’

  And just like that the post-sex glow was sucked out of the air. Jasmine’s body tensed, her hand withdrawing from his face.

  ‘I said I’d think about it.’

  ‘What is there to think about?’

  It figured that the one time he opened himself up he chose a woman who didn’t want anything to do with his lifestyle. After a decade of people using him it was both a shock and a relief.

  ‘Unless that’s your way of stalling before you say no?’ he added.

  She sighed. ‘I can’t come to the Brownlow with you.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘Do I need a reason?’ She sat up on the bed and turned away from him.

  ‘Call me curious.’

  ‘I don’t do the whole gala thing.’ She raked her hands through her hair, twisting it and feeling around on the bed until she located her hair tie. ‘I had to put up with it when I was with the Australian Ballet. Now I have a choice I choose not go to those things.’

  ‘Sounds like there’s some history behind that.’

  ‘This is not a couch and I’m not your patient.’ She tied her hair up and turned back to him, crossing her legs under her. ‘You’re a frustrated psychologist.’

  ‘I’m observant,’ he corrected. ‘Not that I need to be...’

  ‘Excuse me?’

  ‘Anyone would be able to read you, Jasmine.’

  ‘What’s that supposed to mean?’

  ‘You’re an open book.’ He reached out to place a hand on her knee. ‘You might think you’re good at hiding your emotions, but you’re not.’

  She pursed her lips. ‘And?’

  ‘I would rather have you on my arm than any of those other girls.’ He sighed. ‘You’re not like them. That’s what I like about you.’

  ‘Really?’ Her face softened and she traced the back of his hand with one delicate fingertip.

  The sensation sent a ripple of awareness through him, though how his body could stir to life after what they’d done tonight was a complete mystery.

  ‘I’ve been with those women before. I was engaged to one of them before she decided that I wasn’t high enough up the food chain.’ He swallowed the memories. That had been a long time ago and he was a different person now. ‘I drank and partied myself into a hole, and I’ve been clawing my way out for twelve months. Something in my gut told me you were different.’

  ‘I am different.’ She lowered her eyes to her hands, wrapped into a neat ball in her lap. ‘I’m too different—that’s the problem.’

  ‘That’s crazy.’

  ‘Is it
? You said yourself I was nothing like the girls on the scene.’ She paused. ‘A life in the spotlight isn’t what I want. My ex loved it—he dragged me to party after party so he could show me off. But that’s all he wanted. It was never about me.’

  ‘He was an idiot.’

  ‘Yeah, he was.’ She traced her fingertip over the pattern on the bed. ‘But it put me off that kind of life. I don’t want the whole world scrutinising me. I promised myself I wouldn’t put myself in that position again. You understand that’s why this can’t be anything more than casual?’

  Her face implored him and he wanted nothing more than to hold her until the past melted away. His chest ached. Could he offer her a life without public scrutiny? It seemed impossible, but something deep inside told him not to let her go. Maybe he could find a way to make it work. If he could keep her close until he built up enough trust, maybe then he could show her that he was different too. That he didn’t want to show her off like some possession.

  Even thinking the word made his blood boil. What he felt for Jasmine had nothing to do with possession. It was deeper than that. It was basic, fundamental.

  ‘Fine.’ He sighed and held his hands out, and when she took them he tugged her forwards so that she crawled onto him. ‘Let’s stick to what we have in common for the moment.’

  ‘Deal.’

  He would change her mind—he had no doubt about it.

  * * *

  Jasmine woke the next morning when the sunlight peeked through the wooden blinds on his window. Pale light filtered through the slats, indicating a rare showing of sun that was uncharacteristic for winter.

  She was curled up on her side, Grant’s body wrapped protectively around her. The hardness of his thighs pressed under hers, the hairs tickling her skin. One arm was slung over her midsection, heavy and comforting. As the haze of sleep cleared her vision she looked around the room.

  She’d never seen a more impersonal sight in her life. It was far neater and more organised than she’d expected, but the distinct lack of personal effects was startling. A memory flickered in Jasmine’s mind—something Grant had said last night before they’d argued about her going to the Brownlow with him. He’d once told her that his family life was strained. She’d thought nothing of it at the time—didn’t everyone have a little strain in their family life? But she couldn’t recall a single instance when he’d mentioned another person other than his coach and his ex-fiancée.